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Finally, though, it’s time.
“Auntie Lola and I were raised by a mayor where Lola and Ben live still. I thought he was my dad for a while and, well, you know. He wasn’t.”
“Because you’re a Russo,” she says, quiet, and I nod.
She knows that part, knows that Lola is my half-sister, that Turo is named after her grandfather none of us ever met.
She’s seen the framed photo of my father holding newborn me.
“Yes. And . . . it took a while for me to know that. I spent so long not understanding things about me, about myself. About my family. Got weird looks and never . . . I never fit in. And then I met your dad.” Silence.
We’ve never spoken of this either.
No sweet stories of how mom and dad met, no photos from first dates.
“I came to the family to take them down.”
“What?!” my daughter shouts, and I don’t bother to fight the smile.
“I found out who I really was, that I was a Russo. There’s a history between the Carluccios and the Russos. Not all of it is great. I . . . I wanted revenge.” When she stares at me, it’s like a small, integral part of how she sees me has shifted.
“And I wanted to be in charge.”
Again, her face changes just a bit.
“Liza, you’re the oldest.” Her little brow furrows, and I see Dante there again, in her eyes. “You’re the oldest, which means one day, you’ll get a choice.” Her tongue comes out to lick her lips. “I want you to have everything in your life, Liza. I want you happy first and foremost. If that means you run off to fuckin’ Alabama and never come to Jersey except for on the holidays as soon as you turn 18, then I’ll be happy for you. If that means you go to school and you become some kind of tech wiz and live in California and run some crazy company, I’ll be the first to invest. But if that means you stay here and you take an interest in what’s going on in the family, you have first dibs, Liza.”
She’s silent, and I let us sit in that silence.
I’m not sure if she’s even in the mood to talk, if she’s still mad or hurt that she wasn’t invited to some party or that she has to spend a week away from her friends.
I don’t look at her.
I don’t push her.
I just stare at the water.
And finally, she speaks.
“What you guys do . . . it’s . . . it’s not normal, is it?” I smile but still don’t look at her.
“No, baby. It’s not normal.”
“But it’s . . . it’s good, right?” Her words tremble, and I reach out to grab her hand, the one that once grabbed onto a single finger. That finger is now nearly the size of my own.
I let her feel how my hands tremble just as well.
Let her feel my nerves.
“It’s . . . gray.”
“Gray?”
“Sometimes things aren’t good or bad. They’re right in the middle.”
“And you and Daddy are . . . gray.”
“I guess. But we try to balance it, Liz.” I sigh. “I worked really freaking hard, and so did your father, to make it so the family benefits not just us, but Hudson City. We work every day to make sure we leave a legacy that means something. And sometimes that gets . . . gray.”
