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“Yeah. So your mom lived with you when you were younger?” Elio seemed determined to hear the whole story. Not that she minded. His interest in her was sincere, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d had someone to talk to about herself, her life, her fears, hopes, and even her eccentricities.
“Grandma kicked her out more than a few times during the first five or six years of my life, but ultimately Mom would always come back, swearing that she was clean, that she wanted to turn over a new leaf. And Grandma would take her back.”
“That couldn’t have been easy for you,” Elio said, reaching across the table to take her hand.
“I never liked it when Mom was home,” she whispered. She’d never admitted that to another living soul, feeling guilty for feeling that way.
“What was your mom like?”
“She never had much time for me, and zero patience. She was a chain smoker, something Grandma would never allow in the apartment, so she spent most of the day sitting on a plastic chair on our tiny balcony, with an overflowing ashtray next to her. She’d leave the sliding door cracked, so the house always stunk when she was there. That’s what I remember the most. The smell. I hated it.
“The last falling out she and Grandma had was when I was seven. Mom came home strung out on heroin. She’d been so wasted, she dropped all her shit by the door and passed out on the couch. I got up before Grandma. All the stuff in Mom’s purse had spilled out, and her drugs were there. I picked up a needle—”
“Jesus,” Elio murmured, gripping her hand more tightly.
“That was when Grandma Mary walked in. She saw what I was holding and freaked the fuck out. She knocked it out of my hand. Asked if I’d poked myself. I said no. I told her I knew the needle was bad. I don’t know why I picked it up. I was just…curious.”
“Christ,” Elio said hotly. “You could have been hurt.”
“Grandma woke my mom and kicked her out. Told her to not bother coming back.”
“Did she try to come back?”
Gianna shook her head. This was the part she hated saying out loud because it was too hard to think about. Yet tonight, sitting in this peaceful cabin, in the soft lighting, with such an attentive, compassionate friend, the words came easily.
“No. When I was nine, I came home from school. Usually Mrs. Pasquet, the older woman who lived across the hall, took care of me until Grandma came home from work, but that day, Grandma was there. She sat me down on the couch and told me that Mom had died. I asked if it was because of the drugs and Grandma Mary said yes. I know she expected me to cry, and I even tried, Elio…but I couldn’t.”
He frowned. “I think it makes sense that you wouldn’t cry. It sounds like you hardly knew your mother, and it wasn’t like she was the one taking care of you. Your grandma was.”
“I know that. I do. But I’ve never cried for her. Not once. In my whole life. When Grandma said my mom had died, all I could think was…that wasn’t true, she hadn’t died. Because Grandma Mary was my mom. She’d been the one to take care of me, read me stories, give me baths. Grandma wasn’t exactly a warm and fuzzy person, and I’m pretty sure the word strict was invented to describe her—she was bound and determined I wasn’t going to turn out like my mom. She never said it, but I know she blamed herself for Mom getting hooked on the drugs, certain that if she’d been home more, Mom wouldn’t have strayed so far. It’s why she took me with her to clean the apartments on the weekends.”
“Gianna,” Elio said, with something that sounded too close to pity. Which meant she was giving him the wrong idea.
“I never questioned her love for me,” she hastened to add. “Even if she never said it.”
“She never said it?”
Gianna wasn’t surprised by Elio’s shock. His family was the very definition of affection, with their constant hugs and double-cheek kisses. She’d heard his nonna tell every single one of her grandkids on Christmas Eve how much she loved them. “Grandma Mary told me she loved me twice.”
“Twice,” Elio repeated, shaking his head.
“The first time was after my high school graduation. She and my mom had both gotten pregnant when they were young and had dropped out. I remember walking off the stage with my diploma, sporting that godawful cap and gown, and going straight over to her. Grandma Mary had hugged me, really tight, like she didn’t want to let go, then she whispered in my ear, ‘I love you, darlin’.’ It took everything I had not to cry right then and there.”
“I bet that must have meant the world to you.”
“You have no idea.”
“Let’s move somewhere more comfortable. Finished?” he asked, reaching for her bowl.
She nodded, and he took her dish and his to the sink. He stopped her before she could start washing them. “Later,” he said. Then he added, “I promise,” knowing how much she hated leaving dirty dishes in the sink. It was funny how quickly Elio had picked up on her quirks. Yet he didn’t make fun of her—or get annoyed as Sam had—but instead accepted them.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her to the couch, sitting down next to her.
“You were lucky to have your grandma,” Elio said. She’d thought the conversation was over, but Elio apparently wanted to know more. “What happened to her?”
Gianna blinked a couple of times, willing herself not to cry. “She died a few months after I graduated from college. I moved back in with her because we knew about the cancer at that point, and I wanted to be close to take care of her.”
“That couldn’t have been easy. You were still so young.”
