Page 5 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘Uhm, actually, I think the cottages are pretty much completely booked all summer,’ I lied.

‘Oh, that’s OK.’

Yes! I silently punched the air in triumph, feeling a bolt of pain shoot through my back. Looked like Julian was right to nag me, after all.

‘If you’re completely booked, no problem. We’ll just sleep in your house, then,’ she conceded as, slack-jawed, I scuttled for some excuse, but could think of absolutely zilch.

‘I can’t believe I have to invitemyselfover,’ she tsk-tsked.

And I couldn’t believe she just had. I remembered living under the same roof with her and let me tell you, it was not good. Granted, I knew I’d have had to call her sooner or later, because I couldn’t get married without inviting her, now could I? But I wasn’t prepared for this super-deluxe ambush.

At this point you might be asking yourself, Why the hell doesn’t she just tell her stepmom she’s getting married? Ah, if you only knew Marcy! Because she’d fly over this instant to take over the preparations and take it upon herself to make all the important decisions, my wedding dress included. It would be an absolute disaster-fest like my first wedding. Believe me, the less time she spent here bossing everyone around, the longer I’d stay sane.

‘So it’s settled,’ she concluded. ‘I’ll call you as soon as we have our flights.’

And then, somewhere between telling me about Judy’s new toy (and for a moment, I honestly thought she meant a new lover) and Vince’s new teenage delivery boy (and here I couldn’t somehow help thinking they were the same person), she blewkissie-kissie,bye-byenoises at me and hung up.

I clicked the phone off with a huff. Kissie-kissie,bye-bye? What the hell had got into her? Jesus, was there no escaping her? Did I have to move to the North Pole to get some peace and quiet?

I let myself drop onto a lounger, the pain in my throbbing toe and my back nothing compared to the sensation of impending doom. Just what I needed – my stepmom tostep inand make my life a misery all over again. For six endless weeks.

*

I had dinner and drinks served on the terrace at sunset for my ten Matera Brainstormers – talented, smart women from every corner of the world.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere, it was clear they were already in work mode, discussing their plots in the making and helping each other out with the tricky bits. In other words, when to kill off the mother-in-law (or stepmother, in my case), how the heroine should find out her husband is cheating and how the alpha male should defuse the bomb in time to save the world.

From a distance I observed them, wishing I’d had that kind of support in life when I’d needed it.

‘Erica?’ Elizabeth called. ‘We were wondering how you manage it all with very little help.’

I grinned. ‘Just a good dose of folly.’

At that, Sheila, a successful thriller author and genuine all-American with a sense of humor as sharp as a blade, cackled in delight.

‘And a good dose of something else! We’ve seen your partner on TV. Friggin’ compliments are in order!’

‘Partners are overrated,’ I informed them, and they laughed.

Elizabeth nodded. ‘Don’t we know it. But, honey, it’s OK to have the almost-perfect life. What’s the deal?’

I frowned. ‘The deal?’

‘Yeah,’ Kim, a beautiful American married to an equally beautiful Swede, wanted to know. ‘Tell us the truth. What’s the fly in your champagne?’

I sighed. ‘Jesus, how much time have you got?’

They laughed and Ingrid,an amazing chef and one of the sweetest women alive who had recently bought a house in Abruzzo, shook her head. ‘We’ve all been there, you know. The expectations, the disappointment. What’s yours?’

Elizabeth smiled at me knowingly, pulling out a chair for me.

I grinned. ‘You need writing material? I’m your gal. Where do I start? A dysfunctional stepmother who can’t accept that I exist, yet who tries to rule my life as if it were hers?’

‘Ouch,’ said Dominique, a crazy-smart woman who had worked with the United Nations. ‘My mother lived to be a hundred and one and never once nagged me.’

Sheila turned to her. ‘That’s an insanely long time to go without a fight.’

At that, Cassie, who had a home not far away but lived in the States, giggled. ‘Mothers and daughters get along just fine if moms mind their own business.’

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