Page 58 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘Really?’ she asked hopefully.

OK, that was just me allowing myself a bit of poetic license. I had no idea what he had been up to, but this sacrifice, fictitious or not, would earn him oodles of brownie points with her.

She studied me and in her dubious expression, I could see my own insecurities and doubts about Julian’s love and dedication toward me. That much my stepmother and I did have in common. Just like I wasn’t the center of Julian’s world, Marcy wasn’t the center of my father’s.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But his one and only true love will always be Emanuela. Your mother. And there’s nothing I can ever do or say to make him love me more.’

Could she be right, after all? Had my father answered my call of help to come out and fetch his wife just to revisit and reminisce at the scene of his love story with my real mother? Marcy had spoken her suspicions with such sadness, with such resignation that I felt it might just be true.

My father always had that sad look in his eyes, never wanting to talk about my mother, especially during the last two years after my aunts had told me the truth. It was as if he wanted to guard his secret love from prying eyes. And Marcy, like everyone else in my family, had been shut out.

But what could I do to help her? It had taken me more than thirty-five years to get my own love life straightened out.

‘What was she like? My mother?’ I asked.

Marcy sighed. ‘She was… oh, I don’t know. Ambitious. Always asking people for information on how to do things, how to get to places and stuff. A bit like you.’

‘Driven, you mean?’ I insisted.

She picked the magazine up again and speared me with a glare. ‘Yes. She wanted her own business, just like you.’

I beamed, but then tried to hide my pride so as not to hurt Marcy. ‘What about her grades – were they good? Did she paint? Did I take after her? Dad doesn’t paint, so—’

‘Erica, stop pestering me. I don’t know all the answers to your questions. Emanuela and I were never close. I’m sorry.’

‘But you were identical twins! Did you at least share any secrets?’

At that, she stared at me hard and I thought she was finally going to reveal something.

‘No, we weren’t close at all. Accept it and move on.’

Move on, she said. As if it were easy, not having answers to my questions. Like walking in the dark. And to think I’d banked on her cooperating. There was no way I was getting any more info out of her, now or in the future.

‘And why are you making this about you?’ she accused. ‘I’m here fighting for my marriage and all you can do is ask about your mother.’

I felt my mouth drop open. But I shouldn’t have been surprised. Because Marcy was just like that. She’d never really matured. And every time I told myself that we were finally on our way to being in an equal, balanced relationship, she’d blurt something as hurtful as that. It was always about her and what she wanted. Never mind that I’d been born practically orphaned. And that all I had of my mother was a pearl necklace and a few anecdotes.

So I turned to my father in the hope that he’d be more sympathetic and more open about his love for my birth mother. When I asked him about the tree, he let out a faint sigh, as if he could see Emanuela – his Manu – through the pages of his life right before his very eyes. And suddenly, in the way he was looking at me, I saw something – a link of some sort that he was acknowledging and that he’d never mentioned before. Not really. Yes, he’d always been closer to me than to Judy and Vince, but it was more of a distant kind of thing. We’d never really had arelationship. To us, Dad had only been Marcy’s mild victim, who smiled at us benevolently from time to time. But nothing more.

Now, I saw it – all of it. His affection, his happiness in his memories. But also his loneliness. I don’t think it was because he didn’t care, but simply because I reminded him of the love of his life and his greatest loss. Just like I reminded Marcy, who instead dealt with it by being aggressive, or ignoring me at the best of times. But sweet old Dad didn’t know how to do feelings and was content with just being in the background while the Cantelli women took over.

‘I promised Emanuela I’d carve our names on that tree one day…’ he whispered.

Now that was really romantic. I wondered just how much I’d missed out on regarding my dad. He was an entire universe of secrets and hidden love that he jealously kept close to his own heart, lest anyone should unwittingly damage them. I understood his selfishness. The memories of their love were all he had left. But somehow, today he did want to share something.

‘And when she got pregnant with you,’ he continued as if a dam had collapsed and he wanted me to know everything about them, ‘she chose your name. Erica is the Italian name for the heather that grows on the highest peaks. That’s what she thought of you as – her highest achievement. And so do I…’

‘Oh, Dad,’ I cried, scrabbling to hug him. ‘I never knew that you felt that way about me! I…’ My throat tightened, but I swallowed and choked the words out as my eyes misted. ‘I always thought I was a burden to you…’

At that, he clutched my hands in his. ‘What? No, my little princess. You’re the best thing that’severhappened to us. When she told me she was expecting you, I knew my life was starting there and then. Your mom – wherever she is up in that sky – will always love you.’

The revelation of a father–daughter bond I hadn’t been aware of took me by surprise. My fatherreallyloved me. And he still loved my real mother enough to carve our names into my mother’s favorite oak tree – the tree she’d spent hours under, reading her favorite books. Although she was gone, I felt like I’d suddenly rebuilt my lost family. I could literally feel the million pieces of my life slowly reconvening, like stardust particles.

‘Thank you, Dad. I guess I really needed to hear that.’

‘Any time, sweetheart. You just call me when you need me. But I know you’re in good hands. Julian really loves you.’

‘I know.’

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