Page 101 of The Husband Diet
Julian drew me into the circle of his arms and hooked his thumbs into the belt around my jeans.
‘I’d be the fool to let you go,’ I murmured as he lowered his delicious mouth to mine. ‘I love you, Julian,’ I finally whispered, and it felt like going home.
*
At work, things were always hectic, just the way I liked it. And sometimes I even got little satisfactions. Mr. Simmons, a very annoying guest whom I’d handled brilliantly, turned out to be the owner of a rival hotel in New England, The Pilgrim. He’d offered me a position over at his chain and I realized that his increasing difficulty as a guest had simply been him running me through his tests. Apparently, I’d passed with flying colors. I was flattered but politely refused. Soon I was going to be in Italy, if I had any say in it.
And… I’d managed it. My irises were finally starting to bloom in my now beautiful garden. Swallows began to circle the yard out back, diving to catch any insect stupid enough to hang around. I leaned out the window, my elbows on the sill, and sighed with what I believe was contentment after a very long time. It had been an endless winter. But having survived it, I knew we could survive anything.
37
Truth is Freedom
The next day, I got a call from my zia Monica to stop by at Le Tre Donne.
‘Hello?’ I called to the empty dining hall. ‘Zia Maria? Martina? Monica?’
Silence, and then a burst from the kitchen and three happy women bearing gifts. Never trust three happy Italian women bearing gifts.
‘Vieni qui, Erica, come and sit down. We have something for you,’ said Zia Maria as the other two huddled around her, their faces red with excitement.
‘What’s up? Why is the shop closed?’ The last time one of my family closed a shop was when Nonna had died. I bolted to my feet again. ‘Is someone ill?’
‘Zitta,zitta!’ They silenced me, looking around.
Zia Monica locked the door and pulled down the blinds. ‘Everything is fine.’
‘So why do I feel like we’re in a mob movie and I’m going to get a half-moon stuck in my throat?’ I chuckled. Sometimes they could be so dramatic, it was sweet.
‘We were cleaning out the storage room and found some of Nonna’s stuff that she left for you,’ Zia Maria said. ‘It’s time you had it.’
‘Had what?’ I asked, curious and intrigued by the whole setting: the empty restaurant, the air of secrecy and the bright eyes.
Out of a large cardboard box hidden under the table, they each pulled out a packet as I eyed them, confused. Then they passed me an envelope.
I stared at them and Zia Monica rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, will you? I’m dying to see your face!’
‘Why? What is it? Stocks? Bonds? Are we suddenly rich?’
Still eyeing them, I carefully opened the envelope addressed to me. It was wrinkled and grey. I froze as I recognized the writing:
My Dearest granddaughter, Erica, light of my life,
Although I probably won’t be there to celebrate you coming into womanhood, I want to leave you four gifts.
The first is for your own home one day.
The second is for your matrimonial bed.
The third is for you personally.
The fourth will free you.
You were not blessed with a good mother and we have all tried to make up for her faults. Use your strength to get through life and to keep it light. And think of love – the possibility of real love – when you are down.
I love you with all my heart,
Nonna Silvia Bettarini.
