Page 81 of The Husband Diet
‘Why on earth would you even consider going back to Italy when your grandparents made so many sacrifices to move all the way here?’ my mother asked.
I sighed. Years of dealing with her and still she didn’t understand me. I had to learn to pick my battles with her.
‘Because I think my family would be very happy there,’ I said simply.
‘You can’t run away from your problems, Erica.’
Said by the woman who had always been sheltered from life.
‘I’m not leaving my problems behind. Only Ira.’ Which was technically the same thing.
‘Ask him back.’
There she went again, like the Sicilian saying went: as crazy as the March wind.
‘Have you been drinking, Marcy?’ It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
‘Erica, let’s look reality in the face, shall we? A single working mom hasn’t got it easy nowadays. You need a man next to you.’
Any more platitudes from sharp Marcy and I’d be howling in pain. Besides, I had a man. Sort of. And I was trying to find the guts to ask him to come with me.
*
The holidays came and went, but I didn’t have the heart to take the tree and decorations down. All through the house festive cinnamon-scented candles still burned, there were still candy canes hanging over the mantelpiece and I made all the kids’ favorite dishes, trying to prolong Christmas for as long as possible. We watched movies and played board games and many evenings I sat with Maddy making paper dolls.
I cut out a whole cardboard posse of them, blondes, redheads and brunettes, while Maddy drew their dresses and colored them in. She’d inherited my mother’s sense of fashion, no doubt. I drew one that was slightly chubbier just to see her reaction and she looked at me but said nothing. But that doll’s clothes were darker and longer. A bit like mine, funnily enough. It seemed she’d also inherited Marcy’s critical sense.
Maddy asked me only once if her father was coming back and when I told her that he probably wasn’t, she simply replied, ‘OK.’
Later, when I was out of her brother’s earshot, I’d tell her the usual lies of how her daddy loved her so much, because Maddy deserved no less than a real loving family. If nothing, I’d give her the illusion of one. There was plenty of time for her to grow up and see the world as it could sometimes be.
Warren seemed to have transformed into a gentleman overnight. No more wars over his homework, no more arguments about his messy room. I daresay due to Ira’s vanishing and overwhelming influence. It was as if suddenly a veil had dropped from before Warren’s eyes and he was seeing me for the first time. He also knew things could only get better, now the house didn’t boom with the disapproval of Ira’s voice in the evenings.
With dinner in the oven, I sat down to read all the Christmas cards we’d received and that the kids had strung above the fireplace in the living room. There were even presents for me that I hadn’t opened. One from my parents, one from Judy and one from Vince (the card was in his wife Sandra’s writing). Then I spotted one that made my heart quiver. It was from Julian, and it was enormous. How did it even get there? Warren, surely. He was becoming Julian’s inside trader. I tore the card open.
Merry Christmas, Erica. All your dreams can still come true.
Love, Julian.
Love. ‘Love,’ I whispered, trying to taste the word on my tongue.
Under the shiny red wrapping paper and a beautiful ribbon with holly and ivy, I found a large book of glossy photographs of Tuscany. I didn’t have this one, which surprised me, because I thought I had them all. I flipped through the pages.Your dreams can come true. Tuscany. Happiness. Love.
Love? I sat there and thought about it. Could this be a sign? A sign that Tuscany and Julian could happen in the same lifetime? Assuming he really, really did love me with a capital L, if I told him my dreams, would he follow?
Because Ilovedhim. Deeply, helplessly, and it couldn’t have happened at a better time. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Because I couldn’t possibly give up my Italian dream. I’d made too many sacrifices for a man before and where had that got me? Exactly.
When I phoned him to thank him, he simply said, ‘I heard about Ira.’ I also noticed he didn’t say he was sorry.
‘Who told you?’ I choked, although I already knew the answer.
‘Warren. I wanted to give you a little time.’
I didn’t answer. It figured Warren would go to Julian. This, too, was a sign. They were becoming close. Was it a good thing? A bad thing?
‘Are you OK?’ he asked gently.
‘Sure,’ I said, baring my teeth into the phone. ‘Of course.’
