Page 35 of Heartstrings & Horizons
I haven’t seen her since I left for college 3 months ago and if I don't make my way over for dinner as soon as possible, I’d likely get a wooden spoon to the ass, or at the very least the threat of one. I may be a grown woman but you don’t mess with Nana. She lives in a small 2 story house on a quiet street. There’s a corner store next door where she would often send us to pick up scratch tickets and penny candy.
“You made it!” As expected, I’m pulled into a tight hug. When she pulls back, she puts one hand on each side of my face. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Good to see you too, Nan.” I smile at her with affection. She’s my favorite person.
Sofia Fanelli is a pocket-sized woman with short black hair and a fondness for daytime talk shows. She hasn’t aged a day since my 10th birthday and though she’s in her 70’s now, you wouldn’t know it to look at her.
“Bella,” Nono calls from his usual spot on the sofa. “Come in, come in.” Antonio is Nana’s second husband though they never officially married. He’s a stocky olive skinned man with wild gray hair and the biggest heart of anyone you’ll ever meet. He has a thick Italian accent, so it’s sometimes hard to understand him, but you’ll always leave their house with a handful of cash and a smile. We’re a big blended family, having 2 kidsof his own who are both married with their own children.
After everyone has arrived, we all settle at the dining room table in our usual places. Nana is making the rounds, force feeding the grandkids another helping of pasta which none of us need nor asked for. But that’s how it is here – you walk in and expect to be fed an outrageous amount of food.
My fondest memory in this house is from New Year’s Eve when I was 9 or 10 years old. Nono let me and his other grandkids throw pots and pans down the steep concrete stairs at the back of the house. At the time, I didn't really understand why; I was simply told it was a tradition, and I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Once I was old enough to use google, I learned that the tradition is symbolic of letting go, out with the old and in with the new. It’s supposed to usher hope, prosperity, good health, and happiness into the new year. The memory brings a rush of warmth to my chest.
“How’s school going, Poodle?” I cringe at the childhood nickname she gave me somewhere between episodes of Barney and chasing my brother, Luca, around the house with a wooden spoon. This is the question I’ve been dreading since I left Toronto. I quickly shovel another bite of food into my mouth, hoping to avoid the conversation entirely. As far as everyone knows, I’m still enrolled. I’m not sure how I’m going to break the news to my family, but I have no doubt that it’ll go over about as well as a pair of wet jeans.
After dinner, it’s all hands on deck for pizzelle night, the familiar scent of sugar and anise filling the air. We’ve made these traditional Italian cookies on Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was a kid, Nana would have tea in an antique teacup with a half eaten pizzelle on the saucer. We give them out in stacks as gifts around the holidays and freeze the rest. It’s one of those sentimental family traditions I’m eager to pass on to my own kids someday.
“Paige, dear, can you pass me a teaspoon?”
“Sure, Nana.”
I’m handing over the utensil when my phone vibrates on the table. If I had any sort of foresight, I would’ve laid it face down and avoided Cade’s very handsome face lighting up on my lock screen, soft launching my relationship to everyone in the room.
Cade: Did you make it home okay?
I pick up my phone and shoot off a quick reply.
Paige: Yes, Dad.
Cade: If you want to call me daddy, all you have to do is ask.
“Bella, you have a boyfriend?” Nono’s thick Italian accent cuts in over the quiet hum of Christmas music.
“Yes,” I smile, “his name is Cade.”
When I don’t respond, my phone vibrates with another text.
Cade: Are you blushing, Sunshine?
Paige: Yes. My boyfriend is saying dirty shit, and my grandmother is in the room!
Cade: Fiancé, baby. You better remember that.
Paige: Then my fiancé can explain to Nana why her perfectly respectable granddaughter looks like a cherry tomato right now.
“We’re getting old, you know,” Nana chastises. She’s a meddler at heart. I know she’s dying to know everything about my relationship and I’d be a fool to think she would miss the blush spreading across my face. “We won’t be around forever. I want to meet the boy who’s making my granddaughter smile like that.”
“Stop it, you’re going to be around for at least another 25 years. In fact, the way things are going, you’ll probably outlive the rest of us.”
Nono lets out his deep, hearty chuckle from the head of the table.
I stack another 10 pizzelles and wrap them in cling wrap before dropping more of the mixture onto the hot iron. There’s something soothing about the familiar action. I don’t have to think, just do. I get completely lost in the routine task until my phone startles me out of my thoughts. A familiar face is lighting up the screen with a FaceTime request, and I can see the mischievous gleam in Nana’s eyes as she stares at me.
“Poodle, if you don’t answer that hunk of a man,Iwill.”
I reluctantly swipe to answer, giving Cade a look that I hope registers as “tread lightly, I’m not alone”. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t.
“Hey Sunshine, Merry Christmas Eve!”
