Page 53 of Fall Into You
I think.
Regardless, it’s not my mother’s neglect nor my father’s death that has me looking miserable. It’s the fact that I got into a fight this morning with his sister, and I feel like I’m dying because we haven’t been able to clear the air since. I just can’t tell him about it.
“No, I’m having a great time,” I lie. I do my best to sound happy, but even to my own ears, I sound flat, lifeless. “Thank you again for inviting me. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, but it’s okay.” I take the cart from him and keep pushing it down the other aisles, glancing down at the paper in search of the next item on the list.
Whipped cream.
He grimaces. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. The basement can be kind of uncomfortable to sleep in. It’s freezing in the winter and boiling in the summer. But the pull-out wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“No complaints here,” I say. At least that’s not a lie, considering I didn’t spend the night there.
How refreshing.
He calls Leo and Clara to follow us, as they’ve fallen behind, and he turns to me. “It’s not just you.” He sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m going crazy or getting just being paranoid, but I’m just getting a weird vibe today, you know? I get that it’s Thanksgiving, and like, by law, everyone is supposed to be stressed out, cooking, fighting. And I know my mom misses Dad, and so does Liza, but I thought things were better. For the past month, I finally got to see her be the Liza she used to be, and now she’s almost back to where she was last year.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, sounding maybe a little too interested. I stop pushing the cart and park myself in front of the dairy department. The cold from the open fridge is freezing my butt off, but I don’t care—I’m much more interested in this conversation.
He shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I’m just saying it’s like a switch flipped inside of her lately and turned her light back on. Except now she’s just…outagain.”
Guilt punches me hard in the stomach, knocking me breathless, making me want to throw up. I love knowing that she’s been noticeably happy this past month and that there’s a chance that it’s because of me. But it kills me to know that this fight with me has affected her so much that Vinny is claiming she’s back to being the same depressed person she was last year when she was still dealing with her dad’s death.
“Uh…I don’t know what to say, man.” Not a lie, either. Should I say I have no idea or tell him that she’s sad because I was an asshole to her? Yeah, right.
“Yeah, it’s just a bummer because I thought she was making progress, you know? I felt like, for so long, she was just stuck in life with that fucking loser, Jeremy, because Dad ‘liked him’”—he air-quotes—“and then she wasn’t really living or doing anything.”
My heart races. “Wait, hold up. What do you mean ‘liked him’?”
“Well, he didn’t. He hated the guy. Thought the same as all of us. But he was dying, and Lizasaidshe was happy, and he wasn’t about to ruin her relationship by being the father who tells her he thinks her boyfriend is a complete douche on his deathbed.” Vinny rolls his eyes at me, but I’m horrified.
What?
I can’t believe this. Deep down, I know this is the main source of her hesitation with us, whether she knows it or not. She had her father’s approval to date this other man, then her dad passed away. She wasn’t into the guy, but she didn’t want to go against what her father’s fucking dying wishes were. I don’t understand why no one thought to tell her that after her father had died. She could’ve saved herself a couple of years of a relationship with that asshole. Vinny himself said he didn’t even think she was happy with him! If he had justtoldher, just clarified that her father thought he was a dick, everything would be fine. She could come to terms with the fact that the last guy she dated was not who her father hoped for her to be with, because I think she feels like she’s disappointing him by dating me, and she doesn’t want to disappoint her brother, too. I think that’s what I’m up against here.
“But she stayed with Jeremy for that long because of it. She said that was the main reason she didn’t break up with him earlier,” I say as calmly as possible (but I’m definitely about to lose my mind).
“How did you know that?” Vinny asks, his eyes narrowed in my direction.
I almost panic, but then I remember what Liza told me:stick as close to the truth as possible.
“She told me when she took me out to dinner as a thank you, remember? It was the night I helped her move her stuff into her apartment. We ran into her ex, and he was a total tool to her. She kind of told me the break-up story.” I shrug, trying as hard as I can to play it cool. I start putting random items into the cart, keeping my head down, pretending like I did not obviously just reveal myself.
“Hmm.” He looks like he wants to press me for more information but is momentarily distracted by two toddlers attacking his legs, running up to him, begging for cookies.
I silently thank God for saving me from another close call—I cannot put into words how much I love those kids now—and decide that, as soon as we get back to the house, I’m going to pull Liza aside and apologize for being a massive asshole to her.
WHEN WE DROPoff the groceries in the kitchen, I notice a couple of things. First, everything smellsincredible. Second, except for the store-bought pecan pie and a marshmallow-topped sweet potato casserole, the Thanksgiving dishes they’re preparing do not look conventional in any way. It’s not your regular scalloped-potatoes-and-string-beans dinner—even the turkey looks different. I ask Vinny what this is, and he says it’s how his mother marries everyday Italian flavors with Thanksgiving food. Third, Danielle is only allowed to assist and perform small tasks (i.e., passing of bowls, stirring of sauce, cleaning of vegetables). Fourth, the three women of the family, led by their fearless leader, Catterina, are cooking with the same concentration, dedication, and energy of someone competing for the Iron Chef title.
There is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to pull Liza aside now. I see her chopping zucchinis into coins like she’s on fast forward, and I marvel at her. How did I not know she was so skilled? Sure, we order take-out most nights because we both have busy schedules, but on nights we do cook, she’s never been this precise or seemingly skillful in the kitchen. We’ve cooked basic stuff together—rice, chicken breast, steamed broccoli, or salmon—nothing like whatever it is they’re doing with that turkey breast and prosciutto.
“Thank you, boys. You can go back out now and leave us to it. The hors d’oeuvres will be ready soon,” Catterina informs us, practically shooing us away.
“Catterina, would you like some help? I’m not a skillful cook, but I know the basics, and I can help,” I offer. Everyone in the kitchen bursts out in a chuckle, even the kiddos, and I raise an eyebrow in question.
“Amore, don’t worry about it.” She pats my cheek with her soft hands. “In this house, I do the cooking, Liza helps, and Danielle…triesto help.” Catterina chuckles, and Danielle blushes.
“Are you sure? Isn’t it a little sexist to just—”
Vinny pulls me by the arm and says, “Dude, it’s just tradition. It’s not a sexist thing. My mom is very particular about her cooking, and she’s just trying to teach her daughter and daughter-in-law—the women in our family—so that they can learn the recipes and pass them on.” He rolls his eyes. “Italians are very into tradition.” With one final look in Liza’s direction, Vinny pulls me and the twins out of the kitchen and into the living room, where we proceed to finish watching the last quarter of the second game that day. During that time, Danielle brings a full charcuterie and cheese board, along with some roasted tomato and ricotta bites and bruschetta with roasted squash and ricotta cheese.
