Page 219 of The Wicked
“Even better because Gran Louisa made something extra spicy!”
We got into the house, which was as normal as the outside. Beige, white flowery wallpaper, light brown couches, picture frames on all the walls, the smell of a homemade meal lingering in the air. A ginger cat—Sailor, whose pictures littered my phone gallery thanks to Gemma being obsessed with it and wanting me to be too, for some obscure reason—was lying peacefully on one of the yellow bean bags in the living room.
“Welcome to my home!” She untangled her hand from mine, twirling around with a grin. “What do you think?” Her eyes twinkled with eagerness for my response.
“I think it is well put together,” I said. “Homey.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but her grin widened, and her blue eyes shone with pride. “Thank you,” she said. “I put literally everything into this house: my savings from all the jobs I did, and this face modeling gig I had a couple of years back. I saw the neighborhood in some real estate flyer back in the hood we used to stay in, and I said to myself,Gemma, you’re going to work your ass off and buy yourself a house in this neighborhood. And here we are, my very first property.”
“That is truly impressive. I am sure Gran Louisa was proud.”
“Oh, she was.” Gemma chuckled fondly. “Wouldn’t stop talking about it. Every Sunday, I swear, she tells everyone her granddaughter bought a house in some fancy neighborhood. They think she has dementia.”
“Being happy about something enough to repeat it is a far cry from dementia.”
Her eyes widened. “Right? They just don’t get it! The jealous ones always think she likes to brag about it, but she believes she will die soon; she has been saying that for two years now, and she’s still very much alive and healthy, kind of. But she’s the sweetest thing.”
“You seem to love her very much.”
“She’s my only family, and I believe family is… everything.I’m sorry you don’t have any, but that doesn’t mean Gran Louisa can’t adopt another grandchild.” She grinned, taking my hand and pulling me further inside the house. “Let’s go see her in the kitchen.”
My eyes took in the small hallway that held two doors I was sure were the rooms, but my view was taken away as she pulled me to a short corner, and we were in the most colorful kitchen I had ever seen.
Yellow countertops, different colors of plates and kitchen utensils, a huge bowl of plastic fruit atop the counter, and a bowl of real fruit on the dining table.
Spanish music was playing from a speaker in the kitchen, and beautiful, colorful flowerpots lined the windows, looking like someone went to extra lengths to care for the plants every day. It all just felt so normal.
Then my eyes settled on her grandmother, her hair in a netted bun, wearing a pink sweater and jeans; even though she was a little bit hunched over, she still looked smart as she cooked, moving her body to the beat.
She looked like one of those people who would hug you to sleep like my mother used to do. The instant craving for that affection made me feel cold and empty.
“Nonna,” Gemma called her attention. “Elio’s here.”
The woman turned immediately, soft blue eyes settling on me before a wide smile overtook her face, and she was wiping her hand on the apron around her waist.
“Oh, at last!” She laughed, walking over to me. Without warning, she threw her arms around me like we had known each other a long time. “Good meeting you, Elio.” She patted my back. Her hug was warm. Friendly, motherly. It made me yearn to stay there and forget that I had a responsibility somewhere.
When she pulled away, she smiled warmly at me, her short arm raising to squeeze my cheek. “Ah, look at you. Pretty man. Eyes like steel, created to woo women.” She laughed.
“Nonna, knock it off,” Gemma said, going to stir what her grandma had been cooking.
“What? I never see fine men like this when I was young.”
“Even Nonno?” Gemma threw from over her shoulder.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Maurice had beauty on the inside,” she said, and then turned to me with a blank look, shaking her head slowly like she didn’t believe a word she just said, and she had only said it to appease Gemma. “But you see beauty like you, Elio.” She smiled at me. “Hard to see.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, yes, remove cap. You are inside now; cap is for outside. Why you wear one? Are you a paparazzi friend?” she asked.
“No… it was for me to look casual.” I removed it.
“Remove jacket too. Gemma is bad house guest. Never ever remove the jacket, and she ask why Luigi hate her, foolish girl.”
Gemma laughed, shaking her head. “Luigi doesn’t hate me, Nonna; he’s just bitter.”
Gran Louisa rolled her eyes as I removed my jacket and let my shirt cover the gun instead. She collected it from me, leaving me in just my black shirt.
