Page 117 of Huckleberry Hill
“Oh no. Not you too.”
“Not me too what?”
I licked my lips. “Declan told me to be honest with myself just the other night. But it can’t be serious.”
“Why not? Everyone already knows you ended your engagement with Gianni?—”
“No, Muddy. No. I didn’t tell you the real reason why it didn’t work out with Gianni,” I said quietly. I forced myself to look at my grandmother. She was a pistol, a firecracker. Sass and brass, for sure. But she loved me. And it was time to tell her the truth. Because I needed perspective. As much as I loved Salem and my friends, they hadn’t lived seventy years on this planet. With age came wisdom. Trauma did the same thing, but . . . it was different.
“I found out I have fertility issues,” I blurted out. “I went to another doctor to get a second opinion and it was confirmed. I—I can’t have children . . . and when I told Gianni . . .”
“He broke up with you?”
“Not right away,” I admitted. “He said it didn’t matter, that we’d adopt or it could just be the two of us. And I . . . I believed him, Muddy. He gave me no reason not to. And then right before the trip he said he wanted to go alone. That he wasn’t sure he could have a life with me. So he went to Italy without me.”
I swallowed, tears forming in my eyes as my grandmother let me talk.
“I haven’t made my peace with it,” I stated. “Not even a little bit. I haven’t thought much about it, really. Because I’m not ready to mourn a life I didn’t even have—but could’ve. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “It makes sense.”
“So, it can’t be serious with Declan. Because even if the feelings are real, they’ll go away when he realizes I can’t—that I can’t give him children.”
“You don’t know that,” she said. “Not unless you tell him. I know you think he’ll be just like Gianni, that he’ll react the same way, but Declan is different.”
“Different,” I said. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Honey, sometimes you just get a feeling about people. I don’t know how I know, but I do. Does Salem know?”
I nodded.
“And your friends?”
I shook my head. “No. I wasn’t ready to . . . Gianni’s cousin—Nico—he called the other day to ask what shifts I wanted when the renovation of the restaurant is over. His family knows Gianni and I split up, but they don’t know the reason why.”
“You sure they don’t know?”
“Yeah, he would’ve said something. Gianni’s mother would’ve called. His sisters. But so far it’s been radio silence. I’m mourning the loss of them too.”
“What did you tell Nico? About the shifts?”
“I quit over the phone.” I smiled, but it was bitter. “I do have some pride and I wasn’t willing to work there and see everyone and stew in my own dirty laundry. Nico offered to call other restaurants and get me a job, but I said not to bother because I didn’t know when I was coming back to New York. I told him I was home for a visit.”
“Do you want to go back to New York?”
“Not particularly.”
“But you’re not sure staying here is the right choice either,” she finished.
“You get it,” I said.
“I get it.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Do you want my advice or do you just want to vent?”
I raised my brows. “You’re asking for permission? Instead of offering it freely? That’s new.”
She tweaked my nose and smiled. “We all have opinions. Very few people actually want to hear the truth.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for the truth.” I sighed. “Lay it on me.”
