“I’ll tell him,” I say. “Please? He should hear it from me.”
Santo swallows, staring at me, and I belatedly remember I’m wearing flashing reindeer antlers.
“I’ll make up a reason not to come for Christmas, and then once it’s all over I’ll tell him, I promise.”
Felipe frowns and looks at Santo, and they share a quick-fire Italian exchange. I don’t feel excluded, it just feels as if they find it easier to express themselves in their mother tongue, so I look at my lap and pull at a loose thread on my apron.
“Come for Christmas,” Santo says eventually.
“We both think you should,” Felipe says.
“For Vivien,” Santo says, resolute. “Her child is welcome at my table.”
“And then, for everyone’s sake, you have to tell Gio. We can’t keep this secret from our family,” Felipe says, though Santo looks nervous.
“I know,” I say. I’d neither want nor expect it any other way. I know better than anyone how wearing secrets are on your soul.
We all glance up as Sophia bursts through the door, weighed down with shopping bags. She lowers them to the floor as soon as she catches sight of Santo.
“Papa!” She flings her arms around his neck from behind and presses her cold cheek against her father’s. “You’re too early!”
“Don’t fuss, Sophia, and for the love of God don’t call your mother,” he says, patting her hand.
I get up from the table and untie my apron.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” I say, grabbing my coat off the stand.
“You can’t wait for Gio? He shouldn’t be long,” Sophia says, glancing at the clock.
“Something I need to do,” I say quickly. “Tell him I’ll call him later?”
Sophia pulls me into a quick hug and I cling to her, wishing she was anything but a Belotti so I could confide in her. I’m completely alone without Bobby and Robin. Smirnoff is a great secret keeper but not much use when it comes to sage advice.
“I’ll see you on the big day,” she says as she lets me go. “Come hungry, Mamma always makes enough food for a block party.”
“She’s Italian,” Santo huffs.
“I’ll be there,” I say, and then I make my quick farewells and leave, because I don’t think I can handle seeing Gio just now. I’m breathing heavily into my scarf as I push my way through the snowy streets toward home, the inevitable tears stinging my eyes because I’m unable to shake the feeling that this is the beginning of the end.
Vivien
…
MULBERRY STREET, MAY 1989
VIVIEN ADJUSTED THE SUNSHADE ON the thrift-store stroller to shield her baby daughter from the late Sunday afternoon sun.
“I’m nervous, Iris,” she whispered, safe in the knowledge that her nearly two-year-old child didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. “What if he isn’t here anymore?”
But, in her heart, she knew Santo would be here. He’d said he’d be there forever. They hadn’t spoken a word since the day she’d walked out of the gelateria four years ago, her head too full of starry-eyed ambition to realize that she was walking away from her best chance at forever happiness. She knew it now, though, and she could only hope she wasn’t too late. Life on the road hadn’t quite panned out the way she’d expected: too many late nights and smoky backstreet clubs, the occasional brush with stardom that could so easily have sent them stratospheric yet somehow didn’t. Getting pregnant with Charlie Raven’s child didn’t feature anywhere in Viv’s life plan, yet there wasn’t a single moment when she regretted bringing her child into the world.
“My baby” quickly became her favorite words in the English language, closely followed by “my daughter.” Being a mother turned out to be more important than being a singer in a band, eclipsing everything and everyone, even when she found herself alone in L.A. trying to scrape together enough money to buy baby milk. As usual, her voice saved her—the cute busker with an even cuter baby strapped to her front was hard to pass by without dropping a few coins in her upturned hat.
“He might not even recognize me,” she whispered to Iris, who laughed, delighted as she waved her beloved plastic giraffe in the air. Viv couldn’t help but grin back; her daughter’s joy was infectious.
“I hope your life is always this simple,” she said, swallowing hard as Belotti’s familiar green-and-white awnings loomed up ahead. “What am I even going to say?” she muttered, tucking herself into a doorway a few stores down to catch her breath. “Hi there, Santo, remember me, the girl who you gave your secret family recipe to? Anyway, I brought it back—I said you could trust me. I know it’s been a few years but I’ve been kind of wondering if you still love me because I’m ready now? He might tell me to piss off. I would. I totally would, especially turning up with a kid in tow.” She glanced down at Iris and immediately felt regretful. “Sorry, baby, it’s not your fault.”
She leaned down and brushed her hand over Iris’s wild dark curls, so very like her own, and as she straightened a young woman stepped out of the gelateria pushing a baby around the same age as Iris in a stroller, a small dark-haired boy in shorts and a Spider-Man T-shirt skipping a few steps ahead. The woman called out to the boy to wait up then turned back toward Belotti’s, and a joltingly familiar guy stepped out and joined them. Viv froze as she watched the idyllic scene unfold, a slick of panic sliding over her bones as she saw Santo bend to pull silly faces at the laughing child in the stroller. Jamming her cap down hurriedly over her face, she unzipped the baby bag hanging on the back of the stroller and rummaged inside it for something to do rather than look up, distracting herself enough to miss the fact that Iris had dropped her giraffe on the floor until she yelled.
“Shushhh,” Viv said, urgent and fast, but before she could reach it the small boy in the Spider-Man T-shirt dashed over and picked it up. Viv scanned his serious little face and instinctively smiled, and he blinked as he held the giraffe out to Iris.
Iris beamed, thrilled to have her favorite thing back, and for a second the two children studied each other curiously.
“Gio, come on,” the woman called, and the boy gave Iris a shy smile before turning on his heel and running back to his family. Viv kept her head down, surreptitiously watching the small family turn and walk away from the gelateria in the other direction. Once she was sure Santo hadn’t spotted her, she raised her head, tortured as he slung his arm around the woman’s shoulders and hoisted the small boy on his hip.