Very Valentine

by Adriana Trigiani

  “I’m sorry.” It’s almost impossible for me to say I’m sorry, but I did. And then I say the one thing that is hardest of all, because I truly believe it. “I do love you.”

  Roman looks at me. Then he shakes his head, as if he can’t take this in. “I think there’s someone else.”

  “You’re kidding. I’m the one who just caught you in the kitchen with a woman.”

  “You didn’t catch me. It was innocent. Since you came back from Italy, you’ve been distant, and I can’t get in. I’ve begged your forgiveness for missing our vacation. I’ve been trying to make it up to you. Other people have busy careers and make it work. I think our schedules are just excuses. We don’t have what it takes. We just don’t.”

  “I think we do.” The thought of losing him makes me feel desperate. I feel a rush of panic, wanting to promise him anything just to have him give me another chance. I want an opportunity to get it right, to prove my feelings, to surrender, to commit, and to show him how much I love him. My mind fills with images of him, on the roof last Christmas roasting marshmallows with the kids, playing basketball with my nephews, taking Gram’s arm in the street for no reason. I’m not ready to say good-bye to this good man. But I don’t know how to help him understand who I am and what I’m capable of, because I haven’t given him one indication of the real person I am inside. I hold him at arm’s length, and most of the time, even farther, and I don’t know why.

  “Valentine, if that’s true, then we should try.”

  “I need to think about you, Roman. I don’t want to turn this into a big Band-Aid that ends up with us in bed and we smooth it over, and then everything’s fine for a few weeks, and then this…this happens again. There’s something wrong, and I need to figure out what. You deserve better.”

  “Do you mean it?” There’s an expression on his face that I haven’t seen in a while: hope.

  “Besides, I kissed a man in Capri. There. I’ve said it. It’s been bothering me and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The truth is, I have no right to march into Ca’ d’Oro and judge you with Blondie-blonde when I did a stupid thing.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “I was mad at you. That’s all it was.”

  “I’m relieved.”

  “What?” I can’t believe this is his reaction. Where’s the rage? The jealousy.

  “I knew something was wrong, and now you’ve told me.”

  “I still want to be with you,” I tell him.

  “And I want to make it work,” he admits.

  “So, go in there and tell that maître d’ that the position is filled.”

  He doesn’t let go of my hand. “You want to come with me?”

  “I don’t think so.” I kiss him. “Come over tonight.”

  “What about Teodora?”

  “I’ll close her door and put on Cousin Brucie and she’ll never hear a thing.”

  “I’ll see you later,” he says.

  “Here.” I fish in my purse and give him the extra set of keys, the keys that I’ve been meaning to give him for months. They dangle from a Quisisana Hotel keychain.

  Roman looks at the key chain. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes I am.”

  I turn and walk down the street, and when I get to the corner, I look back. He’s standing there, watching me. I wave to him. He does love me. That’s not something I’m ready to lose.

  “Gram, I’m home!” I holler from the stairwell. I’m anxious to take off this dress and put on my pajamas and finish our discussion about Dominic. I want to get her tucked in and comfortable before Roman comes over. Tonight, I want to confide in her about Roman, and kissing Gianluca, and find out what she’d do if she were me. I think she’d choose Roman, just like me. “Gram, I’m home!” I shout again as I enter the kitchen. The TV is on, but she’s not in her chair. Strange, she usually turns off the set before she goes upstairs. I place my purse on the table and start to take off my coat, then I see Gram’s foot on the floor behind the counter. I run over to the counter. Gram is lying on the floor. I kneel next to her. She’s breathing, but she doesn’t respond when I call her name. I grab the phone and dial 911.

  The ambulance took Gram to Saint Vincent’s hospital. She revived at home, but was confused, and wasn’t sure when she fell. My mother and father arrived at the hospital quickly, as there’s barely any traffic from Queens into the city this time of night. Tess, Jaclyn, and Alfred push through the doors, their faces full of dread. It’s almost ten o’clock, but Gram asked Mom to call her lawyer, her old friend Ray Rinaldi who lives on Charles Street. My mother did exactly as she was told, and Ray is inside the ICU with her now.

  Roman pushes through the glass doors and runs to me. “How is she?”

  “She’s weak. We don’t know what happened,” Mom says. Gram has never been sick, or sustained any kind of serious injury. Mom is not used to this, and she’s frightened. My father puts his arms around her. She cries. “I don’t want to lose her.”

  “She’s in good hands. It’s going to be all right,” Roman reassures Mom. “Don’t worry.”

  A nurse steps out of the ICU and surveys the crowd. “Is there a Clementine here?”

  “Valentine,” I say and wave.

  “Follow me,” she says.

  The ICU is full, and Gram lies in the farthest corner with two flowing blue curtains separating her from an old man whose chest heaves as he sleeps. As I approach Gram’s bed, Ray Rinaldi closes a large paper folder. Ray’s a grandfather now, with a thick thatch of gray hair and a briefcase that has seen better days.

  “I’ll see you outside,” he says to me. Then he gives me a pat on the back. “Teodora, everything will be done just as you wish.”

  “Thank you, Ray,” Gram whispers and manages a smile. She closes her eyes.

  I go to the side of the bed and hold her hand. Her eyes barely flutter open, looking like two black commas, certainly not the wide, almond-shaped Italian eyes she has when she’s in good health. Her glasses rest on her chest on a chain, just as they were when she fell. A blue-and-purple bruise has formed over her brow, where her face hit the counter. I place my hand gently on the bruise. It feels warm. She looks at me then closes her eyes. “I don’t know what happened.”

  “They’ll figure it out.”

  “I wasn’t feeling right. I got up for a glass of water, and that’s the last I remember until the ambulance came.” Gram looks off, as though she’s searching for a road sign in the distance.

  “You’re not seeing the Blessed Lady, are you?” I joke. “Let’s not start having mystical visions.” I look in the direction of her gaze, and all I see is a wall with an eraser board filled with names of patients and numbers of medications written by the nurses.

  “Is this it?” she says to me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is this how it ends?”

  “No way! You’re not going anywhere. Buck up. You have a new great-granddaughter named after you. Mom wants to take you on a cruise. Scratch that. You’d hate it. Here, this is better: You still have to teach me how to cut embossed leather. I have lots more to learn and you’re the only person who can teach me. And Dominic. Dominic loves you!”

  “All I want to do is make shoes and play cards.”

  “And you will!”

  “…and grow tomatoes.”

  “Absolutely. Grow tomatoes.”

  “…and I want to go home to Italy.”

  Gram looks off, and in her way, she has defined the boundaries of her life for me. Could anything be simpler? All anyone needs to be happy is something to do, friends who gather to talk and play cards, a good meal made with the tomatoes from your own garden, and every once in a while, a trip to Italy, where she finds peace and comfort in the arms of an old friend.

  I look around Saint Vincent’s ICU. It’s clean and functional. Not a frill in sight. What a place to contemplate getting well, never mind your salvation. The nurses no longer wear crisp white uniforms with little hats like they did in
old movies. They wear Hawaiian shirts and green scrub pants. I have a hard time taking in a medical prognosis delivered by someone in a luau costume.

  “I had your mother call Ray,” Gram says softly. “I put you and Alfred in charge of the Angelini Shoe Company and on the deed of the building. I trust the two of you to figure things out.”

  I hear Gram’s words in my head, admonishing me for fighting with my brother: More than anything I want my family to get along. Alfred and I are an unlikely match under the best of circumstances. Running the business together will never work, I can only pray that Gram will get better quickly so she can have the life she dreams of, and while she’s living it, I might run her company, on my own terms. “Okay, Gram,” I say. “We’ll take care of everything, I promise. And you’ll be back on Perry Street with me in no time.”

  “Valentine?” My mom wakes me gently. I am sleeping in the chair in Gram’s room at Saint Vincent’s hospital.

  “Is she okay?” I sit up and look at the empty bed. Gram is gone.

  “They just took her for tests.”

  “What time is it?” I lift my sleeve and check my watch. It’s almost noon.

  “She’s been out of the room since eight,” Mom says and I can hear the worry in her voice.

  “Do they know what happened to her?”

  Dad, Jaclyn, Tess, and Alfred come into the room.

  “Did she have a stroke?” Tess asks.

  “We don’t know yet,” Mom tells her.

  Alfred takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “I don’t want to be right. But this time you have to listen to me. Gram can’t do what she used to.” He looks directly at me. “You have to stop pushing her,” he says quietly.

  Armand Rigaux, Gram’s doctor, a slim, dashing man with salt-and-pepper hair, comes into the room carrying his clipboard. We gather around him in a circle.

  “I have some good news,” Dr. Rigaux begins. “Teodora didn’t have a stroke, and her heart is not compromised in any way.”

  “Thank God!” My mother puts her hand over her heart in relief.

  “But she has severe arthritis in her knees. They lock and she falls. When she took the spill the other night, it was a doozy. She hit her head pretty badly, and we want to make certain there wasn’t any neurological damage. So we’re going to keep her here and run some more tests.”

  “How about knee replacement?” I ask.

  “We’re looking into that now. She looks to be a good candidate. And the recuperation period would be a snap with all of you pitching in.”

  “I’d do anything for my mother,” Mom says.

  “The truth is,” Dr. Rigaux says, looking at us, “surgery is the only way to ensure that this won’t happen again.”

  Gram’s third day in the hospital is spent doing more tests, with Mom and my sisters and brother and I staying in shifts to keep her company. I left for a couple of hours to check in with June at the shop, take a shower, and change clothes. I changed the sheets in Gram’s room for Mom and Dad to stay over, as well as the ones in Mom’s room so Jaclyn can stay here if she wants to.

  Gram is craving some decent food. She can’t face another day of pressed turkey with yellow gravy and a cup of Jell-O. I load a bag with Tupperware containers of penne, hot rolls, artichoke salad, and a wedge of pumpkin pie.

  Back at Saint Vincent’s, I push through the doors and make my way up to the third floor. As I turn the corner down the hallway, I see a group gathered outside Gram’s room. I panic and break into a run.

  When I get there, Tess, Jaclyn, and my mother are standing together outside Gram’s room. In the garish green hospital lights, the women in my family look like peasants in an Antonioni film with their bleak expressions, dark hair, black eyes, and the matching circles under them.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a little crowded in there,” Jaclyn says.

  “Why?” She doesn’t answer, so I go in. Mom follows me.

  Sitting on the bed, next to Gram, holding her hand, is Dominic Vechiarelli. I must look like I’ve seen a ghost, because I gasp and all eyes land on me. But it’s true, there’s proof, Dominic’s suitcases are propped next to the visitor’s chair.

  My father stands at the foot of the bed. He motions for Mom to join him. Dad puts his arm around her. Roman stands next to him, wearing jeans and his work clogs. I only look down at them because as he sways from foot to foot, I hear the squish of the plastic.

  As my eyes drink in the roster of visitors, I see Gianluca. I try not to have a reaction. He looks more handsome in America than I ever remember him in Italy, and younger, wearing a leather jacket, a sweater, and faded jeans. My throat closes at the sight of him, but for now, I will blame the dry hospital air. Pamela and Alfred stand away from the bed, by the window.

  “What, what is going on?” I say softly. I grip the bag of food I’m holding because, in this room, it’s beginning to feel like the only thing that’s real.

  Mom puts her arm around my shoulders. “Dominic flew over when he heard Mom was in the hospital. Evidently, Ray Rinaldi is instructed to call him anytime Gram is ill or in need of…something.” Mom looks at me, confused. She doesn’t know about Dominic, and now, suddenly, she finds out that Dominic Vechiarelli is the first name on Gram’s emergency contact list.

  “And, um, you’re here…,” I stammer when I look at Gianluca.

  “I flew with my father. I don’t think it’s wise for him to travel alone,” Gianluca says, keeping his eyes on Roman.

  Roman’s eyes narrow as he looks back at Gianluca. He’s got a hunch this is the man I kissed. But he’s above his suspicions when he says, “And I brought Gram panna cotta, because she likes the way I make it.” He buries his hands in his pockets and looks at me.

  “Now that Valentine is here, I can ask Teodora something I have longed to ask her since the summer. Please, everyone, come in,” Dominic announces.

  “There’s no room,” Tess chirps from the doorway.

  “Please, everyone, squeeze,” Mom says. “We’re a big Italian family, togetherness is our thing,” she announces, as if to apologize for the cubicle-size rooms in this city hospital. The group shifts to accommodate my sisters and their spouses.

  Dominic takes Gram’s hands and looks into her eyes. “Will you marry me?”

  The room is completely quiet save for the beep of Gram’s heart monitor.

  Then, my mother blurts out, “Dear God, Ma, I didn’t even know you were dating.”

  “For ten years. Since your father died,” Gram says softly.

  “You mean I could have been happy for you for ten years and you didn’t tell me?” Mom wails. “Honestly, Ma!”

  “Mike, for God’s sake, be happy for her now,” my father says. “Look at her. Her head was cracked open like a coconut and she can’t stop smiling. This is a good thing.”

  “Let her answer,” I interrupt. I hold my breath. A yes from Gram means the life I cherish will be over. I’ll lose her to Dominic, the hills of Arezzo, and the isle of Capri faster than I can say Gianluca. But the truth is, I love her so much, I want her happiness more than my own. I cross my fingers for a yes.

  “Yes, Dominic, I will marry you,” Gram says to him. Dominic kisses Gram tenderly.

  My family, including my mother, sort of freeze upon hearing the word yes, as if they’re watching a pot of oil pretzels explode on the stove. It’s up to me to soften the shock of it all. After all, I knew.

  “Congratulations!” I go to her and put my arms around Gram, careful to avoid the IVs in her arm. “I’m so happy for you.” Tears fill my eyes, but I am truly filled with joy for my brave Gram who is showing me, even in this moment, how to take a risk, how to live.

  I feel my sisters and brother gather around me.

  Jaclyn begins to cry. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend either! I wish everyone would stop protecting me. I can handle it.”

  Mom mouths postpartum to Gianluca as she takes Jaclyn in her arms. Tess embraces Alfred as Dad reaches
out to Dominic to shake his hand. Dominic leaps to his feet and embraces Dad instead.

  “Pop?” Dad says to Dominic, then looks at us and shrugs. “Everybody say hello to…Pop.” My sisters and I laugh. Soon, everyone is laughing. The whole family.

  I believe it’s fair to say that when things fall apart in my life, they do so in every way, so fate is assured that I have learned my lesson. There is only one place I could go to collect my thoughts and make sense of what Gram’s new life will mean for all of us, and I’m here, high above the fray, on our roof.

  I slipped out of the hospital, leaving Gram to celebrate her engagement with the family. I walked Roman out, who had to return to the restaurant, but was honored that he was present for Dominic’s proposal. He kissed me on the street, inspired by the love he’d seen in room 317.

  There’s a traffic jam on the West Side Highway, a clutter of cars at the intersection, flashing lights, horns, some barely audible angry shouts, and instead of wishing the city noise would be quelled, I wish there was more to drown out the thoughts in my head.

  The sight of my newly betrothed Gram in her hospital bed signaled the end of an era. Forget the fact that I’m now the only unmarried woman in my family, it appears I’m also the only sensible one, who knows what all this change means, for now and for the future. Here’s the truth of it all. Gram will marry and go. My sisters will raise their families. My mother will make certain that my father eats soy cheese on whole-wheat pasta because that’s her guarantee that he will live and avoid a recurrence of his prostate cancer. My brother, as soon as the champagne toast is cheered at Gram’s wedding, will put a for sale sign on 166 Perry Street, leaving the Angelini Shoe Company, and me, homeless. It would appear all will be well for everyone in my family, except of course, for me.

  The sun sets deep into the haze over New Jersey, making a lilac stripe on the horizon. The wind snaps the roof door behind me. I don’t turn to see that it’s just the wind, rather, I keep my eyes on the Hudson River that has the smooth swirls and purple hues of carnival glass as the sun sets.