Questions I Want to Ask You

by Michelle Falkoff

  “Strozzapreti,” Nonna says.

  “Priest chokers,” Poppa translates. “A little irreverence never killed anyone.” He winks at me, and I’m relieved to know his reserved exterior hides a sense of humor.

  I pile my plate with vegetables and chicken and am about to dig in when I see that everyone else has bowed their heads. Nonna clasps her hands together and begins to speak. “Bless us, Lord, for these gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. And thank you for bringing our Patrick home to us. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

  “Amen,” everyone replies.

  I’m not used to saying grace, so I end up mumbling “Amen” a little late, but no one seems to notice. I’m all set to attack the food when the questions start.

  Nonna’s first. “So, Patrick, tell us about you. You’ve just graduated high school, yes? Are you going to college?”

  I hate that all conversations post-graduation start here. “No college,” I say. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet.” I tell them about the gym and the police academy, but Nonna’s not impressed.

  “Business,” Poppa says. “You should think about starting a business, like we did.”

  Nonna tells me about the specialty foods store in downtown New Haven they opened when they first moved here. She doesn’t say it was after my mother went to prison, but I’ve gotten a sense of the time line from Aunt Reggie. “We had a slow start, but we always had things to eat.”

  Aunt Reggie laughs. “We’d come here for dinner back in those days and they’d serve candied fruit and Nutella on toast. I worked there for a while, before I started at the bank. You can only imagine how much fun it was to have your parents as your bosses.”

  “You could work at the store with us, if you wanted to,” Nonna says. “You could stay here. There’s a room in the back. We could make it a bedroom.”

  “Pack’s already got a job,” Aunt Reggie says. “And, I suspect, plenty of people pressuring him about his future.” Thank god she’s quicker than I am.

  “We’ll make it a bedroom anyway,” Nonna says. “So you can visit. This won’t be a one-time visit, now, will it?” The way she says it sounds more like instructions than a request, but in a good way.

  “I’d love to come back.” I don’t want to sound awkward or anything, but it feels like I have to say more. “I’m just—I’m really glad I got to meet you all. I had no idea—” It’s hard to put into words.

  Aunt Reggie and Nonna exchange glances. They’re having one of those silent conversations, but I don’t know Nonna well enough to understand it. “Patrick,” Nonna says, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions about your mother and why we’ve all been out of your life until now. I know Regina told you some of the story, but I want to emphasize that this was not our choice. Your mother told us to stay away, and when we didn’t listen, your father took legal action. We’ve had a lot of time to think about why he did that, and while Regina says she understands, your grandfather and I are less convinced. But we respect the law, so we stayed away, and we respected Regina’s decision to keep this secret from the children.” She looks at Matt and Mia, then turns back to me. “You should know, though, that not a day has gone by that we haven’t thought of you. We dreamed of this moment, and we’re thankful to your mother for writing the letter that led you here.”

  No wonder she does most of the talking. She speaks in whole paragraphs, as if she’s practiced. Her short version of the story is the same as Aunt Reggie’s, too, so maybe that’s all there is. Maybe my mother’s just a bad person who deserved to be cut off from this family. Maybe the letter was just a way to get me here, to people who love me, even if they haven’t seen me since I was a toddler.

  Nonna doesn’t wait for me to say anything else; she and Aunt Reggie get up and start clearing plates, and then they bring in dessert. There’s a big plate of cookies, and pastries from a local bakery—I’m glad to know Nonna doesn’t do everything by hand—but there’s also a big bowl of fruit. Everyone talks about how full they are but takes handfuls of cookies and big pastries with lots of little ruffly layers. I take an orange and peel it slowly.

  I offer to help wash dishes when we’re done—I don’t want Nonna and Poppa thinking Dad didn’t raise me right, especially since they apparently hate him for keeping them away from me—but they say no. They won’t even let Aunt Reggie help, though it’s clear she’s expected to ask. The night has gone by so fast I can barely believe it’s over, though my phone says it’s after ten and I’m getting really tired.

  “Thank you so much for dinner,” I say to Nonna.

  She pulls me away from everyone else, back into the kitchen while they’re all in the foyer. Her hands clasp my cheeks again, and she pulls me in close. “I can’t talk about it in front of the others, but someday there will be things I can tell you. For now, try this address.” She takes her hands away from my face, reaches into the pocket of her suit jacket, and removes a slip of paper. “I don’t know for sure. But it’s worth trying. It’s not so far. Go as soon as you can, but tell me what you find, yes?”

  I nod, too shocked to say anything in response.

  Is this what I think it is? Does Nonna have my mother’s address?

  17

  Nonna gave me more than an address, though there is one written there—it’s in New York. Brooklyn, specifically, a place I’ve obviously never been, given that I’ve barely made it out of Brooksby. But there’s also a name: Jennifer Shea. Unfortunately, there’s no phone number. Nonna made it clear she intended me to go, so maybe that’s why she left off the one piece of information that might make it easier for me to decide whether I should.

  I’m tempted to start researching the minute I get back to the house, but dinner has wiped me out and I fall asleep on top of the covers. It’s not until the next morning that I’m able to sit down and dig into some research; I wait until Matt’s left to drive Mia to camp so I can be alone.

  The first thing I do is plug the address into Google Maps, to see how long a trip it is. It looks like it’s about an hour and a half without traffic, so I’ve probably already blown it in terms of going into the city today, but maybe if I leave early tomorrow morning it won’t be too bad. It’s better than trying to make the trip from Brooksby, and I have no intention of waiting, even if that means using up my last free weekend before work starts.

  Next, I research Jennifer Shea. She has a Facebook page, but it’s pretty locked down, and I can’t see much except some of her basic history—she grew up in New York, and she went to Holy Cross for college. Maybe that’s how she knows my mother.

  I don’t know whether Nonna’s trying to tell me I’ll find my mother there, or if she wants me to meet this Jennifer Shea person and get information, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s the only lead I have, so I have to make the trip.

  I’m not sure how to explain what I’m doing to the family, though. I don’t want to sell Nonna out and get Aunt Reggie all mad at her; I’m also kind of terrified at the thought of randomly driving to New York and showing up at yet another stranger’s house. I decide it’s time for me to trust someone, so after dinner I drag Matt into the guest room with me.

  “I need a little help,” I tell him. “I have to go to New York tomorrow. Brooklyn. I’ll come back tomorrow night. I need you to cover for me, though.”

  “Brooklyn? Why? There’s way more to do in Manhattan.”

  “You’ve been there before?” I feel stupid saying it, but it makes sense—New York isn’t all that far from New Haven, and just because most people I know live twenty minutes from Boston but almost never go there (myself included) doesn’t mean the same is true here.

  “My friends and I go into the city whenever we can,” he says. “They’ve got some underage clubs that are fun. And we go to the Bronx and watch the Yankees. Don’t hate, Red Sox fan.”

  I laugh. “Sometimes I wonder how we can even be related, you supporting the evil empire and all.”

  “You sound like my mo
m. You Red Sox fans act like your team isn’t second in line for that title. The days of the lovable losers are long over, cuz.”

  I like that he already has a nickname for me. Even if he’s completely and totally wrong about baseball. “How long do you think it will take me to get there if I drive? I checked Google Maps today but it’s so hard to know about traffic and all that.”

  “Depends what time you’re leaving. Driving’s not the best idea, though—you’ll hit a ton of traffic. Better to take the train. It’s way faster, even if you don’t get the express. You can take the subway from the train station to get to Brooklyn. What’s there, anyway?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure,” I admit. “Can you keep a secret?”

  He holds up three fingers in a gesture I haven’t seen before. “Scout’s honor, yo.” He must see the surprise on my face. “What? I was totally a Boy Scout. For about a minute. But seriously, you can tell me whatever. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

  His face is so earnest I have no choice but to believe him. Or maybe I just want to so badly it doesn’t matter. “I’ve got a lead on my mother. I need to try and find her.”

  Matt sits on the edge of the bed. “Whoa. That’s a big deal.”

  “No kidding. You really think the train and subway are the way to go?” I hate to admit how intimidated I am, but there’s no getting around it. I’ve been on the T a few times—like Matt, mostly to get to Fenway for some baseball games—but even that was kind of overwhelming, and I was always with Dad.

  “Definitely. Driving in New York is madness. Even in Brooklyn. Isn’t Boston kind of like that? I heard the drivers there are insane.”

  “I’ve never driven there,” I say. “I haven’t really gone into Boston all that much.”

  “New York will be a complete freak show for you, then.” He tilts his head and looks up at the ceiling. “I could come with you. Help you navigate the trains and all that. Could be fun to watch you see it all for the first time. I mean, it’s totally okay if you want to be alone, but, you know.”

  It never occurred to me to ask, but as soon as Matt offers, I jump. “That would be incredible. It might be a total waste, but . . .”

  He gets up from the bed, all excited. “No, it will be great. We can take the whole day, do some fun stuff too, maybe.” Then he sits back down. “But we need to tell Mom. Not what you’re doing, but that we’re going. They like to do family stuff on the weekend, and I’m sure they’re planning something, with you here.”

  That makes me feel bad, but not bad enough to change my mind. “Can we say it was your idea?” I ask. “Like, you wanted to take me sightseeing or something?”

  “Sure, that’ll work. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

  We head downstairs, where my aunt and uncle are drinking decaf coffee in the kitchen before bed. “Hey, Mom, me and Pack were thinking about heading into the city tomorrow. He’s never been. I could show him around, tell him where the good pizza is. Kind of a cousin bonding trip.”

  “Pack doesn’t eat pizza,” Aunt Reggie says, but she’s smiling.

  “Fine, we’ll just stay home and eat leftovers,” Matt says. “God forbid I have a summer break before baseball starts.”

  I wish he hadn’t moved right to being annoyed—can’t he see Aunt Reggie’s kidding? Besides, I have to make this trip. I just have to. “I’ve always wanted to see the Empire State Building. Or the Statue of Liberty. I’m nervous about going by myself.”

  “Of course you should go,” Aunt Reggie says.

  “It’s a plan, then,” Matt says, sounding relieved. “We’re going to take the train, so I’ll leave the car at the station, okay?”

  “It’s your car,” Uncle Mike says. “Don’t leave anything valuable in it.”

  I almost laugh at the thought of thieves coming and stealing Matt’s collection of dirty socks that lines the backseat.

  “Be careful,” Aunt Reggie adds. “The city is a dangerous place. You never know who’s out there.”

  She’s got that right.

  I wake up at dawn again the next morning, though this time it’s more out of anxiety than habit. Today there’s a good chance I’ll learn something real about my mother; I might even meet her. I have energy to burn, so I go to the park for what’s become my usual makeshift workout, bringing my speed rope with me. Twenty minutes is enough to get a good sweat on, and it’s still quiet when I get back to the house, so I take a shower and put on the clothes I borrowed from Matt yesterday. He won’t mind, I figure, and I don’t want to look like a gym rat if my mother turns out to really be in Brooklyn.

  By the time I’m done, Matt is up and dressed, though everyone’s still asleep. He’s put on the same clothes as the day before, and we look at each other and laugh before we even say anything. “You ready to do this?” he asks.

  “I have no idea,” I say.

  He nods, and we get in his car to go to the train station. “Coffee first? There’s a place right by the station.”

  “Definitely.”

  Matt parks the car at the station parking lot and we walk over to Dunkin’ Donuts. I guess Connecticut is as orange-and-pink obsessed as Massachusetts—maybe it’s a New England thing. I order a massive black coffee and grab a couple of bananas, too—thank goodness there’s some fruit here, because otherwise Dunkin’ Donuts doesn’t have a single thing on the menu I can eat.

  Matt checks out my order as he places his, which includes a whole-milk latte, a whole-wheat bagel, and a chocolate doughnut. Why bother with whole wheat if he’s just going to eat a doughnut anyway? But he’s in better shape than me, so who am I to judge?

  “Is that all you’re getting?” he asks.

  “Yeah, fast food places aren’t really my thing.” We walk back over to the train station and go inside. I follow Matt, since I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m supposed to do when I get there. The station is big and spacious, with lots of windows to buy tickets. He leads me to the counter and we get two tickets to Grand Central Station. The tickets are super cheap, which means I can use cash without bankrupting myself; I don’t want to have to use Dad’s emergency card and clue him in that I’m not in Maine.

  The train’s waiting, though it’s not scheduled to leave for fifteen minutes. We get on and look for two seats together—it’s already pretty crowded, since it’s Saturday and lots of people are going into the city for the weekend. We find two seats next to each other but facing in the opposite direction the train will travel, which Matt says will be more fun than sitting the regular way. “So I have a question,” he says. “Do you not eat pizza at all, or was it just that the clams weirded you out? You didn’t eat Nonna’s pasta, either—do you not eat carbs at all?”

  “Nope,” I say. “I follow the Paleo diet.” I explain to him what it is—basically meat, vegetables, fruits, nuts, plants, and seeds. No sugar.

  “Wait, you don’t eat sugar either?”

  Just then the train starts with a lurch and begins chugging its way out of the station. It’s strange sitting as if we’re going backward, but Matt was right—it’s easier to see what’s behind us, and I discover I like that better than straining to see what’s ahead.

  “It’s not that hard,” I tell him. “Not once you get out of the habit. It just means almost no processed stuff—corn syrup is in everything. It’s crazy.”

  He seems interested, so we spend at least the first half hour of the train ride talking about it—how it works, why I decided to do it in the first place.

  “It’s hard to picture you as a fat kid,” Matt says.

  Mia’s not the only blunt Lombardi. “It’s funny you say that—sometimes I dream that I’m still how I was in middle school and I wake up relieved. It wasn’t even so much about being fat, even though that’s what I thought it was back then; it was more that I was unhappy, like I was at war with my body. It’s not like I’m a skinny guy now, but I feel like my body and I get along. I just worry sometimes that it would be easy to let it all go.
”

  “So you’re like one hundred percent strict? All the time?” I can’t tell whether he doesn’t believe me or whether he just finds the concept itself unbelievable.

  “I am now. At first I made exceptions—cake on my birthday, chocolate at Easter, that sort of thing. But every time I ate something off plan I either felt sick or I wanted to keep doing it, especially when I ate sugar. The craving comes back so fast, and I’m just grateful to have it gone.”

  “Does it work that way with everything, though? Like if you drank a glass of milk you’d suddenly eat all the cheese?”

  I think about it. “I’ve never reacted that way with anything but sugar. But it’s also never seemed worth it to change what’s working.”

  Matt doesn’t say anything for a while. I look out the window as we whiz through the Connecticut suburbs. They look a lot like the Massachusetts suburbs, and the fact that they’re similar makes it less scary that I’m getting farther and farther from home with every mile we travel.

  I thought maybe Matt was done talking, but all of a sudden he starts up again. “I get what you’re saying, and I know what you’re doing is super healthy and all. But don’t you find it kind of depressing? Missing out on so much?”

  “Depressing?” That’s surprising. Almost shocking. “I’ve never thought about it that way. It’s been hard, sure, but I don’t feel like I’m missing out.” I’m proud of myself for what I’ve accomplished, the changes I’ve made to my body, the control I’ve exercised over my cravings, even if I hadn’t thought about it in those terms before. “Going Paleo feels more like winning something than losing it, for me,” I tell him.