My stomach growled. I reached inside my desk drawer and nibbled on a Kind bar. Better get it over with. I dialed my mom’s number.
“Hi, Mom. Everything okay?”
“You never called me back.” Her voice held a slight sting designed to instill guilt. It worked. “You weren’t at Allegra’s track meet.”
Shit.
My daughter’s schedule was as jam-packed as mine, with tennis matches and races across the county. I’d missed the last few and swore I’d be there for the invitational. Her time was stellar and she had a good chance at getting a scholarship for both her running and her grades. This meet had been key. “I’m sorry,” I said with a sigh. “We had a crisis here at work, and I literally just got to my office. Why didn’t she call or text me?”
“Because she wanted you to remember on your own.”
The whiplash of guilt stung deeper. Another test I’d failed. How could I be a rock star at my job and such a loser at home? “What was her time?”
“I forgot but I wrote it down for you. She beat her record in the eight hundred and got a medal for first in the fifteen hundred.”
Pride flashed through me. “That’s amazing. Is she there with you?”
“No, she went home on her own. But I wanted to invite you both to dinner this week. Allegra wants to try out a new dish and we’ve had no family time together. How about Wednesday?”
I closed my eyes, resenting the requests she threw at me. She had nothing on her schedule and assumed I should jump at any invitation. “I can’t, Mom. I’ve got a hell of a week coming up with this new campaign, and I need to work late.”
An impatient sigh huffed over the line. My nerves prickled with annoyance. “Again? This is a difficult year for Allegra, and she needs you home, at least for dinner. Plus, I can’t freeze the grass-fed beef since it’s been in the refrigerator and I got it specifically for you. It’s expensive.”
“Then make it for yourself, Mom. It has less hormones so it’s better for your health.”
Mom snorted. “I’m too old to care what I eat anymore. Why can’t you come home and eat like a normal person, then go back to the office? At least we’ll have some time with you.”
I ground my teeth, remembered my last dentist appointment, and tried to relax my jaw. My mother had spent her entire life catering to Dad and me, creating domestic chores like a lifeline. And though she always said aloud that she was proud of my success, deep down I wondered. Instead of trying to support me through my struggles as a single mother, she turned to her skills as a master guilt-trip artist and exposed all my own crippling doubts. Did she resent my choice to become a career woman? To raise Allegra without a father figure? Or did she wonder what type of life she would’ve had if she’d embraced more than the four walls of her home?
I’d never know. We rarely got into deep conversations. It was easier to stick to mundane topics and trick ourselves into believing we had a connection—the sacred mother-daughter bond that movies love to exploit in sickening, shallow sweetness. I preferred the truth, even though it sometimes tasted bitter.
“I just can’t. I have endless things to do and little time.”
“One day you may find there’s no time left, Francesca. And that you gave work more power over you than it should have.”
It always came back to this—I’d never win, no matter what I did or how hard I tried. We viewed the world differently, and she had no interest in trying to understand me. For too many years, I had longed for an acceptance that never came, until I swore I’d stop looking for her approval. The hurt that sprouted from my mother’s words was more humiliating than anything.
And still I couldn’t stop leaping to my own defense. “I’m sorry if I own and run a profitable, successful company and can’t get home for dinner. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to your high standards.”
“Stop using that tone and putting words in my mouth!”
Oh God, we were going to fight again. And it would take up too much energy and precious time. I drew in a deep breath and focused on keeping calm. “Do you want me to text Allegra and see if she can join you for dinner? I was going to tell her she can invite friends over and order pizza, but maybe she’d like to visit.”
I tried to ignore the disappointment in her tone, reminding myself she didn’t have a million balls in the air to juggle other than dinner. “I’ll text her. You’re busy.”
I managed to hold my tongue. “Thanks.”
“What about Sunday? Surely you have a few hours to be with us on the Lord’s day. There’s something I need to discuss with you and it’s important.”
I hadn’t been to church since I was fourteen, when I finally declared my independence and refused to go anymore. “Fine, I’ll come Sunday.”
“Good. Make sure you congratulate Allegra when you see her. She worked hard for that trophy.”
The direct hit caused me to wince. She acted like I didn’t know how to treat my own daughter. “Of course.”
We said goodbye and hung up.
I sagged over my desk. Tension knotted my stomach and squeezed my lungs, compressing my breath. No, I would not allow this to happen again. The last attack must have been a freak occurrence. Too much stress, too little sleep, too many cups of coffee. I had a thousand excuses for the crippling anxiety that had washed through my body last week and driven me to my knees, fighting for breath. Thank God it had happened when I was alone in my office, where it would remain a secret. But even now, just the thought of another breakdown clenched my muscles in fear.
I closed my eyes, fighting to slow my rapid heartbeat. For a few frantic moments I couldn’t breathe, and I tried not to lose it, but then the air hit my lungs and I gulped it down gratefully.
What was happening to me lately? I’d always thrived in stressful situations, but maybe the Lexi’s Lemonade account was bothering me more than I thought. Maybe after I put in the necessary hours and secured the campaign, I’d stop having these ridiculous attacks.
Yes, I’d just control it for now. Lately my nights were spent staring up at the ceiling and worrying. My body had begun to rebel, and I had no time for it. Next month, I’d see a doctor and get fixed up. It would all be fine.
I grabbed a bottle of water and took a few sips while my mother’s words still churned in my brain. She’d be the first one to crow I told you so if she knew about my anxiety attacks and would probably cite my refusal to spend time on my health and appearance as the cause instead of old-fashioned work.
Even at seventy-five, my mother was beautiful, with firm, smooth skin in a gorgeous olive color; thick hair that had once been coal black but had turned to gray; and a trim, lean build that never seemed to thicken, even with her advanced years. She took pride in her appearance and was always tugging at my hair or begging me to wear makeup.
I’d inherited none of my mother’s fine traits. My hair was pin straight and limp, so I’d begun wearing it short, with a shaggy, fashionable cut. Even my attempts at highlighting failed at coaxing the dirty-blond strands to sparkle, but I invested in a top-notch stylist so at least the color had some range. My eyes were plain brown. Not brown with gold specks, or an inky depth to give them more mystery. Just mud brown.
Mostly, I didn’t care. I realized early on that not having my mother’s beauty was an advantage. I had good skin and bone structure, thank God, enough to achieve a passable pretty. Since I was average height and weight, not too curvy or too skinny, I was able to dress in a wide variety of ways depending on the person I chose to reflect. I wasn’t beautiful enough to cause men concern or women jealousy, and not unattractive enough to feel awkward. I built on my advantages young, learning what to accent and what to tone down, from my wardrobe to my speech, until I’d perfected the look of a female executive going places. Marriage had never been on my radar, not when meaningful, exciting work, money, and travel were at stake.
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sp; Dad would have understood. Would have cheered from the sidelines to see his only daughter reach the pinnacle of success in this cutthroat business. He’d always been driven to succeed like me and spent most of his hours building his own business. Dad moved from general construction to building homes, until he’d created a small team and cultivated a stellar reputation. He used to tell me to stay on budget and stay on time and clients would pour in.
Mom consistently complained about Dad’s absence and long work hours, but she was the only one who didn’t understand. I knew he wanted to give me better opportunities. He introduced me to a glimpse of a world with no borders if I was smart enough and driven enough to leap for it. He used to tell me I was just like him—born with stars in my eyes and wandering feet, always looking for more. He never tried to curb my dreams or make me feel like I wanted too much. He understood.
God, I missed him. His death was a bitter loss I still lingered on, especially late at night when there was no one there to soothe the doubts. The heart attack had taken him hard and fast, but the worst of the grief was the knowledge that he’d never been able to hold his granddaughter. He would’ve doted on Allegra.
The thought made me reach for my phone to call my daughter.
When she didn’t answer, I knew she was mad at me.
I’d broken another promise.
The familiar guilt slammed through me, but I took the punch like a seasoned boxer, already comfortable with the thousands of ways I’d failed at being a mother. It was so much easier when she was a baby. Sure, the lack of sleep and endless exhaustion sucked, but coming home to her precious giggles and obvious adoration made up for all of it. I was able to give her what she needed most of the time. A bottle. A blanket. Changing her diaper. Playing. Food. It was like a checklist to follow that guaranteed a high degree of success and boundless love.
Now?
I couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t looked at me with utter naked resentment. As if I’d personally done everything I could to ruin her life. No matter what I tried—discipline, being her friend, ignoring her dark moods, offering advice—it was all wrong. And not just a little. Every day my failure was evident in her venom-dripping voice or the cold judgment in her big brown eyes, which had once offered reverence.
She’d always been extremely close with my mother and liked to visit or cook dinner over there. Maybe some extra time with my mother was good for Allegra, especially since I’d been working so much lately. Allegra wouldn’t be pressured or pushed or grilled—my mother didn’t believe in that. At least, not for her granddaughter. She loved to fuss and spoil and pamper, and Allegra adored every moment.
I had to stop worrying about everything so much. I was in a good place, and it had happened under my own drive, discipline, and hard work. Allegra would eventually see all my successes and be proud when she got older. Looking back, she’d finally realize she had more opportunities to make a difference in the world because I pushed both of us.
I refused to have regrets about my choices.
And I refused to fail.
CHAPTER TWO
Allegra
I stood outside Riverview Academy High School next to my two closest friends, Bonnie and Claire. Dressed in our ridiculous uniform of short skirts and blouses, I savored the fresh air before we had to go back inside for the next period. I only had one break in the late morning.
“Are we meeting at the party after the track meet Friday night?” Bonnie asked, reapplying her red lipstick as she checked her reflection in the tiny mirror. “ ’Cause new guy is gonna be there and he’s H-O-T.”
Claire flicked her perfect blond hair behind her shoulder. “He’s not that hot,” she declared. “He’s definitely no athlete. Maybe he’d be better off with Allegra. She’s always liked the brainiacs.”
“He was already talking to Debbie the slut,” Bonnie said. “You know how she likes to do the new ones before anyone else gets their pick.”
“Allegra is much prettier and has class,” Claire pointed out. “You should make a move. Guys adore it when girls ask them out.”
“You’ve never asked a guy out,” Bonnie squealed.
Claire rolled her eyes. “I’m waiting for the right one. Hey, did you check out the new Gucci dress that just got released from the runway? I already asked my mom to get it for prom.”
“You didn’t! Bitch—my mother never lets me wear what I want. Your and Allegra’s moms are the coolest. I’ll get stuck with last year’s Vera Wang. What are you wearing, Allegra?”
I was already bored out of my mind with the conversation. Once again, I had the strange feeling of being outside my body, not meant to be trapped in a tiny, rich town. But as usual, I cranked to autopilot and answered. “Not sure. I’ll figure it out later.”
“Well, don’t wait too long or Claire will buy all the good stuff. Hey, who’s that?”
I watched as the faded black Dodge sports car pulled up to the school and idled right in front of us. A girl with shocking-pink hair and a nose ring stuck her head out the window. She flicked a gaze over all the pretentious outfits and brown loafers and long wavy hair because God forbid any girl wears a short cut.
Oh my God. I knew her. It was Freda.
I’d met her at the party I’d begged my friends to crash a week ago. It’d been a mix of people from various high schools and usually not our scene, but I was dying to do something different. I loved her pink hair, ripped jeans, and cool shoulder tat of a bleeding rose. I figured she’d be a bitch, but we’d actually talked for a while. She introduced me to David and Connor, her two friends, and they seemed really cool. They went to the public high school a few blocks away from Riverview. We got into some good conversations before my friends came looking for me, demanding we leave because of the trashy crowd. I’d apologized but figured they were done with me after such a crappy comment.
“Hey,” she greeted me, ignoring my friends. “Whatcha doing?”
Bonnie and Claire stared in shocked silence. For the first time in a while, excitement pumped through my veins. “Waiting to go back inside.”
“We’re bouncing for the rest of the day. Wanna come?”
I looked at her as she waited for my answer. Connor leaned over from the driver’s seat and motioned me in with a grin. “Come on, rich girl. Come play with us.”
I didn’t take offense. Ignoring Bonnie’s gasp, I hitched my backpack tighter over my shoulder and made my decision. “I’m going to go with them. Cover me. If anyone asks, I went home with a stomachache.”
Claire’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed. “You can’t go with them. You’ll get raped or kidnapped or something. They’re scum!”
Coldness trickled down my spine. I’d known Claire for years now, grew up with her, and liked her a bit less every day that passed. She’d always been the leader of the school, and everyone was jealous of my place beside her. But underneath, I knew Claire was plain mean. “I’ll be fine. Call you later.”
“Allegra!”
The car door opened and I jumped in the back seat. Connor gave a loud whoop and pulled out of the lot, leaving my friends gaping at the curb. A thrill raced through me as I leaned back and looked at David, the third in the crew. “Hey,” I greeted him.
“Hey,” he said back.
We settled into silence as the Foo Fighters blared and everyone lit up cigarettes.
With their piercings and tats, they didn’t fit in with any of my current friends. I bet they weren’t in track or tennis or swimming, or anything else that stunk of conformity. I needed that today. Sure, I was probably being reckless going off with people I didn’t know. They might sleep around and do drugs and not care about grades or planning for the future. But, hell, they were real. And I wanted that so bad, I was starting not to care about the consequences.
“Want one?” Freda asked, tapping out a Marlboro Light.
>
All I could think of was those horrible TV commercials showing people with one lung or cutout vocal cords because of smoking. My mother’s droning voice kept replaying in my head in a mantra of nonsense words like stupid, cancer, and ruin your life. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed it all to the side.
“Sure.” Heart beating at a ridiculous rhythm, I took the cigarette and Freda showed me how to inhale without mocking me. After a few coughs, I finally got it. I let the smoke settle, then blew it out, not liking it too much but feeling good about doing something my mother would hate. With every puff, her voice grew dimmer.
“Where to?” Connor called out, managing to drive, text, and smoke at the same time. He had long black shaggy hair, a pointy chin, and a wardrobe of black T-shirts and jeans. He was sexy in a rough, disheveled sort of way and I couldn’t decide if I liked him or not. At first I thought he and Freda were hooking up, but now I knew they didn’t believe in boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. Thank God. I couldn’t handle any more bullshit politics on who was with who, and who was cool to hang with and who wasn’t. After Ryan Thomas, straight-A student and track star, tried to shove his hands under my skirt at Bonnie’s house, I was done with trying to be seen with the right crowd. Even worse, when I tried to tell Bonnie and Claire what he’d done, they’d actually berated me for not wanting him, taunting me with my virgin card. Like I’d ever give it up to an asshole.
“My dad’s gone this week. We can go to my house,” David said. I studied David, taking in his messy brown hair, his dark eyes, and the scar that ran down half of his right cheek. He was the quietest one, taking things in before deciding to speak, but his body language was jerky, as if he was always nervous about what he might encounter.
We drove for a while, then pulled into a house that looked like it needed some TLC. The lot had sprung up with weeds, and the porch seemed to sag. The color was muddy brown with some shingles missing, but I already liked it better than my own house. Sometimes, I felt like I lived in a museum, with furniture I couldn’t sit on. The floors were too bare and the ceilings too high, and I was too damn lonely on a regular basis. I’d take a house well lived in anytime.
Our Italian Summer Page 2