by C. D'Angelo
I clench my jaw as heat sparks up in my chest. He said the magic word. The negative magic word, that is. I will never be “normal,” like I always have tried to be. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a tear from my eye. He’s impossible to ignore.
In the most obnoxious voice, Dylan carries on saying, “Poor little Rachel, who has the life and still complains about it. Enough already. We are all sick of your privilege.”
Now, dad chimes in, “That’s enough, Dylan. Leave your sister alone. This research means a lot to her because Grandpa meant a lot to her.”
“He always loved her more than me, so whatever.” He kicks the ottoman in anger.
The fury in me rises within a millisecond. If it were tangible, it would shoot to the top of my fiery red hair and burst through my head to the ceiling. “YOU WILL NEVER TALK ABOUT GRANDPA NEGATIVELY AGAIN.”
I let out a scream and continue, “He loved you, just like he loved me, although I don’t know why. That man didn’t have a bad bone in his body, and you have no right to assume anything about him!” The rage isn’t fading. The tears flow and my whole body shakes uncontrollably.
Dylan yells, “But isn’t that what you are doing? Aren’t you assuming he would want you to find out about his past? You heard Mom back in the spring when she said how she didn’t think he would want his history known since he never told us himself. Leave it alone and get on with your own life.”
This statement strikes me dead in my heart. To get on with my own life is something I am trying to do, but I am convinced that finding out about my role model, and other family members, is the only way to carry on with larger meaning. I feel ungrounded because of the mysteries of the past, which paves the path toward my future. To understand my roots is to understand myself. And I need to understand myself because my relationship also depends on it. There is no way around that. Ugh, look at me convincing myself about the validity of this mission. I hate that Dylan does this to me.
And what was that about how he thought Grandpa loved me more? Is that part of the reason Dylan has always had it out for me? My child therapist hat goes on and I think of him as one of my clients. Everyone was loved by my grandpa and if Dylan didn’t feel that same love I felt from him, did it affect him by feeling jealous? Maybe the jealousy is a mask for his pain.
My heart goes out to my brother for a moment. Thinking of him as a hurt child instead of a tantruming one has new meaning. He may be carrying around a boy who wanted more attention than he thought he received.
Besides this information Dylan revealed, possibly by accident, he also knows how to hit my triggers just right. I may not have been normal in my school days, but I think I blend in pretty well now as an adult. I hope.
Oh, darn it, Dylan. I don’t want to think about that part of the past. I’m in my old home, where I should feel safe. Grandpa accepted me as I was, even in my awkward years. So there, Dylan, he loved me more than you so deal with it. Now I am also an eight-year-old spitting lies. I know that would never have been true. Worse yet, I have sympathy for his perception on his experience.
“I need some air.” I go out the front door to gather myself and break my circular thinking before dinner. None of us need two bickering adults who should be able to get along after all these years.
As I sit down on the front steps, the motion detected Santa Claus belts out a “Ho, Ho, Ho” next to me, inserting a much-needed bit of humor in this moment.
Be the bigger person, Rachel. It’s a holiday, after all.
The absence of my grandparents at the dinner table always feels wrong, but today is a holiday so that fact feels more present. They were central to our celebratory gatherings. Grandpa would get out his huge wooden cutting board and slice through the crispy, yet doughy, fresh bread he baked that day. Grandma would put the grated cheese, butter, crushed red pepper, hot peppers, and a carafe of red table wine in the middle of the table on a Lazy Susan. We all prayed before the meal and dove into her soup.
At tonight’s dinner table, the air is strange with a silent combination of sadness, frustration, and pure tension. Brian is the one to break the ice. “This meal smells delicious, Mrs. Granza.” He makes sure to flash his wide, beautiful smile in her direction. “I am so honored you had me over again for Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, Christmas Eve,” my mom goes on to say. “Let’s remember that this is Christmas Eve. So, whatever is happening away from this table, leave away from this table. We are a family and we are going to pray, eat, and enjoy this holiday, as we always do. And Brian, you are always welcome.”
“Buon Natale,” Brian says smiling as he raises his glass.
A second of hesitancy reigns before everyone returns his sentiment. We’ve taught him well if he now wishes us Merry Christmas in Italian.
“Buon Natale,” all of us repeat while raising our glasses.
After my dad prays before the meal, he follows “Amen” with “Mangia.” Now we are officially able to eat. It’s about time. I can hardly stand the delicious smell of the food anymore without pouncing on it. And by the time we slurp through the soup course and start on our traditional Mediterranean olives and roasted red peppers with shrimp and scallops to follow, we are conversing in a usual manner, until—.
“Why don’t you just go to Italy instead of waiting here for answers and responses?” Mom spews the words out with such ease and assumption, like it’s a typical thing to travel across the ocean on a whim.
I stop mid-chew.
This is her first response after my dad told her about my genealogical roadblock? Hands down, it’s the most shocking statement from her in my life.
When the meaning of her words hit me further, oh yes from the person who tried to convince me not to go on this ancestry mission, my eyes squint, my face crinkles, and I bust out laughing. She has to be kidding with what she just said. “Oh, okay mom. I will book the next flight over there. I’ll get right on that.” I say, still laughing.
Brian breaks the trend that is transpiring and chimes in with his two cents stating, “Hmm, actually that isn’t a bad idea.”
Laughing at both of them, yet more curious, I ask, “What? How is that even possible for me to do financially? That’s why older people go there in retirement. Italy isn’t cheap.”
“Rachel, why are you fighting this idea. Haven’t you said that it is your dream to go to Italy, let alone now to go where your family is from and where you have learned so much about?” Brian says in a convincing argument.
“Great, now the princess will get to go to Europe, while I eat school cafeteria lunches.” I knew it wouldn’t be long before a comment came from Dylan.
“I’ll go just to piss you off, Dylan.” Stop it, Rachel. You are thirty-two years old, not eight; I reiterate to myself.
“Ha, ha,” he utters.
I’m sure his reaction is more than his usual Dylanness. He has to be a little resentful that I may go to our homeland. But that would mean he has a heart. Tough call.
I think the wild idea over a second longer. Maybe it does make sense to go to Italy and be able to go to the places where I need more information. But to refrain from seeing clients for therapy while I am away means no income, plus I would be spending more money while being over there. That would be challenging to finagle.
“Rach, I think you should do it. Just ‘get on with your own life,’” Dad says, smirking and looking at both my brother and me.
With his blessing in this idea, I inch even more toward a “yes.”
“We planned to give you money for Christmas this year so use it for flight money,” Mom adds.
I do have savings and a nice cushion every month anyway. My parents’ money could seal the deal. But, my stomach aches with the idea of traveling to Italy alone and over the large, dark, cold, Atlantic Ocean. The idea always scares me for some reason.
“I don’t think I could d
o this by myself. And Brian you can’t come with me, so I don’t know if I could go.” My chest tightens and my throat feels like its closing. I don’t like making large decisions, let alone this sort of decision.
“How do you know I can’t go with you? If we time it right, I am sure I could get some time off from work. And I am sure there is a down time for tourism there, so it could be affordable. We can at least search out possibilities.” Brian is endlessly reassuring and realistic. And so darn calm.
That is true. We could at least investigate it. And this really qualifies as doing something different to try to get different results. My physical issues of the moment subside as I will know pops into my head. This is better than any gift I’ll open later with my family. This is the treasure of a chance to know my grandpa like I never imagined, in his homeland.
“All right then. Let’s look into traveling to Italy.” I can’t believe what I just said.
Chapter 28
After searching for reasonable flights to Italy every day since Christmas Eve last week, it appears as though we have to fly by mid-April or after late September, or it’s entirely too pricey. I guess the school schedule and warmer weather makes it ideal to travel in the middle of that time span. I can’t imagine waiting until fall though, almost another year, to move forward with my search. No thanks. But wow, this trip is going to be a reality. We can do this.
As for hotels, staying slightly outside of the city limits looks like a possibility of more affordable prices, but I’ll see what I can find. I’m bookmarking this deal, though. If we stay a week, we will get a night free at this certain hotel. And they serve a true Italian breakfast daily. The advertised flaky croissants and foamy cappuccino are calling my name. Rachel, come eat and drink me. We want to see you soon. Don’t wait a year. We are ready for you now. I’m in, food.
My list of hotel possibilities and airline choices kept growing every night this week, as well as the food I want to try, like genuine Genoese pesto and focaccia. More choices are better for everything, I guess, but the imaginary list it getting to be so long that I have to stop myself from ogling the scrumptiousness and make a decision about flights and hotels soon. Food can wait because I’ll probably want to try everything when I’m there. That list would be endless.
“Hey,” I call out to Brian from the couch. “I need you to help me help myself over here. It’s getting out of control.”
“Coming in a sec.” I hear him washing his hands in the bathroom.
“Do you think we should go to Italy in spring or fall?”
He sits next to me and tosses a throw pillow in his way onto the ground.
Say spring, please.
“Spring.”
Whoa did he hear my thoughts?
“We will have to go in March or April because I need to travel to Seattle for work in fall and I don’t know the date yet. After that, it would get a little too cold to enjoy it there, right?”
“Yeah, and I can’t wait that long.”
“And I don’t want you to wait that long.” He smiles at me and props his feet on the coffee table.
“And I thank you for that. I also thank you for sticking with me through, you know, all this mess.” I fall onto his lap and curl up in the fetal position.
He taps my butt and says, “Rachel, there’s nowhere else I want to be.”
“Me too.” I put my arms around his waist.
He brushes my hair away from my face and stares into my eyes.
I hope we can stay on this good path beyond the holidays. He’s not perfect, because nobody is perfect, but I know our rockiness has been because of me. I got us into this mess, and I want to continue to make efforts to get us out. He means too much to me, and I mean too much to me.
“Okay!” I belt out. The decision is made. “We are going to Italy.”
My brain is frozen in both shock and excitement. I’m staring at the computer screen, searching for actual flights for our Italy trip, while Brian watches an awfully loud action movie behind me from the couch. There are no more lists of season options for flights, only choosing from my list. I’m deciding the flights we will take, whoa. This is the real deal, even though the real deal is surreal. Yes, I mean that rhyming statement. Ha.
I can’t waste another second and need to book our flights before I bust. Our—Brian and me! I’m so glad he’s coming with me. I hope Italy lives up to how it looks online; like a movie set. A pristine, magical place. A place that can continue to help a fluttering couple finding solid ground again.
Wow, flight prices drastically decline on March 31. Why? I look at the calendar and see it’s Easter day. That’s against my logic. Maybe nobody wants to fly on an actual holiday, so the airlines drop prices? Hmm, that does make sense. But as I look at the choices of flights further, I feel a knot in my stomach, half for the thought of being able to book an actual flight to my dreamland and half for thinking of breaking the news to my parents that we won’t be having Easter dinner with them. I am an adult, needing to make the right selections for me, though. They’ll understand. We could always celebrate on another day. Eek.
“Brian?” I call out in rushed words. Harrison is curved around the chair leg at my feet, probably due to their warmth. When I speak, he cracks open his diamond eyes in a groggy displeasure then goes back to sleep. I bend down and give him a quick pet to ease his disturbance.
“What’s up?” Brian says while tearing himself away from the newest car chase scene.
“What do you think about us going to Italy the week of Easter? On Easter? It would work well for my job because with the kids being out of school for Easter break, I usually have appointment no shows and cancellations anyway. Also, look at how much the prices are in our favor.” I point to the rates.
He’s taking a long time to form any sort of sentence on the matter. “Wait.” He grabs his phone from the coffee table and scrolls in his calendar app. “When is Easter?”
“March 31.”
“That would work for me, but leaving on Easter day, though? With your family and all?” He sucks his lips inward and raises his eyebrows.
Sweet Brian knows my family by now. The implications of missing a major holiday are numerous. The guilt given by my mom then part of my conscience for eternity is enough, let alone that I may hurt my parents’ feelings, even though it’s not personal. It’s a major Italian faux pas to miss family time on a holiday and we already missed Easter last year when Brian’s extended family visited his parents, basically requiring our presence. The second year in a row where we will have to celebrate Easter on another day probably won’t bode well for the Granza parents, but it may have to be the way life goes again, unfortunately.
“I…I think it would be fine. Let’s just do it. They have to understand… Right?” My mouth stretches and draws back, showing my teeth. My confidence in my family’s acceptance of us not being together on Easter again is shaky, but I know in my heart they will recognize the circumstances and want this trip for me more than having one dinner with them.
“Yeah, I think so. Okay, one week in Italy it is,” he says while lifting me off the ground and spinning.
The synchronicity feels reliving, as our hearts beat together as one in this moment, through his tight hug.
He stays for the official “click” of the purchase and we smile at each other.
“The flights are bought.”
I look at the screen, my finger in mid-air an inch above the mouse for a few more seconds while I grip the sides tightly. If I had a mirror to see myself, I think I would see my eyes open as wide as possible. It is done. We are really going to Italy.
Chapter 29
It doesn’t take long for panic to set in for me. Approximately ten minutes to be exact. That must be the amount of time it takes for the adrenaline to leave. Is that a scientific fact?
Anyway, after I text Maggie and make sure to tell my
parents the news another day, racing thoughts blindside me. So. Many. Racing. Thoughts.
I have never flown overseas. I’ve never flown somewhere so far from home. Oh no. My breathing is getting shorter. My heart is palpitating. How do people get around there? Is there a subway? Do they have cabs? What do people wear? How cold will it be? Do they speak any English there at all? The questions are endless.
“Rachel, what’s going on?” Brian comes over again and rubs my back. Sitting with my legs on the chair and hugging my knees must be giving away my current state.
“I just got scared, no, terrified, about how much more planning needs to be done. We are going to another country! Not just New Jersey. And I don’t have that much time left.”
“Well, sometimes New Jersey does feel like another country,” he jokes, but must realize the intensity of my feelings because his effort at humor and his smile fades. He puts his arm around me. “We have plenty of time. Don’t worry. It’s months away and I’ll help you out with any planning you need.”
I get up and pace back and forth. “Thank you. I know that. It’s just that we will need to know so much to get around there. And I must be prepared with all of my questions and research in order to find out more about my ancestry. I have to find out more and in fact, I have to find out everything!” My words almost jumble together as the speed of my speech increases and the tone in my voice rises.
Brian catches my eyeline and grips my arms to stop me from pacing. “Breathe. Please just take a breath. It is going to be fine. I promise. You aren’t going alone, remember? I will be there to help you navigate. Whatever we need to do ahead of time, we will. It’s okay.” He holds my gaze until I take a couple deep breaths, then drops his hands and steps back.
“I won’t be alone. That is true.” My breathing steadies and my heart rate slows. I am not alone in this. The thought is sinking in for the first time. I feel like I’ve been doing all of this solo, but I haven’t. Brian has been with me the entire time, supporting me and being there for my ups and downs. Tears start coming to my eyes but with joy this time. “I’m so glad you are going with me.”