Never Truth

7

“Yeah, it’ll be a nice little visit,” I said with a forced smile. “Is Alessia still here?” “No,” she groused. “She left earlier today, even though I wasn’t happy about it. She insisted on going back to her apartment. She’ll be here for Sunday dinner, but I may have to drop in sooner to check on her.” “Oh! That was quick. I had hoped I’d get to see her while she was home.” “It would have been wonderful to have both of you under one roof. I think more than anything it’s boy trouble that’s bothering her. Maybe you could call her. It might help to talk to her sister.” “Yeah, I’ll definitely give her a call in a bit.” “Good. Now, while I have you here, I was just going over this seating chart for the graduation party and want you to have a look.” She took my hand and pulled me toward the kitchen. “I can look at it, but you know I don’t care where people sit.” She knew very well that not only did I not care where people sat, I had no desire to have a party at all. This was her event, and I had little to do with it. However, I hadn’t refused her request to throw a party, so it was my own fault that I had to deal with her incessant planning. She lived for these things, and I hated to take that from her. My mom wasn’t a bad woman; in fact, there were a lot of qualities about her that I respected. She was more apt than anyone in the family to call things as she saw them. I’d learned some colorful language from my mother over the years. One time, she cussed out a cop so thoroughly the man had blushed. Mom was an only child in an Italian family, which is a rarity. I got the feeling she was lonely growing up, and family gatherings were her favorite social outlet. As soon as she was old enough to host, parties became her chosen pastime. She eventually spread her wings and began to use her talents for the better good by organizing charity events. It helped reduce the number of family affairs, so we were all supportive of her endeavors. The woman came alive at the thought of hosting an event, so aside from a few grumblings under my breath, I hadn’t fought her over the party. One hundred and fifty of our closest friends and family would be joining us to celebrate my graduation. I was dreading every minute of it. “Look here. I got Vica moved with her guest over to the Watters’ table,” she explained as she handed me a chart of tables covered with tiny scribbled names. “They own that little bar down in SoHo—the Black Horse or the Purple Pig—something like that. I hear they’re swingers, so it should be fine to put Vica with them. You never know what that woman’s gonna say, and I’d rather not worry about her sitting with anybody important.” I only half listened to her prattle on as my eyes flitted from one table to the next, hardly registering the names until one particular name grabbed my attention. “Ma, why is Nico’s name on here?” I glared at her incredulously, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.” “Ma,” I ground out, still waiting for an explanation. “You were friends for a long time.” She shrugged, suddenly taking the paper from my hands. “This party is for you; I wanted to have your friends there.” Her tone was overly innocent as she tried to gift wrap what was clearly an overstep of her bounds. “We haven’t been friends for years—you know that.” I was furious with her and barely able to contain my anger. Seeing his name had instantly conjured images of his face, contorted with disgust and contempt from the last time we spoke. I had assumed it was a phase or some kind of misunderstanding—that he would get over whatever had upset him—and things would go back to normal. That was seven years ago. Nothing was ever the same after that day. Mom looked over at me with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, baby girl. You know I didn’t mean to upset you.” I released a long, resigned sigh, my anger quickly dissipating at her remorse. “I know, Mom. I’m sure it’ll be fine. He probably won’t even show up.” It was the truth. I hadn’t run into him in seven years, so what were the chances he would actually show up to a party in my honor? Mom gave a tight smile that looked suspiciously like guilt, but before I could question her, she changed the subject. “Let’s go dress shopping, just you and me. I have time tomorrow, and we haven’t done something together in so long. We can shop and have lunch. We’ll find you something perfect to wear to your party!” Oh, hell. My mother’s idea of the perfect dress was something akin to what Cinderella wore to the ball. My sense of style and hers did not mesh, but she was so excited, I couldn’t find the words to refuse. “Yeah, we can do that.” “Wonderful! And I opened the sunroom and started to set up your old studio so you can paint while you’re here.” She paused, and her eyes took on a weary sadness. “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss having your paint all over the house.” I was her youngest—the baby of the family—and she experienced a deep sense of loss when she became an empty nester. That first year I was at Columbia, she hosted a dozen parties to keep herself busy. Since then, she had settled into the next phase of her life and was satisfied so long as we all showed up for weekly dinners. “That’s sweet, Mom. Thanks.” I walked to her outstretched arms, and she wrapped me in a warm hug. “We’re glad you’re home, even if it is just for a few weeks. How about you get settled in and let me know if there’s anything I’ve forgotten, okay?” “Yeah, sounds good.” I kissed her cheek and headed for the stairs. My sisters and I had our bedrooms on the second floor along with a fourth room that had been our older brother’s. That door always remained shut, which had probably made it harder to forget than if my parents had simply emptied the room and dedicated it to another purpose. Instead, it was a constant memorial to what we’d all lost.