The Star-Crossed Sisters of Tuscany(9)

I grin. Though it’s been years since she told me herself, my big sis is proud of me.

Ten minutes later, I place the last wineglass in the cupboard and fold the dish towel over the oven door handle. After surveying the spotless kitchen one last time, I grab my cake plate and turn out the kitchen light.

“I’m leaving,” I call down the hall.

Daria steps from her bedroom, already changed into her baby blue nightshirt. Memories rush in. My big sister in her pj’s, sitting cross-legged on the bed, polishing my nails. The two of us in matching nightgowns, singing into our hairbrushes to the Spice Girls’ “Wannabe.” Her hand rubbing circles on my back after I’d had a nightmare.

“Thanks, Emmie,” she says.

“And thank you. I heard what you said to your friend, the one who didn’t think I could handle nonfiction.”

She shrugs. “I’d say anything to shut Lauren down. That woman can be such a bitch.”

“Oh. Still, thanks.” An awkward silence settles. I hitch up my glasses. “Mimi’s cupcakes are on the counter.”

“Great.” She moves down the hallway, stopping an arm’s length from me.

“How was the book discussion?”

She looks away. “Fine. Boring. You didn’t miss a thing.”

“Really? Sounded like you guys were having fun.”

She sighs. “I’m sorry, Emmie. I didn’t realize Natalie’s homework would take so much time.”

What happened to us? I want to ask. My heart pummels against my rib cage. I muster all my courage and blurt out, “What did I do wrong, Dar?”

She crosses her arms and shifts uncomfortably before letting out a nervous chortle. “You should have let her use a calculator. I don’t care what the instructions say, it saves hours.”

She’s deflecting, as she always does, and we both know it. I drop it.

“I guess I’ll take off.”

“Okay. Be safe.”

I stare at the plate in my hand and wait, willing her to say something . . . anything. Finally I say, “You haven’t mentioned my cake, the one you asked me to make.” I hear the snark in my voice, but I can’t help myself. I’m too hurt. “How was it?”

She bats her forehead. “The pizza di crema! It was a huge hit. Nobody suspected that just an hour earlier, it was in pieces. Honest to God, Emmie, you should be a baker or something.” She tips her head back, and I’m enveloped in my sister’s rich, lilting laughter, a magical sound I once took for granted. “What would I do without you?” she says.

And just like that, all is forgiven.





Chapter 6




Emilia

I’m one block from Daria’s house and my hair’s already drenched. The winds have picked up, and the temperature has dropped a good twenty degrees since this afternoon. I trot down the street, cursing myself for not wearing a raincoat. Ahead, a man strolls toward me, nearly hidden beneath a gigantic golf umbrella. Headlights from an oncoming car illuminate his smiling face. A well of gratitude rises in me.

“MC!”

“Hey,” Matt says, shepherding me beneath his umbrella and handing me his Nike hoodie. “I know you said you would walk, but since it’s raining . . .”

I wriggle into his jacket. “Thanks.”

He lifts the hood over my head. “That hoodie’s never looked better.”

I ignore the compliment, and together, we set off walking.

“How was book club?”

“Fun,” I say, concentrating on the rain reflecting the streetlights.

“Yeah?” The air fills with silence—the pause of a lifelong friend who knows when I’m lying.

“I meant to tell you earlier,” I say, shifting the conversation. “My great-aunt Poppy invited me to Italy.”

“What? That’s awesome. You’ll finally have that adventure you’ve always wanted.”

Matt’s one of the few people who know about the travel magazines I borrow from the library and the dream board I concocted back in high school, per Oprah’s instructions, foolishly thinking mental images of far-off cities might make my dreams come true. I settle my eyes on the wet sidewalk.

“Uh-huh.”

“Aunt Poppy . . . she’s the one nobody talks to, right?”

“Yes. I have no idea why she’s chosen me as her travel companion.”

“Smart woman. When do you leave?”

“Oh, I’m not going. Nonna would have a stroke. She despises Poppy.”

“What does that have to do with you and your aunt?”

“Befriending Poppy would be the ultimate act of betrayal. Daria was the first to point this out.”

Raindrops pelt the umbrella. We walk in silence another block before he speaks again.

“Why do you let your family do this to you?”

I look over at him. The little muscle in his jaw twitches and he shakes his head. I let out a sigh.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. But this is different, Matt. This is about loyalty and—”

“Bullshit.” He holds up a hand, blocking my rebuttal. “God, Em, you have no problem speaking your mind. Just last week, when we were in line at Da Vinci’s, you reamed the guy behind the counter for ignoring that Middle Eastern couple. And Fourth of July, when it was ninety degrees and you saw that collie trapped in a car? You waited thirty minutes for its owner to return, just so you could let her have it.” He gives me a lopsided grin and softens his voice. “I love that about you. So why the hell do you let your nonna—and your sister—push you around?”