needed the whole time we were married. Whatever you do, don’t give up working when you marry Gianluca.”
“No chance of that happening. This shop is my life,” I assured him.
“If you’re happy, your marriage will be happy.”
“Did you suggest therapy?”
“She said it was too late. God, I hate that phrase, ‘too late.’ I believed that it’s never too late if two people love each other.”
“You still love her?”
“I do. Isn’t that sad? Even when I know she doesn’t love me. I’m either loyal or a fool. I can’t help it. There’s so much of her in our girls.”
“Your daughters will be all right. She’s a good mom. It’s not like there isn’t a fifty percent divorce rate, so they won’t be oddballs. You have a big, extended family, and everyone will pitch in to make the kids feel connected. You can also bring them over here more often. I’d love it. And I’ll get my sisters to bring the kids so they can all play together.”
“You always find the positive in everything.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you can do it. You learn from your mistakes. That’s not true of everyone. That’s really what it comes down to. And if you didn’t put her first and you regret it, well, next time you’ll do better. That’s all you can do, Bret.”
“You know what my wife said to me as I was leaving on Christmas Eve? Go see Valentine. That’s who you really want.”
“Oh, please. That’s just a dramatic good-bye at the end of a sad scene. She never got our friendship. She didn’t like me, but I thought it was because I didn’t wear Tory Burch. I guess it was something more.”
He smiled. “You were my first fiancée. Mackenzie did not like that she was second, friend or not.”
“I know. So more than a childhood friendship, but so what? I thought she was perfect for you—and, except for the leaving part, she was.”
Bret sipped his coffee. I lifted a can of biscotti off the shelf, opened it, and handed him one. He dipped it in the coffee. I smiled because I’d taught Bret how to dip his biscotti in coffee when we were teenagers. In fact, I served him his first biscotti and taught him how to say the word in Italian. We had the perfect Irish-Italian relationship. I baked, and he poured me my first beer.
“Do you remember that sign in Sister Theresa’s office at Holy Agony?” I asked him.
“Pay your library fines or you won’t get your diploma?”
“No, the other one. It was a white card with light blue letters. It had been there for a hundred years. It said, ‘Everything is a grace.’ ”
“You think so? Even breaking up a home, breaking my children’s hearts, and getting a divorce?”
“ Everything .”
“Well, I don’t believe it.”
“You will. That will be your mission. Someday, you’ll see it all as a grace.”
The doorbells jingled.
“We’re home!” Gram shouted. Gram and Dominic came in, laughing, carrying Tupperware containers from my mother’s Christmas spread. “Hon, you have to spread the salt around out there. I almost ruined my shoes.”
“Sorry. The only salt you and Dominic will have to worry about in Florida will be on the rims of your margarita glasses.”
“Hi, Gram.” Bret kissed her on the cheek. “You’re going to Florida?”
“My cousin invited us down. We’re going to stay until Valentine’s wedding, then come back up for it.”
“You set a date already?” Bret was surprised.
As Gram introduced Dominic to Bret, Gianluca came in, carrying a large dress box tied with a red satin bow. “From your mother,” he said as he placed the box on the table.
“Congratulations, Gianluca,” Bret said and extended his hand.
“Let’s take the food upstairs, Dominic,” Gram said.
“Grazie,” Gianluca said without shaking Bret’s hand.
“I want to show Valentine the leather samples,” Dominic said as he placed a box on the desk.
“Time for that later.” Gram handed Dominic a stack of Tupperware.
Gram
“No chance of that happening. This shop is my life,” I assured him.
“If you’re happy, your marriage will be happy.”
“Did you suggest therapy?”
“She said it was too late. God, I hate that phrase, ‘too late.’ I believed that it’s never too late if two people love each other.”
“You still love her?”
“I do. Isn’t that sad? Even when I know she doesn’t love me. I’m either loyal or a fool. I can’t help it. There’s so much of her in our girls.”
“Your daughters will be all right. She’s a good mom. It’s not like there isn’t a fifty percent divorce rate, so they won’t be oddballs. You have a big, extended family, and everyone will pitch in to make the kids feel connected. You can also bring them over here more often. I’d love it. And I’ll get my sisters to bring the kids so they can all play together.”
“You always find the positive in everything.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you can do it. You learn from your mistakes. That’s not true of everyone. That’s really what it comes down to. And if you didn’t put her first and you regret it, well, next time you’ll do better. That’s all you can do, Bret.”
“You know what my wife said to me as I was leaving on Christmas Eve? Go see Valentine. That’s who you really want.”
“Oh, please. That’s just a dramatic good-bye at the end of a sad scene. She never got our friendship. She didn’t like me, but I thought it was because I didn’t wear Tory Burch. I guess it was something more.”
He smiled. “You were my first fiancée. Mackenzie did not like that she was second, friend or not.”
“I know. So more than a childhood friendship, but so what? I thought she was perfect for you—and, except for the leaving part, she was.”
Bret sipped his coffee. I lifted a can of biscotti off the shelf, opened it, and handed him one. He dipped it in the coffee. I smiled because I’d taught Bret how to dip his biscotti in coffee when we were teenagers. In fact, I served him his first biscotti and taught him how to say the word in Italian. We had the perfect Irish-Italian relationship. I baked, and he poured me my first beer.
“Do you remember that sign in Sister Theresa’s office at Holy Agony?” I asked him.
“Pay your library fines or you won’t get your diploma?”
“No, the other one. It was a white card with light blue letters. It had been there for a hundred years. It said, ‘Everything is a grace.’ ”
“You think so? Even breaking up a home, breaking my children’s hearts, and getting a divorce?”
“ Everything .”
“Well, I don’t believe it.”
“You will. That will be your mission. Someday, you’ll see it all as a grace.”
The doorbells jingled.
“We’re home!” Gram shouted. Gram and Dominic came in, laughing, carrying Tupperware containers from my mother’s Christmas spread. “Hon, you have to spread the salt around out there. I almost ruined my shoes.”
“Sorry. The only salt you and Dominic will have to worry about in Florida will be on the rims of your margarita glasses.”
“Hi, Gram.” Bret kissed her on the cheek. “You’re going to Florida?”
“My cousin invited us down. We’re going to stay until Valentine’s wedding, then come back up for it.”
“You set a date already?” Bret was surprised.
As Gram introduced Dominic to Bret, Gianluca came in, carrying a large dress box tied with a red satin bow. “From your mother,” he said as he placed the box on the table.
“Congratulations, Gianluca,” Bret said and extended his hand.
“Let’s take the food upstairs, Dominic,” Gram said.
“Grazie,” Gianluca said without shaking Bret’s hand.
“I want to show Valentine the leather samples,” Dominic said as he placed a box on the desk.
“Time for that later.” Gram handed Dominic a stack of Tupperware.
Gram
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