Three months later …
Before the opening night party, I stopped by the Sunset View Cemetery in Berkeley carting two dozen red roses. I had made sure Ethel was buried in a spot high on a hill that overlooked the San Francisco Bay.
I spread the roses out on her grave and tried not to cry.
“I’m sorry you got such a bum break in this world, Ethel,” I sniffed. “You didn’t deserve it. That man, your husband, the creep you killed a long time ago. I’m glad you killed him. I should’ve told you that when you were alive. That I’m happy you killed him. I hope he’s looking down seeing how I’m bringing you two dozen red roses instead of his cheap dozen he thought would convince you to put up with his crap. I made arrangements, Ethel. You’re going to have a dozen roses delivered here every week. It’s the least I can do. I should’ve been a better friend to you. I’m so god damn sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It’s my curse. Everyone who knows me ends up dead. I’m so sorry we met. All I can do is tell you that you mattered. You mattered to me. And there are going to be roses on your grave for as long as I live. That way everyone who walks by this grave will know you were somebody who mattered. And you know, what? You’re right. You were free. You lived your life the way you wanted and you were free.”
I suddenly had something in my eye. I walked away, blinking.
When I walked into Café Katrina, my tears had dried and I’d fixed my makeup. I was excited to see the inside of the place. Katrina had been so secretive about it the past month.
When I walked in, I was astonished. It was gorgeous, with tall ceilings, giant silver and crystal chandeliers, plush purple velvet booths, blue velvet wallpaper, wall-sized silver framed mirrors and black marble floors.
“Unbelievable,” I said when I saw Katrina. “You are a true artist. This is stunning.”
“That’s what I was going for,” she said dryly.
Katrina led me over to a booth raised on a small platform. It has black velvet curtains on each side.
“This is your booth.”
“What?”
“Look,” she led me over to the plush purple velvet booth. There was a silver plaque just above the cushion that said, “Gia Santella.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Why don’t you sit down and test it out? It has the best view in the place.”
Again, I felt like something was in my eye. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and said, “Go greet your guests! This is your night. I’m going to sit here and relax while you be social. That’s what a silent partner does. They don’t have to talk.”
She threw back her head and laughed.
Just then the mayor walked in. I was impressed until I saw the governor behind him. I watched Katrina greet them and lead them to another velvet booth. I saw the mayor nod approvingly at the governor as they followed her. A few minutes later, a famous Hollywood actor walked in with a New York socialite on his arm.
The Tenderloin would never be the same again.
Smiling, I sat back in my booth and raised a silent toast to the people in my life. My family. Those who couldn’t make it and those who could: Dante, Thanh-Thanh, Darling, Katrina, Trang, Kato, Susie, even Sal.
I’d spent way too much time and energy feeling sorry for myself, calling myself an orphan, whining that nobody loved me and that I had no family.
What a fool I’d been.
As an Italian-American, I’d been raised to believe that blood is thicker than water and that nobody could ever love you like your blood relatives did. And that might be partly true, but it was also true that your family is comprised of the people you love and who love you.
We can all make our own family.
I was unbelievably rich in the love of my tribe, my family. It took almost losing my life to realize this. The people in my life were the ones I had chosen to make up my family.
It didn’t mean I wouldn’t love and miss my parents until the day I died. It didn’t take away from my love of them. My love for my new family only increased the love I felt for everyone and everything.
When all this was over I was going to call Bobby. I needed to clean out my parents’ house and then I wanted to fly to Sicily to figure out what to do with the villa Turricci had given my mother. I was going to see if Bobby would go with me. The thought of seeing him again filled me with both fear and excitement.
Maybe he didn’t look at me like my father looked at my mother. Not yet. But I couldn’t deny there was something there. And hey,
I’m still young and have a long time to figure it all out. I’m not going to waste any more time feeling sorry for myself when I can be out there feeling and living and loving.
Want more Gia? Turn the page for a sneak peak of book two, Gia and the Forgotten Island.
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