Corrado had called several times, but Honey didn’t answer. At the sight of his name on her cell, she’d feel a tightening in her gut. She knew that she’d have to speak with him eventually, and she knew that he’d be discreet when discussing what had happened. What concerned her was the thought that her nephew might think the two of them had reached an understanding and could now be friends. For Honey it was quite the opposite. That messy little episode in the closet, and Corrado’s willingness to provide the cleanup, seemed a perfect way to end things, to punctuate a long history of violence among the Fazzingas. A history in which Honey was by no means blameless.
When she finally answered one of Corrado’s calls, she greeted him cordially. He seemed in a good mood, though possibly in a hurry. He began by saying that he’d taken care of things, not to worry. Then he quickly transitioned to a dinner invitation.
“Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it? We thought we’d do something at the house.”
Honey replied that it was kind of him to remember, but that she’d never been big on birthdays. “This year, I was thinking I’d spend it alone.” She said she might go to the cemetery, to visit Nicky’s grave. “So I won’t come to dinner—but thank you for asking.”
Corrado didn’t push. He said he understood. He said that he, too, had been spending more time by himself lately. “But maybe we could at least meet for coffee one morning. Just the two of us.”
“I’m sure we’ll run into each other at some point,” Honey replied, evasively. “And please know that I’m grateful for all you’ve done . . .”
Corrado scoffed. “I can never tell when you’re being sarcastic.”
“I’m not. Believe me.”
Corrado fell silent, and when he spoke again, it was with an air of belligerent affection. “I’m not gonna leave you alone,” he said.
Honey laughed and asked if that was a threat.
“I admire you, Aunt Honey. You’ve got balls. And no, it’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. “I really do. Please give my best to your family.”
And with that, she hung up the phone.
* * *
Corrado didn’t call again. Despite his promise, he left her alone. Weeks passed, without any interaction. They didn’t run into each other at the bank or the supermarket. Honey never dreamed of him. She could feel her nephew flattening, fading, like a blossom pressed inside a book.
Then, one morning, while waiting outside for Jocelyn, Honey’s phone began to chirp. When she pulled it from her handbag, she saw that the call was from a private number. Though she usually ignored such calls, she felt compelled to answer.
The voice on the line was bright and sharp, vaguely familiar.
“Aunt Honey—hi.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Rina. Sorry for blocking my number. I just . . . I was worried you wouldn’t pick up if you knew it was me.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Well, we didn’t exactly leave each other on the best terms. And I really wanted to apologize.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Yes, I do. I was rude, the last time we spoke. I guess I was upset about you talking to those people.”
Honey wondered if Rina was referring to people like Teena. But before Honey could ask for specifics, Rina shifted gears.
“Listen, I was just calling because the baby shower is this weekend. And I know you said you weren’t coming, but we’d really like to have you there.”
“That’s very kind.” Honey was surprised by this unexpected chumminess.
“It won’t be a huge gathering,” the woman continued. “Maybe twenty people. And no men, so . . .”
It was a tricky moment, but Honey felt she had to speak honestly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Rina. For me to be there.”
“Why is that?”
When Honey replied that it simply didn’t feel right, that it was probably best for everyone if she stayed away, Rina wasn’t satisfied.
“Didn’t Corrado just do you a favor?”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“I’m just saying, I don’t understand why you can’t take two hours out of your day to be with us.”
Honey played the age card. “I just seem to be less and less cut out for these kinds of things as I get older. Knowing me, I’ll end up saying something that will upset everyone. And I don’t want to ruin your party.”
“You’re not gonna do that,” Rina said, reassuringly. Then, rather astoundingly: “And, I mean, why do you have to say anything at all? It’s just a day for everyone to enjoy themselves. If people have differences, it’s not the place to air them.”
“No—of course not.”
“Plus, the food’ll be fantastic. You know it’s at Dante’s, right?”
“I do.”
“I told everyone to just forget about their diets. Mr. Tarantelli’s doing a fritto misto with the appetizers. Then, for dessert, we’re having a cake of course, but since Addie likes her sweets, we’re having a sort of Venetian hour too. Sfogliatelle, frittelle, cannoli . . .”
As Rina enumerated the pastries, she spoke quickly—a rush of words that seemed to be a way of running from what really mattered.
“It all sounds delicious,” said Honey.
“So you’ll come?”
Honey paused. “The truth is, Rina, it would be hard for me to come to a party with you and never bring him up.”
It was Rina’s turn to pause—and when she spoke again, her brightness was stained. “Like I said, this is a happy occasion. And anyway, I really don’t want to discuss my son with you. Why can’t you respect that?”
“I do respect it—and that’s why I’m not going to come.”
“Fine. To be honest, I didn’t even want you there. I was doing this for Corrado.”
“I see.”
“He feels it’s important that you be included. So I’m respecting his wishes. And I don’t understand why you can’t do the same. You’re all he has left. His parents are gone, his grandparents.”
“We share a great deal, I realize that. But I just think we’ll all feel more warmly about each other if we keep our distance.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’d still like to send Addie a present, though. Shall I send it to your address?”
“Don’t bother, okay?”
“It’s no bother.”
“I’m sure. Just like all those presents you used to send Corrado when he was a kid, as if that replaced actually being there.”
This one hit the mark, and Honey found herself at a loss for words.
Rina filled the gap: “Do you ever ask yourself how you ended up being such a cold person?”
“Please, let’s not argue.”
“So what am I supposed to tell Corrado?”
“Tell him I love him.”
“But that you won’t come to a party for his grandchild?”
“That’s correct. The thing is, dear . . .” Honey wanted to put a finer point on this, to explain herself further. But then she heard a clicking sound.
“Sorry, I have another call,” Rina said, her voice bright again, armored with civility. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us. Saturday. Two o’clock.”
* * *
When Jocelyn arrived in her station wagon, Honey felt an inordinate relief. She put the phone back in her bag and approached the car.
“Sorry I’m late,” Joss said. “I had a guy with a shitload of tartar. I mean, it was like cement. What’s the matter? You look upset.”
“I’m not upset. But I do have a question.”
“Shoot,” the girl said as she pulled away from the curb.
“Do I seem cold to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean cold. Not warm. Chilly. Unloving.”
“I don’t know—I guess sometimes you can be sort of chilly.”
Not the answer Honey was hoping for.
“On the other hand,” said Joss, “I wouldn’t call you unloving. Maybe I’d think that if I didn’t know you. But I completely get the whole thing you do.”
“The thing I do?”
“Your act. Whatever.”
Honey harrumphed and put on her sunglasses. The car was sweltering.
Jocelyn apologized for the broken AC, pulling at the damp sleeves of her ghastly orange T-shirt.
Thank God they were going clothes shopping.
* * *
At the mall, though, the task proved difficult. After bemoaning Joss’s predilection for colors that seemed best suited to jelly beans or plastic beach pails, Honey proposed a compromise. She’d tolerate a few of the garish hues, on the condition that the items were well cut, and flattering to a figure so outrageously full that it required prudence more than permission.
“Huh,” Joss said at one point, cocking her hip before a trifold mirror. “I actually look good in this.”
“That’s the point, dear.”
“Oh my God, look at my butt!”
“Yes, very nice. Unfortunately, those other things you’re fond of wearing often have the appearance of diapers. These slacks complement your endowment without insulting it. And the blouse presents your case, as well, but doesn’t oversell it.”
“Only problem is, I can’t afford these. We can probably find knockoffs at Marshall’s.”
“We’re not going to Marshall’s.”
“What about Big Lots?”
“Big Lots? The name alone is offensive. No. I’m buying the ensemble for you. Let’s just call it a birthday present.”
“My birthday’s in December.”
“All the better. Because I hate shopping during the holidays.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“That’s true. But I want to. Turn around, let me see the back again,” commanded Honey.
“You think it looks all right?”
“More than all right. You’re quite the hot tomato.”
“Why are you crying then?” said Joss.
“Am I?” Honey looked in the mirror. It was true; she was visibly verklempt.
When the girl pressed for a reason, Honey claimed it was seeing such a transformation.
“Do I look that different?”
“You do. You look like yourself.”