A Tangled Web We Weave (Completed)

36. Been in a Calendar, But Never on Time

Tony

I was never going on a blind date set up by my father ever again. I met Giulia, a charming, dazzling woman who made me long for red hair. She was hilarious, but there was something weird about her looks. After talking with the beautiful girl (not that I was interested in the slightest), I realized she was my second cousin on my mother's side. Needless to say, the date ended rather quickly after that. Her looks? Reminded me of my mother's. Not something you want to find in a perspective girlfriend.

When I told my dad, he laughed and laughed. "Wait, you knew," I accused, stealing his glass of wine.

He only smirked and went back to his newspaper. Italy had done my father very little good, other than making him more Italian than ever. Making pasta from scratch, playing "O Mio Babbino Caro" at full volume, talking with his hands more, wearing Nonno's old spats, everything. I think being in his home country means he feels the need to dress like a gangster to prove just how Italian he is.

Nonno's health was declining at such a rapid rate. Someone flipped the off switch in his lungs and his body followed suit. I went up to see him this morning and he didn't even ask for a cigar, didn't ask for a drink, didn't even wake up. Just snored away like I hadn't tried to wake him. And I knew his death was coming. I just didn't want to think about it. Even though it meant I could leave Italy. Nonno always acted like more of a father figure than my dad. When my mother ran off with my English tutor, he flew out and sat with me while I cried. He didn't even say anything, just smoked on his tobacco and patted my knee occasionally. For some reason, that was more comforting than my father's overinflated displays of grief, in private but often in public as well. I related to my grandfather more, too. My father was an attention whore, in every connotation of either word. My grandfather preferred a more subtle humor, charm, everything.

Hearing my grandfather's little bell from upstairs, I set the wine glass down on the table and went to see him.

My grandfather looked like he had a foot in the grave. And a hand. And multiple major organs. He smiled, his face a mass of wrinkles from under his blankets. "Anthony, c'mere. I was hoping it was you and not your father. Don't you tell him I said that, you understand. I think he would fake a heart attack at my funeral, just to upstage me." He reached out a hand towards the chair next to his bed and I took it as well as his hand. "Now, listen to me. I want you to call the mortuary for me. I don't want the all black casket. I want the the Mahogany, the dark one. And no gaudy gold handles, just plain silver ones."

I nodded, trying not to appear like a pathetic little boy while I hold back tears.

He noticed and smoothed a thumb over my cheek. "My dear boy, don't weep for me. I'm going to see your nonna. They can't keep me out of heaven for cigars, right? If they try, she'll open the back door. Like she used to."

I laughed, wiping the tears from my eyes. "What do you mean?"

He patted my face and set his other hand back down on the bed. "You grandmother's parents hated me. They called me 'figlio di puttana', which means son of-"

"I know what it means," I cut him off quickly, which prompted a grin.

"Anyway, after her parents would go to sleep, she would creep down to the back garden and let me in through the back door. We sat on that patio for hours at a time. That's where she told me she loved me. That's where I kissed her." His eyes were certainly not focused on me. "I miss her, Tony. Like I lost my arm and I keep forgetting. I can still feel her, but she's not there."

I smiled. "She always smelled like her lavender."

He laughed, the sound turning into a cough. "She smelled like dirt. She washed her hands meticulously, but she always missed the specks on her face. She said she did it on purpose so I would clean it for her." He looked at me. "What about you, boy? Anyone special for you?"

I tried not to bristle at "boy" and smiled sadly. "Yes."

He grew more interested in observing me. "Who is she? Do you have a picture? Of course you do, what am I saying? You all have millions of pictures on those damn phones."

I chuckled and showed him my lock screen. "That's Regan."

He grabbed my hands and brought the phone closer to him. "She's very pretty. All that red hair. Not Irish, is she?"

I grinned. "Regan O'Neil, Nonno."

He gasped. "So very Irish. I'd say shame on you, but I can tell she means a lot to you." He handed the phone back. "Are you in love with her?"

I froze. "Nonno."

He laughed out loud. "I'll mind my own business." He hesitated, coughing into his hand, before he asked, "Is there a problem between you two?"

I forced a convincing smile. "No. No problems."