Empathy

Chapter Six

"Isla, it's your turn to say Grace," my grandmother said.

The first weekend of the new school year was always dedicated to going to my mom's parents' house. Thankfully, neither Gemma and I had any homework to do over the weekend, completing each assignment before school was even out on Friday.

My family and I were sitting at a round table, with a platter of various Italian food in front of us. Bowls of salad, greasy garlic and cheese bread made from scratch (Nonno's recipe), homemade lasagna, ravioli, and baked ziti. Just about anything Nonno could think of to stuff in our faces.

Oh, the joy of having Italian ancestry.

"Sure thing, Nonni," my sister told our grandmother. She placed her hands on the table, lacing them together. "Dear Lord, thank you so much for this meal. Thank you for the wonderful family I have. And bless us with good times to come in our time of distress, Amen," Gemma finished.

"Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation?" Nonno asked, the Bronx accent showing through. "Eat, eat, please."

Nonno was originally from New York, coming from a long of Italian immigrants. He met my grandmother, an immigrant from England, in New York while they were in their twenties. They immediately took to each other. They settled down, deciding to move to the quiet, Midwest state of Minnesota. In the small city of Ambrose, where absolutely nothing exciting happens in the history of any city. Truthfully, I wondered what my life would be like if Nonno and Nonni never left New York.

I grabbed hold of the spoons attached to the baked ziti and the tongs for the garlic bread and salad.

"Really, Malcolm?" Nonni asked, raising a graying eyebrow at her husband. She glanced away from Nonno to look at Gemma. "That was lovely, Isla." Nonni rubbed one of Gemma's hands, which was resting on the kitchen table.

"Mom," my mother warned hers, directing a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Nonni shrugged. "Oh, Magdalene, it's fine. I was simply telling young Isla here that she did a wonderful job saying Grace," my grandmother said, irritation coating her tone. My own mother frowned. Nonni called Mom by her real name. Mom does not like her real name. She thinks it makes her sound so old.

"My name is Gemma," I heard my sister say under her breath, barely more than a mutter. I was the only one to hear her because I was sitting next to her. "Please just call me Gemma." The plea was very noticeable in her voice at this point. She was just too nice to say anything to anybody about what she likes and prefers. It was kind of sad, really. But I guess all the Vayles are people pleasers.

"Oh well, I know someone who appreciates just about anything I do and say. Right, Marvel?" Nonni asked me. I was in the middle of eating the garlic bread. It was right there, halfway to my mouth. How did I get roped into this conversation?

The tension between my grandparents, Mom, and Uncle Mickey all started when he wanted to be an artist as a career instead of working at the law firm with Nonno. Mickey wasn't a fan of anyone telling him what to do as he was the golden child of his family and the pressure of that title got to him and he began to drink and do drugs when it got to be too much. Luckily, he got clean before I was five years old.

But the damage was done. The relationship between my uncle and our family was altered.

That's why he's not here at dinner with us despite being a "family dinner" as my grandmother so lovingly called it. But honestly, these dinners always felt like interrogations, especially whenever Gemma and I were involved.

"Marvel, next time, it'll be your turn to say Grace," she said.

Unfortunately, people pleasing is a part of me too. And I can't get away no matter what I do. "Sure, Nonni, I'd like that," I said, a forced smile on my face.

Leave it to my grandparents to be very religious. Mom gave up on religion a long time ago. She respects it enough, but she personally wouldn't want to get involved.

"Mom," my mother said. "Please, you know how we feel about this." Mom had set her utensils back down on the table. Nonni didn't pay any mind to her daughter, except to look at her with a fiery intensity.

"Magdalene, it's alright to say thanks every once in a while." Mom scoffed, acting like a child.

I stood up from the table, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. Mom's feelings of anger, annoyance, hatred, and irritation flooded into my system had me swallowing heavily, a taste of bile in my throat. "May I be excused?" I asked.

"Go, dear, go. This dinner is a disaster anyway," Nonno commented. Both of the women in the dining room glared at my grandfather. "Save yourself." He winked at me. I smiled a little at my grandfather's way of joking. He and I may not have been close, but he did know how to cheer me up.

I got up from the horrible dinner with my family, heading for the living room. In it, I immediately sat down in the reclining chair in the far corner. A content sigh left my lips, reclining deeply in the furniture.

"I'm so sorry about tonight," my grandmother said while she walked into the living room. I blinked back to reality. "They were just words, I had no idea that Leni would lash out like that." Nonni strode over to me, collecting a stool to sit down next to me.

"It's really okay, Nonni. She's just having a really tough time without Dad right now," I said.

Nonni placed her hand on mine. I realized two things; one, like with Aiden, I couldn't feel any of her emotions bleeding into me like others did, and two she held my hands in a death grip.

"We all miss him, dear," Nonni finally said, a choked sound leaving her throat as she spoke. Clearing her throat, she continued, "You know, I used to think that Nathan was never going to be good enough for your mother. He was from Chicago, didn't have any parents and the only one taking care of him was himself and he was barely older than you are now. He had enough on his plate, just taking care of young Beth."

"Was it also because he was mixed?" I asked the obvious, uncomfortable question.

Nonni shook her head. "No, Malcolm and I didn't mind that. His skin color was the least of my problems. I simply thought that he was some kind of, oh what do you kids call them these days, thug?" Nonni chuckled a little, lighting up the mood. "No, Marvel. As a parent, I always thought that no man, or anyone your mother chose to love, would ever be good enough for her."

"I thought it was the father who worried about that kind of stuff," I remarked.

Nonni shook her head. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I don't have the same fears as fathers. Malcolm was more laid back with Nathan. He wasn't worried. He had someone to talk sports with. That was good enough for your grandfather."

"What made you give him a chance?"

Nonni bit the inside of her cheek. "When we met him one day, he shook Malcolm and I's hands, smiled politely and asked us if he could date our daughter. We were very surprised by his manners. We ended up having a fantastic day with Nathan. He would pamper your mother, such as nuzzling her shoulder, laughing with her, and just loving her. It seemed so easy for him to be with Leni and us. Nathan never once forced a smile when he was with us. He spoke about sports and law with your grandfather, and books with me, specially the ones from England. He was a true gentleman."

Hearing the little story for the first time, really hearing it, I didn't detect a hint of lying in her tone. My grandmother was being very honest with me, it just took some time for it to happen.

Some growing up on both our parts.

"What do you miss most about your father, Marvel?" she asked me, leaning her head on my shoulder.

"I miss having someone who understands me. I miss having that one person who knew me better than I know myself to talk to," I answered. For the last two months, I was preparing myself for that question, wondering how to answer it without confusing anyone.

"I totally understand how you feel, dear. It's never easy to lose someone you're close with. Even if you have the entire world around you, it's hard not to feel lonely in times like this," Nonni acknowledged. She grasped my hand tighter in hers. "But you must know I'm here for you." My grandmother smiled sweetly at me, giving me a pat to the hand before she got up and left. From the living chair, I could hear the ruckus going on in the kitchen. I smirked to myself.

"Maybe this family isn't so bad after all," I murmured to myself.