COMPLICATED.

CHAPTER 34

UPPER EAST SIDE

It’s incredible how I had to engineer the sudden pretext of a phone call just to escape the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming me. I ran breathlessly to reach the most secluded and isolated corner of the garden, far from prying eyes. I even turned off some of those colored lights, letting the darkness envelop me almost completely, making me disappear into the night. At least for a few moments. I desperately need air.
Sighing deeply, I feel a sense of relief at the thought of finally being able to breathe for the first time since this afternoon. Too many events have followed one after another in a frenzy—not that it destabilizes me much; these past few days have undoubtedly been the most turbulent of my entire existence. Managing these situations is, unfortunately, becoming child's play.
Despite being used to it, I will never stop marveling at people's ability to talk and ask questions incessantly, without the slightest concern for being stressful or entirely inappropriate. It’s admirable that someone shows interest in your life, but it should never turn into a pretext for a grueling interrogation. Then again, what could I expect? This is high society, an environment accustomed to dissecting every detail of others' lives. New York is a massive metropolis, but when it comes to the Upper East Side, no one can afford to fall behind on the latest gossip or news. They only know how to murmur malice behind your back while simultaneously praising you as if you were the Queen of England. Anyone who didn't bend to this mechanism was inevitably marginalized.
The offspring of the most powerful bankers and heirs to great fortunes were instructed according to these dogmas. There are always exceptions, and I was one of the few. My parents raised me following the simple philosophy of "live and let live." "Be yourself and walk with your head held high. Always." This is the mantra I’ve tried to follow my whole life. Criticisms certainly weren't lacking. Despite our atypically, the Harpers have been influential figures in this "small" world for generations—a true institution; meanwhile, my father was assertively establishing himself as one of the most famous writers internationally. In conclusion, society worships them like deities descended to earth, to the point of even tolerating Paul's frequently "grumpy and impulsive" attitude.
For heaven's sake, God forbid Paul is simply a ten-year-old boy! When they dared to attack my brother, I lost control completely; countless times my father had to intervene to stop me from lunging at paparazzi or anyone who dared to judge my family. Every day represents an opportunity for me to analyze this world I belong to and from which I hope to escape as soon as possible. I’ve always tried to play the role of the perfect girl, the model to emulate, only for my mother's sake. But the more time passes, the more my nature changes and the less I can sustain this farce.
Everything revolves around gossip. Gossip here, gossip there... and guess who’s the latest news of the week? Obviously, me.
"The daughter of famous writer Henry Hamilton and the superb Theresa Harper abandons her family and inheritance to pursue the foolish dream of singing in rainy London." I can already imagine them: the mocking smiles, the venomous jokes, not to mention the articles in the scandal rags. I felt hunted like a caged animal, surrounded by people staring and smiling at me while snapping photos in rapid succession. I must have been in a daze for an indefinite amount of time. My answers had become automatic and glacial, while their questions remained targeted and sharp as blades.
"What upset you so deeply in life that it induced you to reject our majestic city?"
"Are you really sure? After all, singing isn't an authentic profession. In fact, I’d say it isn't one at all!"
"Don't you feel a sense of guilt for not following in your mother's footsteps? HARPER PUBLICATIONS can't have a future without a Harper woman in charge!"
Thinking back now, it seemed less like an interrogation and more like an endless sequence of accusations. I turn my gaze toward the celestial vault, silently asking the stars, or whatever mystical entity exists, for the strength to control what I say and do. Even if it feels like an impossible feat, I have to go back out there and face them one last time. The party was organized by Nick, and I have no intention of ruining it. He has already had to endure too much in the past, following the press's accusations against his family after the tragic passing of his father. I couldn't bear the sight of his suffering a second time. He was only a child. What bastards.
And besides, who could stand his adorable whining if he found out I didn't enjoy the guests? We both know my mother had to invite them, it's not her fault. Imagining his sweet "beaten puppy" expression immediately coaxes a radiant smile from me, accompanied by a low laugh.
I brush my fingers against the bracelet I surreptitiously fastened to my left wrist a moment ago, making the two charms jingle. I believe that, from this moment on, I will never tire of feeling it on me. I search desperately through the crowd for those eyes as clear as crystal water that I now know all too well. After scanning every single face, I finally manage to spot him. He’s there, trapped between the gestures and glances of several debutantes and heiresses. He’s forced to constantly turn his face to thank each girl for the thousand compliments received. He uselessly loosens his tie only to straighten it an instant later, triggering hysterical giggles from them. It goes without saying: he manages to make them all fall in love without even needing to utter a word.
You can tell from a mile away that he's uncomfortable and doesn't know how to escape the situation. So he continues to endure in silence, timidly trying to strike up some conversation, but not before checking where I’ve hidden. As if he could read my mind, after inspecting every corner and the center of the dance floor, his gaze locks onto mine. He gives me his signature dazzling smile, the one he reserves exclusively for me. Alright, now I feel exactly like one of those girls. Maybe worse. I barely lift my hand to wave to him.
He takes advantage of a moment when the girls are talking among themselves to silently move his lips, asking me if everything is okay. I smile awkwardly and reassure him by raising my thumb. He laughs and, the moment he tries to take a few steps toward me, he is pulled forcefully by three of them toward the center of the floor to dance.
"You're doomed!" I shout to him, so he can hear me over the noise.
He huffs and surreptitiously shows me his middle finger. In the end, he decides to capitulate to their iron grip. I stay here, alone, watching him walk away, escorted by beautiful debutantes rubbing up against him... No, damn it, no. I can't afford to be jealous. I need a cocktail.
I walk quickly toward the buffet when, suddenly, arms grab me, spinning me like a top. The moment I stop, I’m overwhelmed by a warm hug. When I focus on the person in front of me, my mood takes a sharp upturn.
"I. DON'T. BELIEVE. IT. Please, tell me this is the flagship model from the new Sherri Hill collection. Dear, I love it, approved!"
"Marcus! Oh my God! I’m so happy! What are you doing here?!"
He firmly grasps my hands, shaking them with enthusiasm.
"Did you think I could miss the college admission party of my stylish cousin? No way! There is no internship in the world that could keep me away from you! Congratulations!" he exclaims with his usual high-pitched voice.
Marcus, more than a cousin, is the older brother I never had. Olive skin, blue eyes, long hair tied in a neat bun, a petite body, and a brilliant mind. Despite being seven years older than me, he manages to understand me like few others. He’s responsible for almost my entire wardrobe; so that’s who was advising my mother to fill my walk-in closets! He possesses a formidable aesthetic sense, at times superior to that of many established designers. He attends internships at various fashion houses across America; he is perpetually traveling. The rare times I manage to see him are always an infinite joy.
Despite my aunt's pleas during family gatherings, Marcus never shows up alone; he is always accompanied by his continuous boyfriends, each one different from the last. Since coming out, he falls in love with such ease that he has probably lost count of the times he's been dumped. He claims that every breakup is a flash of genius for creating new pieces for the clothing line he’s about to launch. Anyone who knows him well knows it's just his way of masking melancholy; he would rather give up the fashion shows than show how much he suffers. Regardless, he never stops radiating joy from every pore.
"Later I absolutely must introduce you to Pablo, my new partner. He’s from Spain. He’s an artist, so he has that dark charm that makes heads turn!" he says, skipping around me.
He wears a suit in the same shade as mine, studded with meticulously drawn flowers; the jacket is so long in the back it almost looks like a cape. A look so extravagant it actually suits him too well.
"Excuse me, what about that Alex from last month? You said he was the man of your life. To me, he seemed more like he was just spaced out. He ate cereal at all hours of the day!"
"Who, the gardener-model?!" he whispers, performing a face of disgust.
Let me guess...
"He dumped me," we sing in unison.
"Whoever dumped you, I don't know how they dared, considering you were wearing that stunning suit!" Aria intervenes, popping up behind me and making her wide blue dress sway.
"Marcus, this girl, who is as crazy as you, is named Aria. She’s a new friend of mine, she attended the Spanish course with me..."
"Spanish?! Finally someone he can talk to, he feels so uncomfortable, poor thing! Juan Pablo, mi amor!" Marcus yells, making me jump.
He forcefully drags Aria toward this boy who turns around, confused and startled. He wears tight black pants and a blue shirt, long and half-open, revealing a frayed white tank top. He hides his dark eyes behind enormous glasses, and a hat with "Esperancia" written on it covers his long brown locks.
"It was my same reaction, don't worry. That stubborn brother of mine defined his style as 'Urban Fashion.' To me, it just looks like he dressed that way because they were the only clean clothes he found. You should see how furious he gets when I point it out to him!" Deborah states, examining Pablo from head to toe.
Deborah is diametrically opposite to Marcus, except for their physical appearance, in which they are identical. They argue frequently; I don't think I’ve ever seen them in harmony. I know almost nothing about her because she is an extremely private girl; she tends to keep everything hidden. She is morbidly protective of her privacy. I only know she is attending her final year of Literature so that, once graduated, she can work alongside my mother and aunt. Ultimately, it’s likely there will be a Harper in charge in the future, but not the one everyone expects... I don't even know if the idea excites her. Every time my mother and hers discuss strategies and rules at meetings, she nods with a vacant stare. She’s a hard girl to decipher, but there’s one thing I deeply envy about her: the ability to let everything slide off her. "To hell with them all, do whatever crosses your mind!" she told me once when I was fiercely attacked by paparazzi. She doesn't talk much, but when she decides to, she leaves you breathless.
After a few moments, she shifts her gaze to address me.
"Congratulations, cousin," she whispers, offering me her hand. Here’s another of her characteristics: she isn't very expressive. I bring my hand to hers and shake it, thanking her. The grip lasts a heartbeat because she seems more interested in scouting the surroundings and obsessively checking her phone, as if waiting for a message at any second.
"You're right to leave, run while you still can," she whispers, hurriedly pressing keys on the small screen.
"Useless. They’ll follow me everywhere."
"I’ll correct you: they will always chase us. You’re certainly not the only one."
Her voice is so faint that to be heard by another person, you’d need a megaphone. I am one of the few capable of deciphering every whispered word of hers; if I’m lucky, sometimes I even understand her silences.
"You're not forced to be part of it, Deb. Pursue your dream, whatever it may be."
Hearing these words, she forces herself to look me straight in the eyes.
"I’m already doing it. I love studying literature and I love the idea of working for a publishing house. It’s just that the thought of becoming the future administrator of Harper..." She turns back toward the guests and shrugs in what I perceive as an attempt to relax. "...gives me the creeps."
And I thought I was the only one going through a terrible period! To have found the courage to confide this to me, there must be something deeply bothering her. Her face is an open book. I’d like to hug her and reassure her, but not knowing how she might react, I choose to desist.
"What would you like to do, one day?"
Her eyes widen in surprise. "You’re the second person in my entire life to ask me such a question," she states with a bitter laugh.
Her phone suddenly lights up, signaling the arrival of a message. The corners of her mouth lift slightly; she is clearly trying to hide a smile.
"And is he the first?" I ask her, pointing to the phone she’s clutching.
Just as she seems intended to answer me, we notice that Aria and Pablo are struggling to keep pace with Marcus, who is running toward us with long strides. An instant before they reach us, Deborah leans her lips to my ear and whispers those words she’s always found difficult to express. Finally, she reveals her little secret to me.
"I want to become a writer."
I remember that one day I had peeked at the files on her desktop and read some chapters of a hypothetical novel of hers. She possessed a formidable talent for narrating stories full of melodrama and intrigue. The plot was enthralling me, until Deb noticed and furiously snatched the computer from my hands. She made me promise not to mention it to anyone, and since she intimidated me a bit, I’ve kept the secret for years.
"Yes, I really think you should do it," I tell her smiling, as Marcus enthusiastically introduces me to his new flame.
The conversation with Pablo was much more pleasant than I imagined. I didn't expect him to be so passionate about music and so sincerely in love with my cousin. I’d venture to say that this time Marcus has hit the mark! He’s rushing it, though; he’s already planning a move-in and even a future marriage.
"He’ll ask me soon, I feel it!" he confided to me, daydreaming. Needless to say, my attempts to persuade him not to live in fairytales failed miserably. But who am I to shatter his dreams? Just because my love life has fallen to pieces doesn't mean it has to happen to everyone else. I don't want to find myself in a similar situation again. Falling in love only to have my heart broken again... absolutely not. I’m a disaster. I’d just like to protect him from the dangers I’ve recently known, but it's too late now; who can get him back? He looks at him as if he were the only man on earth!
"Stop it! I’m serious, it’s creepy," Deborah says to her brother with an irritated tone. Marcus is staring at Pablo while he dances with our grandmother.
"You're just jealous because I’m finally with someone who loves me back, while you only think about having fun with your little college friend!" he retorts in a fit of rage.
"Leave Diego out of this," she sibilates through gritted teeth. This won't end well.
"Why, isn't it true?! You only know how to discredit others' lives because yours sucks and nobody wants you! So do what you do best: go to bed with the first guy that comes along."
Deb looks at him with teary eyes. He covers his mouth with his hand, apologizing insistently, but she won't hear reason. She runs toward the exit before bursting into tears for the first time.
"Was it necessary to say that to her right now?" I ask, stunned.
Marcus opens and closes his mouth, stammering something. "I-I’m sorry, I..."
But I can't hear the rest of his excuses because I’m too busy trying to reach her.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for our student to unwrap the gifts and cut the cake!" my mother exclaims, followed by the applause of everyone present. I freeze halfway, blinded by a light pointing straight at my face. There, I’m trapped. I signal Marcus to go to Deb and, without hesitation, he runs after her. After forcing a fake smile, I head toward the banquet overflowing with decorations.
The camera flashes daze me. The photographers implore me to stay in front of the cake and strike different poses. After what feels like an eternity, I cut it, pushing the knife down hard. As soon as I succeed, a chorus of festive shouts rises throughout the garden. I’m convinced that, sooner or later, the neighbors will report us for disturbing the peace. I turn my gaze toward the pile of gifts, arranged impeccably; you can see their position was studied in the smallest detail. I unwrap them one by one and, the more I proceed, the more I realize how expensive they are.
I only manage to memorize a few. My aunt and cousins opted for a Versace winter coat, perfect for facing the London chill. My grandfather, on the other hand, gave me a red satin box containing luxury pens.
"If you have to study and take notes, you must do it with style!" he says laughing.
Finally, Aria gave me a majestic bronze frame; I notice immediately that the first spaces for photos are already occupied. She inserted three selfies of us, probably taken yesterday at the post-graduation party. We had hit rock bottom and our lopsided smiles were the undeniable proof. I cover my eyes with my hand in embarrassment, while Aria appears amused by the general reaction.
I open all the gifts possible and imaginable, some decidedly bizarre. I mean, what am I supposed to do with an atlas? It looks very high-quality though, rich with illustrations explaining every single grain of dirt on our planet. It’s the thought that counts; whoever gave it to me will do better next time. Or maybe not, I hope there isn't a "next time" with these people.
"Wait! Ours is missing!" Paul's thin voice chases away my thoughts. He runs toward me, followed by Mom and Dad walking arm-in-arm. He balances a large beige box and hands it to me with a sigh of relief, as if he’d freed himself from a huge responsibility.
"Wow, thanks little man. You did an excellent job!" I exclaim proudly.
"Come on, open it!" all three exclaim in unison.
I untie the red ribbon wrapped around the entire package, then lift the lid, look inside, and let out a gasp of surprise. I stroke the dark brown leather briefcase. Although it appears a bit worn, I’m fascinated by its antique flavor. It’s spacious enough to hold a laptop, books, and other objects. I pull it out of the box and examine every inch, until my gaze rests on a gold engraving. I read incredulously, several times, my surname written in block letters.
"It’s mine, I used it when I attended college in London. It held the first chapters of my first book, which I started at your age. I know it’s not a new or expensive object, but I thought it could bring you luck, just as it did for me. Paul and Mom managed to restore it a bit," Dad explains to me in a low, husky voice.
Moved by his words, I pick Paul up and reach my mother and father in an instant. They wrap us both in a collective hug.
"Thank you," I manage to barely say between one sob and another. I should stop crying, but right now I don't care; in their arms, I feel so happy. Behind them, Nick winks at me and applauds. Yes, I am immensely happy.
"We are extremely proud of you, Emmy. Never doubt it," Mom promises, giving me small kisses on the forehead.
Everyone is letting loose on the dance floor. Dad and Paul just convinced the DJ to play a more upbeat playlist. The young people show off new dance moves while the adults try to imitate them; soon the atmosphere transforms into an improvised dance lesson. Aria, our new friend Pablo, and I instead enjoy the exquisite cake: cream and strawberries, exactly how I like it. From the less illuminated part of the party, right in front of the entrance, I suddenly see Deborah running furiously toward her car, starting it, and after a sharp reverse, driving away toward the end of the driveway. Marcus watches her go, putting his hands to his head in desperation. Then he turns toward the gate and walks through it. As soon as he notices our presence, he pulls a chair next to us and sits down dejectedly.
"A total disaster. I overdid it," he murmurs.
"She just needs to cool off, talk to her again tomorrow and you'll definitely make up," I reassure him, patting his shoulder. He huffs, while Pablo approaches to hug him. He whispers something to him that seems to calm him slightly.
"Hey," Nick exclaims, announcing his arrival.
"Hey, you," I answer him, looking him straight in the eyes.
Nick looks at my cousin with concern. "Everything okay?" he asks me.
"Yes, just small squabbles between brother and sister." Marcus reassures him, giving him a quick smile.
"Are you having fun?" I ask him to change the subject. He chuckles.
"I don't know, are you having fun?" he says, indicating with a nod two people a few meters from me. Perfect, Leo's parents are here too, predictable. Nick, noticing my reaction, starts talking frantically.
"I swear it wasn't my idea, there’s the usual snobby crowd, I didn't handle the guest list, if I had known I wouldn't have..."
"Nick, relax, I know it's not your fault. Leo's parents are good people, they’ve always treated me well and I care about them. It’s just that I would have preferred not to see them again so soon after what happened. They’re on the same events committee as my mother, she couldn't not invite them, but it's fine."
"Yeah, but if you want me to do something..."
"Nick..." I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull his face close to mine. "Everything is perfect as it is, thank you."
He opens and closes his mouth, but eventually gives in and sits next to me, intent on monitoring the general situation. A minute later I involve him in a conversation with Marcus's boyfriend. He tells us about all the places he’s performed, his numerous travels around the world, and the different cultures he’s gotten to know. We all listen, rapt, despite the insistent ringing from Aria's phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I check it and see that "Seth" is the name appearing on the screen. Aria, annoyed, looks around, sets it to silent, and tosses the cell phone into the depths of her bag.
I concentrate back on Pablo's voice, but I don't have time to hear the end of his story because Seth appears in front of me. Was he among the guests? Maybe because of his parents.
"What the fuck, it's not possible," Aria exclaims furiously, jumping to her feet.
"Emma, I know you're angry with me, but please let me explain..."
"What should you explain?! That you're a stalker! How dare you come here?! I told you not to come near her anymore and you and I are done. After what you did to her, I don't want to see you again."
In that precise moment, I understand the reason for so much bitterness. Marcus and Pablo whisper something in each other's ears. Nick's confused gaze shifts first to Seth and then to me. Seth's eyes are red; he must have cried a lot; he is visibly destroyed and pale. The fight with Aria must have been extremely violent. He reaches his hands toward hers in an attempt to calm her rage, but she pulls away abruptly.
"Sweetheart, I beg you..."
"Sweetheart?! Don't call me that, I don't stay with spies. And not with anyone who stoops to these levels," she answers him without giving him a glance.
"May I know what is going on?" Nick asks with a grave tone.
"I’ll tell you what’s going on!" Aria snaps.
No, please.
"This bastard received over five hundred dollars from Emma's psychotic ex to spy on her. He saw you two kissing during your picnic and reported everything to him. That’s why Leo was waiting furiously in front of her house for her return."
What a disaster. Marcus, Pablo, and I are left agape, while Nick is barely breathing, he's so nervous. All hell is about to break loose.
"Aria..." I murmur, trying to stop her.
"Do you realize you put her in danger? He was so furious he kept trying to kiss her even though she was trying to push him away!"
"Wait, he did what?!" Nick explodes.
Dammit. I didn't tell him intentionally because I knew it would end like this. Aria realizes what she’s revealed and sits back down, defeated.
"Emma?" Nick calls me. I slowly turn my gaze toward him. "He tried to kiss you without your consent?"
I don't have the strength to answer.
"Emma?"
I can't do it.
"EMMA!" he screams, making me jump.
"Yes, but I pushed him away and then he realized what he was doing and went away, forever!"
"I’m going to kill him," he growls.
In a second he springs to his feet, sending the chair flying backward. He walks decisively toward the exit.
"Nick, no!" I scream at him. But there's nothing to be done. I run after him, leaving Aria and Seth to argue on their own. I manage with extreme difficulty to reach him and spread my arms to block his path.
"Let me pass."
"No."
"Em, let me pass," he repeats louder.
"I told you no."
"EMMA, DAMN IT!"
"You can scream in my face as much as you want, but I won't let you," I answer resolutely. He’d have to go over my dead body first. He tries to bypass me, but I block him again. He surrenders to my insistence, cursing under his breath.
"Why didn't you tell me right away?!" he insists.
"Because I knew you would react exactly like this!"
"And what did you expect? That I’d be happy about it?"
"No, I just want you to calm down. I told you I handled it. It happened, it's true. I didn't know anything about the money or that he wanted to spy on me. He tried to kiss me several times; he was desperate. I told him I didn't want to, he understood it was wrong to insist and I sent him away. It ends here."
"Easy, it ends here! Tell me you're joking!" he exclaims between hysterical laughs.
I resort to the last resource to convince him.
"Please, don't ruin the party you organized so well and for which I am infinitely grateful. Let's enjoy the evening; I want to be with you."
His chest rises and falls rhythmically. I place a hand right over his heart; it’s beating wildly.
"Please. Stay here with me," I whisper.
I want nothing more in this moment. Just to be with him, to enjoy him while I can. I replace my hand with my forehead against his chest. He sighs and I stay there, waiting for his reaction. He gently moves my face with both hands, slides them down my arms, and finally intertwines his fingers with mine. I push him gently toward the party.
"Alright, but if you think I’m going to forget what he did, you're dead wrong." I say nothing, I just continue walking by his side.
My aunt has been explaining every detail of the organization to me for at least half an hour; she drags me through the house to show me the preparation of some decorations, while I smile to myself. I’m so distracted that I trip on her long dress at least a couple of times. I’m amazed at how much they managed to do in such a short time, but I couldn't expect anything less from Mom, Aunt, and... Nick. I can't get anything right; with him it always feels like being on a roller coaster: you go up and you feel good, and an instant later you plunge into unbearable dramas. He comes looking for me and I push him away, hurting his feelings. He organizes a party for me, gives me an immensely valuable bracelet, and I thank him by keeping the truth about Leo from him. Good job Emma, you're becoming an expert at ruining everything.
Not even my aunt's shrill voice can distract me from Nick's absent gaze as he follows us silently during the explanation.
"...up to the garden setup, where we decided to hold the party. Nick told me it would be perfect for you, it being your favorite part of the house. He insisted on hanging the lanterns high so the atmosphere would be more welcoming."
Hearing my aunt's words, he moves beside her and gently pats her shoulder to thank her. His silence is gnawing at me and the tension is palpable. I was a fool: I should have told him the whole truth; even if his reaction wouldn't have changed, I owed it to him. After everything he’s done for me, it was the least I could do. I wanted to prove once and for all that I knew how to manage on my own, that I don't always need a defender. I don't regret facing him, but I would do anything to nullify this temporary distance between us. I can't tolerate it anymore.
"I don't know what to say anymore, you were sublime, I don't know how to repay you. You’re a formidable team," I whisper, looking around once more.
Aunt smiles satisfied just as Leonard's parents reach us, followed by that asshole of my uncle. My heart climbs into my throat and sadness instantly turns into a rage that threatens to make me explode.
"Here is our new superstar!" his slimy voice echoes in my ears.
Robert Carson, unfortunately my aunt's husband. Deborah and Marcus are his reflection, but no one can be worse than him. A slimy, petty, and boorish man. For this reason, he is not at all loved by his children. Since the wedding, he has managed the accounting for our publishing house. Margaret had the audacity to spoil him more than he already was. He was assigned a private office where he does everything except work; it serves only for him to entertain his aspiring secretaries. Last year he was caught exchanging affections with a maid and ended up on the front pages of the newspapers for an entire week. I remember my aunt came to our house late at night to vent to my mother; she was destroyed. He had sworn it wouldn't happen again to calm her down, but after a few months, I was the one to catch him in a parking lot; it was a repulsive scene. My aunt didn't want to believe me, or at least she pretended not to hear me. She would accept anything just to not crack the image of the perfect family, but I know she suffers, as if every betrayal were the first.
He spreads his arms to hug me, but I reject him, moving aside; I can't even tolerate his proximity.
"What are you doing here?" I ask him with a furious tone.
He laughs, as if my question amused him. He turns smiling toward Leonard's parents.
"Because I’m your uncle, silly girl! I came to offer you my congratulations!"
I scrutinize him with loathing. "I don't want anything from you, get lost."
"Emma, don't act like that," Aunt begs me.
I turn my back on him, grab a bottle of whisky, and pour some into a glass; the liquid goes down fast, burning my throat. Everyone's eyes are on us. I start shaking from nerves; Nick notices and places a hand in the center of my back to give me courage. He knows well the effect this man has on me. Robert continues his assault, ignoring his wife's pleas.
"Don't be sour now, I also wanted to greet your boyfriend..."
Bastard son of a bitch.
With a brusque gesture, I push Nick's hand away and walk straight toward him until our faces are a millimeter apart. I set aside the disgust. I make sure there are no photographers nearby so as not to cause a scene.
"I caught him having sex with another girl. Your favorite is a disappointment and a disgusting traitor, just like you."
"YOU!" my grandmother's thundering voice overpowers every other sound. I step back a few paces from my uncle. No, I can't face this too, it's too much. Mom tries to calm her fury and lead her back into the house, but she continues to vomit her usual insults at me.
"You’ve dragged this family into ruin! Stay away from me!"
"Mom, she’s our daughter, please!" Mom exclaims with a heartfelt tone.
Dad suddenly appears along with Grandpa, followed by two orderlies.
"It shouldn't have happened here, honey. Not on her special day, it was a bad idea. She hasn't recovered yet," Grandpa murmurs apologetically to his daughter.
My grandmother's screams become shriller.
"Grandma, it's me!" I manage to whisper.
"You're just a filthy whore!" she screams as the orderlies force her away.
My jolts become more violent. Robert's laugh becomes louder. Nick talks in my ear, but I can't hear anything. The more he talks, the more I curl up into myself. I can't do it.
"I’m sorry," I say, gasping. And I run toward my room, throw myself on the bed, and plug my ears so I don't hear anything anymore. So I don't feel anything anymore.
"Shh, it's alright," Nick reassures me. I feel his heavy breath against the back of my neck. The room is immersed in darkness; when I entered, turning on the lights wasn't my first thought, I just wanted to vanish. I’m curled up on the bed and Nick hugs me from behind, enveloping half of my body. It’s his usual way of protecting me from the world. I feel like I’m back to when we were children. It always happened like this. I’d pretend to have argued with my parents when, in reality, I just wanted to forget the nightmares. He was the only person capable of calming me. He still is. His sighs move my hair, which stays stuck to my tear-streaked cheeks. No matter how much I try to wipe them away, they seem inexhaustible.
The party continues outside without a hitch, the soft music fills the silence of the bedroom. Nick doesn't speak; he limits himself to holding me tighter, hoping that sooner or later the pain will subside. At one point in the evening, I really believed that everything would go well. "It's my night," I kept telling myself. I was wrong. There will always be something wrong, but I didn't expect all this in a single day. All my anxieties, my fears, my fragilities materialized in a few moments. By now I should be used to my grandmother's mood swings, but you’re never ready to hear certain words addressed to you by loved ones. I lost her a long time ago, and yet it still hurts.
"She has Alzheimer's," I confess suddenly. Nick's hand stops moving through my hair. "She doesn't remember me. She doesn't know who I am."
Still no reaction from him. I convince myself to lift my head from the pillow and lean my torso against the headboard. Nick imitates my movements. I stare into space so as not to meet his gaze. I take long breaths and force myself to utter the first words.
"It started three years ago. She began to forget my name, Grandpa's, and her daughters'. She didn't even remember things that happened a moment before. We got worried and took her to the hospital for checks. That's where the diagnosis came."
I grip the sheets with my hands to find the courage to continue. "Since that day it's been hell. We tried, we showed her the photo albums, but she wouldn't have it. She doesn't even know Paul exists. The only thing she remembers is..."
"Don't," he whispers. I look at him questioningly. "Don't tell me if you don't feel like it, seriously."
"I want to," I reply firmly. A faint smile from him spurs me to continue. "She remembers this woman. I don't know who she is, Mom says she might have been a past flame of Grandpa's. Maybe a girl she clashed with often, who put her family in danger. She believes that I am that woman. I probably look like her physically."
"My God..." he murmurs thoughtfully.
"They had to hospitalize her because she became aggressive. She thought everyone considered her crazy, so she refused every visit for a whole year. When I went to see her, she attacked me and got sick, had breathing problems. Tonight is the first time I’ve seen her in two years."
The silence now is more oppressive than before, weighted with everything I’ve revealed to him.
"I’m sorry." Nick shakes his head, turning toward me.
"I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I’m sorry I didn't write to you right after seeing Leo. I’m sorry I didn't tell you about the kiss. I’m sorry for ruining the party. I’m a complete disaster."
His forehead rests gently against mine, while his fingers dry my cheeks. I close my eyes to savor the peace his touch transmits to me.
"That makes two of us, then," he chuckles. I half-open my eyes and admire his perfect lips.
"And besides, the party isn't over yet," he says softly. He stands up and, after adjusting his jacket, extends his hand toward mine. I watch him confused.
"You owe me a dance," he says with a mocking tone.
I roll my eyes. "I really don't feel like going back down and pretending..."
Suddenly Nick grabs my hand and draws me to his chest, making me sway slowly to the rhythm of the music in the background. The notes of "Never Say Never" by The Fray cradle us, along with the regular beat of his heart. When Isaac Slade's voice pronounces the verse "Don't let me go," I feel myself melt in his arms. He couldn't have chosen a more perfect moment and song. I wonder if I’ll ever have the opportunity to relive a moment like this in the future. I wish it would never end; I know it sounds like a cliché, but it's the pure truth.
"Nick?"
"Yes, piccola?"
I stare at him while my fingers brush his neck. "Will everything be okay?"
A sliver of light from the window illuminates his face.
"It has to be okay, it has to. I’ll do everything possible to make sure it is," he promises me, as he makes me perform a twirl.