I hate lying to my family.
“Yeah,” I say weakly, hoping Sofia will accept my lack of explanation. She gets into the passenger seat as Daniel checks on the babies in the rearview mirror, and we head to our mother’s house.
When we get there, greetings take a few minutes. My mother, my nonna, my sisters, their husbands, and all eight of my nieces and nephews. Oh, and a few uncles, aunts, cousins, and second cousins for good measure.
Just the immediate family for pre-Thanksgiving dinner, of course. I sweep my eyes around the room, finally letting my lips curl into a smile.
Everyone’s talking over each other, shoving food and drinks in each other’s hands, and my heart slows down a little bit more. I’m safe here, even though they don’t understand about Angelo. This is my family.
“The cannolis?” my mother asks me, eyebrows arched.
“She dropped them,” Sofia says. “Here, I got some on the way. I’ll put them in the fridge.”
“Thank you, honey.” Mom chucks Sofia’s cheek, then throws me a disappointed glance.
Guilt worms its way through my stomach. I look around the room. “Where’s Robbie? I thought they’d be here before me.”
And Kit?
“He’s coming,” my mother says, throwing a tea towel over her shoulder as she heads back into the kitchen.
I follow my mother and grandmother into the kitchen. On the way in, they both touch their fingers to their lips and then to a picture of my late grandfather, then do the same to a picture of my father.
“Where’s Angelo?” Nonna asks, using a spoon to taste something from a pot of simmering deliciousness.
“We broke up, Nonna,” I say, trying not to let the frustration seep into my voice.
She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Why? He’s a good man, Serena. You shouldn’t turn your back on him. When I met Matteo, I knew I’d be with him until the end. We were only fifteen.” Her razor-sharp eyes drill into mine, and I try not to squirm under her gaze.
Before I can answer, though, two of my nephews come crashing into my legs. They’re screaming and laughing as they chase each other. I pick both squealing boys up and haul them through the kitchen, saying a silent thank you for saving me from another uncomfortable conversation.
Carrying them out the back door, my nephews laugh as I jostle them in my arms, and their sisters trail behind me, giggling. As soon as I get outside, the bite of the November cold rips through my body, chilling me to my core—but I’m used to it. Cold is my constant companion. We go running through a big pile of leaves and I put the kids down, crunching my feet through the fallen foliage.
Tommy, the five-year-old, throws a handful of leaves at me while Anna, the seven-year-old, stuffs another handful down my back. I scream, laughing, and spin around to tackle her in the pile of leaves.
Gently, of course. I’d never hurt the kids. I take my responsibilities as the cool aunt very seriously.
Before too long, I’m puffed. My nephews and nieces are still laughing and screaming as I try to catch my breath. One of them lands on my stomach and I let out a low oof. I might not be as indestructible as I once thought.
I pick myself up off the ground just as the back door opens.
“Serena! Come say hello to your brother.” My mother turns around without waiting for me to answer. I throw a glance at the kids, leaving them to play in the leaves.
All thoughts of Angelo are gone from my head, and I straighten my shirt as I head toward the house. If Robbie is here, that means Kit will be, too.
This is my chance to give a decent second impression.
As I open the back door and step through, I know it’s the beginning of a new chapter of my life.
One without fear from Angelo. One where I stand on my own two feet. One where I have a job and a life. And who knows? I might even meet a guy in Woodvale.
In a few weeks, after New Year’s Day, I’ll be flying across the country and starting fresh.
I just hope I have somewhere to live when I get there.
3
Kit
Robbie wasn’t lying when he told me this would be chaos. The moment we walk in the door, it’s a rapid-fire introduction of about twenty names, all of which I immediately forget.
One name I haven’t forgotten, though, is Serena’s.
As soon as I catch a glimpse of her