reach for the remnants of the warm champagne and refill my glass, wishing I’d listened when he warned me way back then. I could have saved myself a fuck-load of heartache.
17
Michael
“Gilda, right?” I say to the owner of Valentina’s European Bakery midmorning the next day, when I arrive to meet my sister for sorely needed crisis talks before I manage to blow my life up any further. Luckily, the place is mostly empty, which will allow for some privacy. I approach the counter, where dozens of beautiful and unidentifiable pastries sit inside their display case, waiting to spread sugar and calories throughout Greenwich Village. I can’t help but think of Ally and what she’d say about all these treats amid her ongoing efforts to lose a little weight and smile inwardly. A feeling that’s quickly followed by a throb of loss so acute it’s a wonder I don’t drop to my knees. “Good to see you again.”
“I know you.” Gilda puts down her cleaning spray and grins at me with the kind of delight you’d expect if you gave away stacks of Benjamins every time you showed up. She’s wearing her pink uniform, which sparkles with all sorts of beads and whatnot, and she’s got the matching twinkle in her eyes. I get the feeling that if she were, say, twenty years younger, she’d try to give Ally some competition for my masculine attention. “You’re Mia’s handsome devil of a brother. Why such a stranger? You haven’t been back since we finished remodeling.”
“Looks great,” I say, taking a moment away from my abject misery to notice that the plastic sheeting is now gone and to appreciate the expanded dining area and what looks like a bigger kitchen on the other side of the counter. “I’m sure business is booming.”
“It is,” she says with unmistakable pride. “And you know that my niece Ella—not sure if you know Ella—has expanded into wedding cakes now. So that keeps her busy.”
She points to several new oversized pictures on the wall that feature some amazing wedding cakes. The types of creations that I’m sure the society folks on the Upper East Side are happy to pay a couple of extra zeros for.
“Nice,” I say.
“So…” She squints, pointing her finger at my face. “Black coffee and a Belgian waffle. Plain. Am I right? I never forget a face or an order.”
“I’m impressed. And my sister’s coming, too, but I have no idea what she’ll want.”
“Men,” she says, rolling her eyes and working on the coffee. “Mia always gets the Portuguese egg tarts and coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. You’d think her twin brother would know that.”
“You’d think,” I say, chuckling as I head for a table near the window overlooking the sidewalk. “I’ll be over here. Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” she says, heading into the back.
I have a seat and do what I’ve been doing since I left Ally’s last night—namely, try to figure out how I single-handedly managed to plunge my great life into this cesspool of despair. I’m staring glumly at the passersby outside, wondering how they can look so happy when my life is now complete shit, when my sister hurries into view, sees me and waves.
I perk up because she’s got a level head on her shoulders and is usually great with advice. Until Liam appears behind her, looking as thrilled to be part of the proceedings as I am to see him.
“Liam,” she says happily as she sweeps inside.
“What the fuck is he doing here? I just saw him last night for drinks,” I say, standing to give my sister a hug once they walk over. “I said I needed to talk, Mia. No offense,” I add, now hugging Liam.
“None taken,” he says, dropping into his seat with the resigned air of a man getting his bib pinned on for his annual dental cleaning. “This is not my idea of a good time. I’m only here because you helped me out the night we got engaged.”
“This is an emergency, Liam,” Mia says, sitting next to him. “It’s an all-hands-on-deck situation. Why wouldn’t you come?”
“Because I have a job. And a life,” he says before glancing up as Gilda returns with a tray and shooting her a smile.
“Hi, Aunt Gilda,” Mia says, propping up to give her a kiss on the cheek as Gilda unloads the coffee and pastries. “How are you?”
“If it isn’t the lovebirds,” Gilda says, now accepting a kiss from Liam.
“How are you?” Liam asks as she finishes with