Brava, Valentine

“Let’s hope not,” Tess says diplomatically.

“What is it?” Mom throws her hands up. “Why can’t children forgive their parents? We don’t set out to disappoint you. We really don’t. And when we do, we are the first to know it-and as far as I can tell, your father has made reparations. Not that he would use that word-”

“Or pronounce it.” I nod.

“But honestly,” Mom continues, “the man has made all matters of restitution to me, to his family, to his God. Furthermore, he has tried time and time again to open up the cha

“That’s just Alfred,” Tess says. “You’re not going to change him, Ma, don’t let it bug you.”

Mom considers this. The sadness and anger leave her face as quickly as if she were wiping them off with one of her premoistened makeup sponges. “You’re absolutely right. Alfred will get it when he gets it. But, please, my trio of angels, don’t let my peevishness ruin your day. You are the best! Each of you have so much on your plates, with children and work and husbands and…” Mom looks at me. “Overseas enchantments. Yet with all you have to do, your father and I must have done something right, because you always show up for us.”

“Where are we go

We sit and wait for Dad to dress and join us, and I think about my brother, and how somebody is always angry with him. That can’t be good for Alfred. It’s sad that he’s missing out on this great moment with us. Relief is an instant balm, but it has to be earned. Alfred ignores the agony, and then he misses the joy. He doesn’t make any emotional investment in us. Maybe he saves it all for Pamela and his sons.

Or maybe they, like us, know the truth: none of us are good enough for Alfred, whether we were born after him, gave birth to him, fathered him, or married him. Alfred’s standards are so high no one can reach them. I have to remember to tell Bret to keep this in mind. I can’t have Alfred derail my relationships at the Angelini Shoe Company because he has unrealistic standards-or because he doesn’t want to see the sister who never measured up succeed despite herself.

“I know this is against your religion…,” I say into my cell phone. I stand on the corner of 14th Street and 8th Avenue, with one hand over my ear and the other clutching my phone. “…but I had to do the modern thing and call you.”

“Valentina?” Gianluca could not be happier to hear from me.

“I have good news. Dad got a great report at the doctors.”

“Va bene!” Gianluca is thrilled by the news, and just as happy to hear from me.

“I wanted to tell you.” A bus pulls up at the stop and decompresses with a loud blast as the steps are lowered closer to the sidewalk. “Sorry about the noise. I’m outside. On my way back to the shop.”

“The noise is not a problem,” he assures me. “I am happy to hear your voice.”

“Gianluca?”

“Yes?”

“Be patient with me.”

“Valentina.”

The soothing sound of his voice, the way he says my name, blankets me. I want to let him know what he means to me, that I couldn’t wait to get home and write it on the onionskin paper. Suddenly, it felt urgent. It only takes a trip to Sloan Kettering to remind me how short life is, and that there’s nothing wrong with a little prioritizing. “I’m not as good at this as you are, at expressing myself. I…” I pause and think.

He waits patiently until I speak. He doesn’t interrupt me. He lets me find my point, and then gives me the time to share it. “I am trying to say that I love your letters. They are very descriptive and honest…and I feel so much when I read them.”

“Grazie,” he says, then amends. “ Mille grazie.”

“I guess, what I’d like to tell you is to…keep them coming. And if you do, I will read them with as much care as you take when you write them.”

“Valentina, I must see you.”

“When?” I ask him.

“I wish today.”

“Me too,” I tell him, and I mean it.

“Now, in the shop here, it is difficult. My father is a new man with a new life. The old life holds very little interest to him now. So, I work twice as long each day.”

“The same at my shop.”

“We’re in, how do you say it?”

“The same boat!”

“Right. Correct. That makes us closer still? No?” he asks.

“Yes,” I tell him.

When I return to the shop, Gabriel and June are laughing at the cutting table. There is something so natural about the two of them working side by side.

Gabriel wasn’t around as much when he lived in Chelsea, but now that he is about to move in, there isn’t any aspect of life on 166 Perry Street that he isn’t a part of-and that includes the shoes.

“What’s going on?” I hang up my coat and look over at Alfred, whose head is buried in a file.

“June is teaching me how to cut patterns,” Gabriel says. “I’ve decided to make the drapes for the living room myself.”

“Do you think you can?”

“You should know better than to ask that question. I can do anything I set my mind to.”

“He’s very good, this guy. Very quick,” June says. “He has a real eye for dimension-which is the one attribute every pattern cutter needs.”

“And when I choose to learn something new, I insist I learn from the master,” Gabriel says.

“Well, that’s me, kiddo.” June cackles. “Thirty-plus years with these pinking shears. I’d say that makes me the master.”

“You feel like a coffee break?” Gabriel asks her.

“Sure,” June says.

“I made blondies with walnuts.” Gabriel looks at me and Alfred.

“I’m okay,” Alfred says without looking up.

“Me too. Late lunch. You go.”

June and Gabriel head up the stairs.

“Dad got an all-clear.”

“Great,” Alfred says.

“You couldn’t be more thrilled.”

He puts the file down. “What do you want me to do? Dance a jig?”

“No. I’d like you to show up,” I tell him. “You’ve never been to the hospital-not when Dad had the surgery, or the chemo, or the radiation-you just leave it to us. And it’s not fair.”

“If you remember, I got him into Sloan, and I paid for the extras. I’ve done my bit.”

“You’re his only son.”

“Yeah, well, that’s its own reward, isn’t it?” he snaps. “I don’t want to fight with you, Valentine,” he says wearily.

“No. You’re fighting the whole world, and then I’m forced to live in it.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t get along with people. You take a defensive position. Or you issue an order and expect me to fall in line. You decide we’re going to make the Bella Rosa in China, and that’s how it’s going to be. You steamroller me, you make Bret unhappy…”

“Oh, now I’m responsible for Bret’s happiness?”

“When you’re working with him, you are. Because he matters to me, I value his opinions, and he’s stepped up for this company.”

“He’ll get his commission.”

“That’s not the point. He didn’t have to take us on. But he did. And if we succeed, and that’s still a big if, Bret will have been a major part of that. So act a little more appreciative and a little less imperious-if you don’t mind.”

“You got it, boss,” he says.

“If only that were true. But I got the deal with the devil here.”

Alfred looks at me. “Now I’m the devil.”

“You can be cruel. I don’t like the way you treat our dad.”

“It always comes back to that.” He turns away from me and goes to sit down at the desk.

“If you’d only make an effort.”

“It’s not go