Brava, Valentine

June whistles as she pushes open the entrance door.

“Full staff meeting without me?” June asks.

“No staff meeting. Just paperwork. We’re going with Roberta.”

“Oh, you made your mind up when you were in Argentina.” June waves her hand at me. “No-brainer.”

“The Chinese were more expensive in the end-that really made the decision for me.”

“You see we finished cutting the rest of the samples yesterday,” June says.

“They look great.”

“Who are these for?”

“Bret needs them for the funding meetings-he wants as many prototypes on display as possible.” I turn to Alfred. “Did you send Bret the paperwork?”

“When I sent it to Ray, I sent Bret his own set.”

“I love synergy!”

“As a very wise person once noted, a fish rots from the head-having said that, it also thrives from the head. You’re a damn good boss, Valentine,” June says as she passes a stack of patterns to Gabriel, who sorts them.

“Don’t be so quick to give her all the credit. I like to give due to feng shui. That’s right-the upper levels of this building have been transformed. First we ditched the crap, and then I schemed the dream-the apartment has gone from deadly dull to dazzling, and ever since then, we’ve gotten lucky around here. Or am I the only one who has noticed?”

“It’s you, Gabe. All you,” I tell him. “And the ancient art of feng shui.”

I pick up the phone and dial Roberta. “Roberta? We’ve made our decision.” I look around the workroom at my co-workers, June, Gabriel, and Alfred. Then I say, “You got the job. It’s Angelini and Caminito from now on.”

“Thank you! We are very pleased!”

“Great. Alfred will be in touch shortly with all the details.”

“Thank you, Cousin.”

I hang up the phone.

“Congratulations,” Alfred says. “You did it.”

June and Gabe break out a bottle of champagne from the mini-fridge while Alfred goes on a hunt for plastic cups. I feel a sadness in my gut because this is a moment I have dreamed of, and worked toward, and I have no one to share it with. My eyes fill with tears of regret. How I wish I could go back to Buenos Aires and make everything right with Gianluca. I miss him. But he has not called or written to me, and while I may not be the wisest woman around, I’m astute enough to know when a man has moved on. My letter, filled with humor and hope, was not well received. If it had been, I would have heard from him by now. Silence is the most direct answer of all.

I check the clock. My Skype appointment with Gram is on. I turn on the computer and dial through. After a few moments, Gram’s face appears on the screen.

“Hi, hon! All’s well here in Arezzo. I’m going to miss Thanksgiving turkey, though.”

“You and Dominic can jump on a plane.”

“Why don’t you come and see us?” Gram asks.

“I can’t leave the shop right now. But if the Bella Rosa takes off, or the economy improves in the next couple of months-”

“Valentine, don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

“Did you get the Bella Rosa sample that I sent? Roberta built the prototype.”

“It’s handsome. How do you like working with her?”

“On my end, it’s very easy. She’s built my shoe according to specifications. She beat the Chinese. But Alfred says she drives a hard bargain in the cost department.”

“That’s an Angelini trait,” she says.

“I need your stuffing recipe. Gabriel is cooking this year.”

“No problem.”

“Yeah, we’re having the whole family over-kids, parents, chestnuts on the roof-every dish and everybody but you and Dominic.”

“We’ll be there for Christmas.”

“I know. It’s just not the same. You know, Thanksgiving is your holiday-nobody will roast the chestnuts like you. Even Aunt Feen is coming over. I’ll hide the liquor.”

“I just called her.”

“How is she?”

“The same.” Gram sighs. “How about we have a mod holiday-we’ll Skype!” Gram says.

“Okay. Great.”

“Shall I e-mail the recipe?”

“Sure, sure. You can send it right to Gabriel.”

“How’s the roommate situation working out?”

“I love it. Gram, you won’t believe the changes he’s made. The house is beautiful.”

“He’s got the energy to do it. I never did.”

Before Gram met Dominic, especially in the years after my grandfather died, I noticed that it was all she could do to put in a workday downstairs and then go up the stairs for di

“You will love the new look,” I promise her.

“I’m sure I will.”

“So have you seen Gianluca?” I ask.

“Not a lot. He’s been traveling to Florence quite a bit.”

My stomach turns. I imagine Gianluca in his Mercedes with a willowy redhead draped across the front seat, one of those Italian girls who speaks four languages, gives a great neck massage, and makes a killer dish of linguine alle vongole.

Gram continues, “The ta

“Yeah. Me too.” I couldn’t sound less enthusiastic. “Has he asked about me?” It’s out of my mouth before I can take it back.

“Gianluca?” Gram leans in. “No, he hasn’t, honey.”

“Well, do me a favor. Don’t tell him I asked you if he asked about me.”

Gram looks confused. And she should. Gianluca accused me of being a child, and I sound like one. At least he didn’t burden Gram with the whole Buenos Aires saga-although part of me wishes he had.

“Okay,” she agrees. After a slight pause she continues, “I’ll get that stuffing recipe right out to you.”

“Thanks.”

The screen goes black like my mood. Gianluca has totally moved on. No agonizing and regret for him! How adult! Maybe he’s even checking in on Carlotta from time to time-after all, nothing like reigniting an old fire and basking in that familiar glow. This is going to be a lovely holiday season around here. Thanksgiving and then Christmas, with a fresh pine tree, and me-single, lonely me…pining.

I wake up to the scent of fresh sage, pumpkin, and bread baking on Thanksgiving morning. I’m about to roll over and go to sleep, when I hear:

“Val, time to get up! I need a pair of hands down here.”

I sit up in bed and look out the window. The treetops along the Hudson River Park have only flecks of gold left on their mostly bare branches. The gray river looks like a shard of hammered silver where the sun hits the surface. “Coming!” I holler.

Gabriel is in the kitchen, ru

Gabriel dipped miniature fresh pumpkins in orange glitter, then stuck a small green flag, on which he had written the guest’s name in calligraphy, next to the stem.

“My, we are fancy.”

“Is there any other way?” Gabriel goes back to fluffing his pumpkin mousse.

June made a tablecloth out of orange cotton, and trimmed it in white fringe. I center it on the table. Then I take the tray of pumpkins and place them one by one down the center of the table on either side. I set the table with Gram’s china, which Gabriel set out and counted.

“No kiddie table?”

“I don’t believe in them. Sitting at the kiddie table scarred me for life. I won’t visit that agony on your nieces and nephews.”

“Hey, it’s your party.”

“And yours,” he reminds me.

I unpack a large solid chocolate turkey from Li-Lac’s on Hudson Street and place it on a gold serving dish. I open a bag of orange, green, and silver foil kisses and surround the turkey. The details of the table design were decided on a legal pad a week ago. I follow Gabriel’s plan down to the placement of the last foil kiss.