“She’s worried about you,” Anina said softly.
“It’s all right, Nicolina. Don’t cry.” Matelda waved her hand in the direction of her daughter. “I am going to be fine.”
“See, Nic? Mama is going to be fine,” Matteo said without taking his eyes off his mother.
* * *
Anina brought her grandmother a cup of broth. “I’m going to get coffee. Would anyone like a cup?” Everyone raised their hand. “I’ll be back,” Anina promised.
When she stepped out into the hallway, her father and Aunt Rosa were sitting in the waiting room. Anina texted Paolo.
I brought Nonna to the hospital.
Is she all right?
DK.
Love you.
Love you.
Olimpio, Nicolina, and Matteo sat around Matelda’s hospital bed as she sipped broth. “You’re staring at me,” Matelda said. “You’re all staring.”
“It’s just the four of us, like the old days,” Matteo said. “I like it.”
“I’m sorry, Nicolina,” Olimpio said softly to his daughter. “I don’t like to see you get upset.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Papa. You just follow orders.”
“What orders?” Matelda asked.
“Let’s not get into that,” Matteo said quietly.
“I don’t understand. I want to understand.” Matelda wiped her mouth daintily with a paper napkin. “Evidently I’m difficult.”
Olimpio sat on the bed and took his wife’s hand. “I know you love Nicolina—”
“Olimpio, please don’t condescend to me.” Matelda pulled her hand away. “I love my daughter and my son. My children are my life. Get to the point.”
“What Papa is trying to say is we need to be kind to one another,” Matteo offered. “Especially now, Mama. We want peace. No arguments. It’s better for your health.”
“I did not make her cry.” Matelda was resolute.
“It’s all right, Mama.” Nicolina leaned back in the chair. Her face was puffy from weeping. She had tied up her long black hair in a topknot. “Papa, it’s fine. Matteo, it’s fine. I’m fine.” She turned to her mother. “Let’s get you well,” she said, as the red splotches on her face deepened to burgundy.
The flurry of clicks from the machines connected to Matelda filled the silence of the small room like the beating wings of a swarm of butterflies. “You’re not fine, Nicolina. You have a problem with me.”
“Because you treat Matteo better than you treat me.”
“That’s not my fault,” Matteo said.
“And how exactly do I treat him better?” Matelda asked.
“We have different rules for the women in this family. As a son, he’s allowed the luxury of failure. A daughter is not allowed to fail. Daughters must be virtuous and hardworking, beautiful and slim, la bella figura! Perfetto! The son can do whatever he wants. Matteo has the cheerful demeanor and smooth brow of a prince who has only ever lived in an era of good times. I’m three years younger and look twenty years older because I live under the stress of being judged. I am tired of it. I surrender.” Nicolina, clutching tissues, put her hands in the air.
“Nicolina.”
“Let her talk, Olimpio. Obviously, she needs to unburden herself. Go ahead, Nicolina.” Matelda opened her hands as if to bless the proceedings. “What else would you like to say?”
“If I’m not good enough, why am I expected to do all the heavy lifting? I know you love me, but your love came with conditions. And it still does.”
“How else can a person love?” Matelda asked. “You love because you are compelled to love. It’s not like I have a say in the matter.”
“But, Mama, you do,” Nicolina argued.
“Nicolina, stop this right now.” Olimpio was weary of the long ride on this merry-go-round of pain. “Dammit. This is your mother. This is who she is. You cannot expect her to change at this late date. Out of all the mothers in the world, this is the one you got. And as far as I can tell, despite her flaws, you are blessed. There’s no time left to change anything. It’s finished. That part of your life is over. You’re a mother yourself. A generation has passed. You have Anina and Giacomo. Matteo, you have Arturo and Serena. You will soon realize where life leads. Your mother and I know what is ahead for you because we have already lived it. We are redundant as parents, and you will be too. Our work is done. If your mother was lacking, or I was lacking, then do better than she did—by all means, do better than me! But stop this nonsense. It’s not good for you or for her. It will not change a single thing. And it hurts your brother and me too. We want peace.”