ELENORA

I did it, I survived.

I proudly step out of the elevator into the main lobby. We don't need to talk about the mini breakdown that took place minutes after I walked into my apartment; if no one saw it, it didn't happen, right? I finally understand that old philosophical question: if a tree falls down and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

Listen to you, Nora, you're becoming a freaking philosopher. Ha!

"Bye, Elenora!" Ruben the day-doorman calls out to me as I rush past him. I'm fully taking advantage of the fact that he's currently trying to mediate between two squabbling tenants fighting over stolen mail.

I love Ruben, I do. But knowing his nosey ass, he'll ask questions. Questions I don't want to answer. Questions that will lead to me becoming a puffy-eyed, sniveling, cliché. Nope. Not today Satan!

Sure, keep telling yourself that. Fake it till you make it—has worked so well for you.

I really hate my subconscious. When I need to figure shit out I get the silent treatment, and on days like today, there's no off-switch.

"See ya, Ruben!" I gather up my weeks worth of mail I left on the lobby desk earlier after checking my mailbox. Ruben happened to be on the phone then, but as soon as I heard him address Mrs. Jones, my elderly—gives unsolicited advice any chance she gets—neighbor across the hall, I knew I was saved from another interrogation.

I step out onto the sidewalk, taking a huge breath. A smile spreads on my face, soaking the last bit of warmth for the day as the sun is setting, painting the sky in orange and pink hues. My recent hermit-like lifestyle has kept me from getting any natural vitamin D. I shift the stack of mail in my arms as pedestrians bump into me rushing to their destinations.

"I was about to come get you, your pops called asking if we were heading back yet." Carlo, my parents' main driver, snubs out his cigarette against the building and throws the stub in the ash receptacle. "Damn girl, I thought you had your mail forwarded while you were staying with your parents?" He observes the obscene amount of mail in my hands.

"I forgot," I shrug. "I have most of my bills set up to pay online; so a lot of this is junk." He opens the back passenger door to the large, black SUV with tinted windows for me to get in.

"Nora, wait!" Ruben runs towards us with a large envelope in his hands. He doubles over, holding his knees, wheezing. You'd think he ran a few blocks instead of only thirty feet from the lobby. He straightens holding his side, panting. "This came for you while you were in your apartment. I nearly forgot because of the squawking old hens I had to keep from throwin' hands at each other."

I take the envelope and immediately notice the missing return address. "Did this come from the post office?"

Ruben wipes at his forehead. "Courier service. The idiot thought I had to tip him, but I was like 'oh, no honey, that's not how this works; you're giving it to me to deliver for you.'" His heavy New York accent coming in thick.

I chuckle. "Thanks."

"No, problem. It's been a long three months without seeing your smiling face, chica." He smiles.

"Well, you'll see more of me after this weekend. I'm moving back."

I drop the mail in my hands to cover my ears at the over the top scream he lets out. Passerby's side-eye him, but being in New York, most people keep walking, like it didn't happen. "I can't wait, girl! See you later, guapo!" Ruben winks at Carlo, who grunts in response as he bends down to pick up some of the mail on the curb and hands it to me before he shuts the car door. (handsome)

As we pull away from the building Carlo looks back at me through the mirror, "What the hell does wapo mean?"

I laugh. "You got the pronunciation down; it means handsome in Spanish." Carlo's eyebrows furrow together and he shakes his head.

While I have every intention of going through my mail, I found myself watching the scenery during the quiet drive instead. I miss the sounds and the hustle and bustle of the city I've grown to love over the last three years.

Everything from the low frequency hum of the city I hear within my apartment, to sirens of police vehicles, and the "da dunk" that cars make going over loose man-hole covers, or the electrical buzz of people going in and out of the building, even the cooing pigeons. They bring me the comfort of home. There is no place in the world quite like the city.

My parents' home is still within the city limits, but it's not the same. By this weekend however, things will go back to normal. Well, not normal normal, but better than they are now; where I won't be walking on eggshells. Although, it's been nice the last couple of weeks. My parents' aren't the problem—not entirely, but home has not felt like home for me for a long time.

"Who's here?" I question out loud as we pull up to the house; noticing the unfamiliar luxury car parked out front.

"Probably a client of your Pop," Carlo sighs as he steps out of the car and then helps me out with my hands full of mail. 

My father's line of work as a lawyer for some of the well known crime families in the city brings about some interesting clientele, to say the least. It isn't uncommon to have clients he represents coming and going from the house.

I walk into the house and set my apartment keys down on the hallway accent table leading to the kitchen.

"There you are, piccola," My mother rushes towards me and pulls me into a hug. (little one)

As she pulls away, her eyes skim over my hair then my t-shirt and jeans. "Why don't you let your hair down more often?" Her hand trails over my long side braid. "Everyone always tells me they're envious of your curls." She smiles, turning away. "You should really put more thought in your clothes before you leave the house. You never know who you might run into." I roll my eyes as I follow her into the kitchen. 

"I went to do a quick clean of the apartment so I won't have to worry about it when I move back this weekend; why get all dolled up for nothing, Ma?" I place the stack of mail on the counter.

She waves her hand, dismissing me. "Go. Clean up and change. Your father is waiting for you and Jaqueline in the study. Go make sure your sister is ready, too, will you?"

"Aren't we eating first?" I ask, confused. She hums to herself, helping the staff set out the food on the formal dining table while I stand there waiting for her to answer me.

"We have a guest, don't keep your father waiting, Elenora." She finally says over her shoulder carrying a center piece. Recognizing the sternness to her voice, I know better than to question her again. I turn away, snatching my mail before I head up to my old room.

My room hasn't changed much since I moved out. Although my mother did take it upon herself to take down my boy band posters. She said she didn't like them staring at her when she'd change out the bedding. We have staff that do these types of household chores so I knew she was lying and just wanted to get rid of anything she didn't like.

I change into leggings and an oversized sweater that my best friend, Clara, got me last Christmas, chuckling as I read over the print: The day I dress for a man is the day they dress me in my coffin to meet Jesus.

My ma absolutely hates it and even tried to get rid of it without me knowing when she was collecting 'unwanted' clothes to donate for a charity event she drags us to every year. I pull my hair up into a messy bun, already hearing my mother's complaint about how she prefers my hair down. I walk down the hall to my sister Jaqueline's room to see if she's ready.

"Come in." She calls from the other side of the door after I knock. She's fixing her hair, dressed in a nice blouse and dress pants. At least my parents have one daughter who doesn't disappoint them constantly. Okay, that's a little dramatic, I shake my head at myself as I walk in further; there's three others besides me, that make them proud.

"Ready to go see Pop?"

Jackie's gaze travels over my sweatshirt and she laughs. "Ma's going to have a heart attack when she sees you."

I snort. "I doubt it."

I pick up a photo of the two of us, on her vanity and sigh. "If anything, she'll give me that look. You know, the one that promises an endless amount of lecturing, but you know before the night is over she'll move on to whatever other petty thing catches her attention."

"Maybe she'll reign it in, seeing as Papa has a guest here and I hear he's staying for dinner," She informs me as we walk out of her room and head down stairs.

"That's random," I state. "Pop never has clients stay."

"I don't think he's a client." Jackie shrugs.

"I'm not so sure she's ready for this?" We hear our father's worried voice as we approach the door to his study that's not quite shut.

"You're too soft with her, Tiziano, she's not a damn child." Nonno's annoyance evident. (grandfather's)

"I thought Nonno wasn't going to be back until the end of the month?" I whisper to Jackie, trying to ignore my racing heart knowing I have to face him soon.

"That's what I thought, too," she says before she knocks on the door then opens it after our father tells us to come in.

Our father stands, a tense smile on his face when he sees us, but his eyes narrow at my clothing. His mouth presses into a thin line as he reads the print on my sweater. His chest expands with the deep breath he takes, but he composes himself as he glances at my nonno.

Our nonno scrutinizes my attire as well, and reminds me of those old cartoons where the character's face grows a deep shade of red and you see smoke coming out of his ears. His white bushy mustache twitches, as he continues to scowl at me in obvious disgust. We're not exactly close. Or friendly. Sometimes, I question if we're even related considering he hates breathing the same air as me when we happen to be in the same room.

I take a deep breath as I walk to him first and greet him formally; Jackie follows behind me then we do the same with our father.

"Meie cari, I'd like to introduce Paolo Clemenza," our father announces. I take notice of a man facing away from us. He stands and turns to present himself. (My darlings)

He is by no means a tall man and probably a good three inches shorter than my five foot seven height. His black hair is slicked back and he sports a thick mustache perhaps to appear older, though he looks to be around our age.

He walks over to us and bows as he takes Jackie's hand and kisses it. We look at each other and fight the urge to laugh, before he takes my hand and does the same.

"Buonasera, signorinas; è un piacere conoscervi entrambi," he smiles. (Good evening ladies, it is a pleasure to meet you both)

We mutter the same out of politeness and stand there, awkwardly, not knowing what we are doing here or what this is all about.

My father gestures for us to sit on one of the couches in his study while he moves the chairs in front of his desk to face us; he and Paolo sit in them. My nonno places a chair next to me, but I focus more on how quiet and formal my father is tonight.

"Paolo is visiting from Florence and will be staying with us for a little while," My father begins and I inwardly celebrate that I will be leaving soon.

My father's eyes shift from us to Paolo and then back to us. He leans back and is about to say something, when my mother walks in with a tray of coffee and pastries. She pours coffee for my father, nonno, Paolo and herself.

She sits on the arm of the chair my dad is sitting on, smiling pleasantly at the room before she takes a sip of her coffee. Her eyes widen and narrow almost comically as she focuses on me and sputters on the coffee when she sees what I'm wearing. My father stands, patting her back.

After she settles down, she glares over at me. "Really, Nora?" she hisses. I take a bite of one of the cookies I grabbed from the tray and nibble on it to keep from chuckling. Now would not be a good time to laugh.

"So," My father states. "Before we begin, your mamma and I need to share something with you. You are both at an age where you will be able to understand and process what we need to tell you better; the truth about how your mamma and I met."

Jackie and I steal a glance at each other and then look back at our parents. My mother shifts in her seat and avoids our eyes as she sips on her coffee. My father clears his throat. "As you know it is customary for ceremonial pairings to take place in our cultural history and it has been tradition for centuries, though not as common now."

A chill sets in the room and I place the cookie down on the table next to me. I look over at Jackie again and see the same worry mirrored on her face.

"Your mother and I didn't know each other until our wedding day, but we fell in love quickly and it was the best thing that happened to us. Your nonno--your mamma's papá, set up the arrangement to make sure your mother was taken care of when your nonna's health began failing. And shortly after as you know, your nonno passed from an unfortunate car accident."

"Now, originally, we had planned Paolo to court Jaqueline, before..." my father doesn't quite meet my eyes and forces a smile on his face towards Paolo, in a reassuring manner. But I'm still trying to grasp the fact that my parents didn't know each other before they were married. "Elenora, Paolo is here to begin a courtship with you, that will lead to your eventual union. In marriage."

What the hell?!

***