December 25, 2019

"And don't try lying to me, either," Aoibheann (Pronounced: "Ay-Veen") ordered in no uncertain terms. "Tell me what is going on or I swear to G-"

"Aoibheann!" a black-haired woman called out as she entered the kitchen animatedly. Her skin was wrinkled and olive-toned, and her eyes were awash in familial affection. "Oh my goodness, you're here, Piccolina! I've missed you so. It's been too long."

Wrapping her thin arms around Aoibheann, her little tirade was cut short. I was about to exhale a sigh of relief, (I thought I was momentarily saved), but my retreat was short-lived.

My burner cell began to chirp in my pocket as the baker's wife pulled back from Aoibheann. Frowning, because a call on this line meant something was wrong, I walked behind the large kitchen freezer on our right to take the call out of earshot.

"Hello," I answered quietly, surprised to hear Agent Cooper's voice instead of Tyler's. As I listened, answering questions as Aoibheann and her old friends caught up, I couldn't help but notice how much they adored her. It was obvious in the way they were fawning all over her.

The information passed along, I ended my call and put my cell phone in my pocket before jumping back into the conversation around me.

"Of course you have time for some coffee, Mia Cara, come on," our gracious hostess directed us. "Let's go into the parlour. I'll make you a little espresso and we'll share some biscotti."

Aoibheann started to politely decline. I could tell she wasn't getting out of at least a short visit with her friends, though. "Ah-ah, now. You must join us, I insist."

Turning towards me, the woman grabbed my arm and tugged me along. She may have appeared frail, but her grip was a vice that rivaled steel and I found myself moving forward just to keep up with my arm. "You too, mio Amore," she laughed affectionately, "let's go."

Moving down the hall, and off towards the extremity of the duplex, we entered the bakers' living quarters where a small parlour awaited us, a vision of splendor unfolding before our eyes.

The room was humble and the décor well-loved. A small velvet throw was thrown across the back of the couch. Small cherubs surrounded in gold, red and green danced in gleeful abandon on the tapestry and I found myself smiling despite the growing anxiety mounting behind my eyes.

The assassins were sure to still be out there, and now the phone call, to say nothing of how Aoibheann was going to react to everything going on.

And yet...

And yet I couldn't help feel at home in this cozy, little family room where a yule log was burning in a small fireplace in the corner of the room. A Charlie Brown tree christened the side table beside their armchair. Like an old song, stockings were carefully hung by the fire; Saint Nick had indeed been there.

In short order, I was introduced.

Mr. and Mrs. Ferrari, who came to the United States some 70-some years ago, met, fell in love and had 5 children between them. Coming from a family of blacksmiths, Mr. Ferrari found himself better-suited for baking and commenced to open shop in this small village of New York where they've lived ever since their wedding 74 years ago.

75 years together!

It blew my mind. In a world in which more than half of those married ended up divorced, seeing these two, still holding hands and smiling love towards one another, was enchanting. I couldn't help lean towards Aoibheann when I looked over at her.

There was just something about her.

Not even a full 12 hours together, and here I was drooling all over her like a love-sick puppy.

I started to shake my head, but an ornament on the Ferrari's tree caught my eye.

It was small, but beautiful. The intricate detailing was spectacular, and must have taken it's originator some time to paint. Even more amazing was the fact that it was an exact match to an ornament my mother had hung on our own Christmas tree throughout the years. I assumed, like the unobserving man that I'd been when it came to frilly decorations, that it was something commercial and generic. Something about seeing it on this tree, though, gave me pause.

Leaning forward with the cup of espresso Mrs. Ferrari had given me, I tried not to spill any crumbs from my lap onto the floor. A chocolate-dipped biscotti was perched precariously on my knee, and the little napkin it sat upon did nothing to prevent anything from falling. I was loathe to cause any unnecessary mess for this kind couple, though, so I moved slowly while pointing towards their tree.

"Mrs. Ferrari," I asked, interrupting her conversation with Aoibheann; they were discussing a time-honored anise cookie recipe. "May I ask about your ornament?"

"Of course, Mr. Grier," Mrs. Ferrari answered. Before she could say anything though, her husband, Mr. Ferrari sat forward and jumped in first. "It is a family heirloom. In the old world, it is the symbol of many things."

Mrs. Ferrari smiled at her husband and patted his knee. "Augustus is right," Mrs. Ferrari agreed before continuing. "It is hung on a tree to speak to the love, commitment and effort it takes to build a happy home. It is also believed to bring good luck and prosperity to the household."

"A husband must work very hard to take care of his wife," Augustus commented with a pointed look. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat before clearing my throat to speak. Perhaps the yule log was burning a little warm today.

"And building a home is something both people must do in a marriage," Mrs. Ferrari said smiling at Aoibheann. Was it wrong of me to take some small pleasure in watching her squirm?

Ah well, touché, Aoibheann.

I looked back at the little bird's nest and couldn't help but smile, however, despite my discomfort. All these years I had revelled in decorating our tree with my mother. And each year she treated each ornament like a precious gift. I guess in this case now I knew why she loved our own little bird's nest so much.

Funny how the smallest things in life often go unnoticed. And then one day someone opens a window and an enlightening flies through it.

I sipped the last of my espresso and looked over at Aoibheann to see how she was fairing. Surprised to see her quickly wipe a small tear from her eye, I grew concerned. "Are you ok, Aoibheann?"

"Huh? What?" she asked, misty-eyed. "Oh, yes, I'm good. I just feel a little emotional all of a sudden." Turning to Mrs. Ferrari she said, "I think I'm just feeling sad; what with Daddy away for the holidays this year, you know?"

"I do, Piccolina," Mrs. Ferrari replied empathetically. "I do."

"Let's sing some carols, Joan," Mr. Ferrari suggested. "Something upbeat before Aoibheann has to leave. We don't want her to go away sad."

"Oh, no, we don't have to, I need to le-" Aoibheann began before being interrupted.

"Aw, just one, Mia Cara?" Mrs. Ferrari asked.

"We have time for one, Aoibheann," I said, grinning down the last of my coffee. "What should we sing?"

"A partridge in an avocado tree!" Aoibheann replied to my surprise.

Mr. and Mrs. Ferrari began laughing out loud as I sat on the couch in confusion. "I don't think I know that one..."

Aoibheann giggled through the stubborn tears she was still wiping away.

"Wait, do you mean the 'Twelve Days of Christmas'?" I asked. "and, 'a partridge in a pear tree'?

Mr. Ferrari chuckled beneath his red sweater. "When Aoibheann was little she was obsessed with avocados."

I looked at Aoibheann with intrigue. "Avocados?"

Talk about a strange thing to obsess over.

"Oh, she did, didn't she, Gus?" Mrs. Ferrari laughed. "She loved guacamole, you see, on her chips and on those awful tacos she used to make us eat!"

"Hey, they were the best tacos ever, you two!"

"Oiy! I can still taste the heartburn, Joan," Mr. Ferrari joined into the conversation. "Every time we babysat her for Tyler and Vivian, Aoibheann made us guacamole tacos for dinner."

I sat back and raised an eyebrow in Aoibheann's direction but didn't say a word.

"She's an Irish Catholic girl, raised in the church-"

"God Bless her," Mrs. Ferrari interrupted her husband while making the sign of the cross.

"Huh? Oh, yes," he answered automatically, making his own sign of the cross. "God bless her."

"-and surrounded by an assortment of Irish relatives, not to mention her adopted Italian famiglia (He emphasized by pointing at his chest) and yet she craved Mexican dishes more than anything else. Don't know where she got it from, but she sure does love the stuff."

"Oh, Mr. Ferrari," Aoibheann smiled. "You know it's because it all tastes so good. I love my Irish side, but mmm, the food, well....let's just say a little Mexican goes a long way further towards making my mouth water."

"So, anyway," Aoibheann continued her story. "When I was little, I hated pears. Couldn't stand their texture. But avocados? Oh, I loved them. So, when we would sing the 'Twelve Days of Christmas', I always changed the lyrics. The habit stuck and now I can't sing it any other way."

After a story like that how could we even think about leaving without singing first? And so, that's how I found myself, for the first Christmas ever, singing about a partridge in an avocado tree, while assassins ran around outside looking for us.

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Resources used to write this chapter:

Donati, S. (2015). How to say words of endearment in Italian. Italy Magazine. Web Search 20 December 2019. Website: https://www.italymagazine.com/news/how-say-words-endearment-italian 

Murtaugh, T. (2018). This is what it means when you see a bird's nest ornament in a Christmas tree. Web Search 20 December 2019. Website: https://www.countryliving.com/home-design/decorating-ideas/a25424396/birds-nest-christmas-ornament-meaning/ 

Powell, K. (2019). Ferrari-Surname meaning and family history. What is the meaning of the last name Ferrari? Web Search 20 December 2019. Website:  https://www.thoughtco.com/ferrari-last-name-meaning-and-origin-1422504