“Dead zone, I know,” I finish.
“How was the flight from London?” he asks. For the past eight weeks, I’ve been interning atOut of This Worldas a marketing and PR assistant for Michelin-star chef Mars Lyon after I won the @FoodForChange contest. My account has grown tremendously, and all the new content has either been directly behind-the-scenesOut of This Worldfood sustainability reporting or Avello Family Lemon Groves content that Nic Jr. has been sending me to keep raising awareness. It’s been so rewarding switching gears, and though I miss going to restaurants and food trucks and trying new places and reviewing, I feel like I’ve found my calling. After the holidays, when I fly back to London for the final month of filming, I finally get to be on-air for the guest judge spot, which I’m super stoked about. It’s exhausting with long filming hours,living on my own, having to learn on my own, and navigate this world, but I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.
Ricky and I have done our best to FaceTime when we can, but the time difference has been difficult. After spending a week together in Amalfi, I could only imagine how magical two months would have been with Ricky in London, exploring the English countryside, touring foggy castles, and eating fish-and-chips. All of which I had zero time for, but still. I am nothing if not a dreamer. That was enough to keep me going. Knowing that Ricky and I would be together again, somewhere, at some point, whenever and wherever that may be.
“Long!Being in the back of the plane next to a screaming kid and mom who scrolled Instagram the entire time gave me such a migraine. But it’ssonice to be home. I miss you. I can’t believe I’m not seeing you for Christmas!” Ricky flies from Seattle to South Carolina to his parents’ new house tomorrow morning for Christmas. I wonder if Sienna and Topher are coming to town for the holidays, or if they’ll end up going to South Carolina. Neither Ricky nor I know because Topher makes day-to-day decisions based on what direction the wind blows, so getting an answer from him over the last few weeks has been a futile effort.
“I know, but we’ll be together for New Year’s,” he says, voice full of excitement.
“I can’t wait!” I say, smiling ear to ear. “What time does your flight get in on the twenty-eighth? Noon, right?”
Ma pulls into the driveway, unbuckles her seat belt, and grabs her purse. “Merry Christmas, Ricky! I’m going inside. Wish you were freezing your ass off in New York with the rest of us!”
“Ha ha, me too! ’Bye, Queen G! Merry Christmas!”
Ma slams the door and walks to the side of the house. Nonna opens the door, and a beacon of light floods the driveway. Clad in her favorite Mrs. Claus apron, Nonna waves me over emphatically.
“Ricky, Nonna’s making sauce!”
“FaceTime me and show me,” Ricky says. “I miss that woman’s sauce.”
“Yes, please! I miss your face,” I whine. I glance over to the old DeLuca house, which has one small light on in the living room, but a driveway full of strange new cars.
“Actually, go, enjoy the fam. Tell everyone I said hi.”
“How dare you rush me off the phone!” I scoff.
He laughs and my heart beats faster. “Cam and Benny are about to pick me up anyway. A little Friendsmas dinner.”
I roll my eyes. Thankfully we’re not FaceTiming so Ricky can’t see. I know what you’re thinking, dear reader: How can Ricky be friends with Cam? How can Fielder “allow” this? What’s going on here? Let’s clear up a few things. I’m totally supportive of them being friends. Cam apologized to me for trolling my Clock channel, and I owned up to trying to break them up in Amalfi. Cam and I are never going to be besties, but we don’t have to be. We’re cool. Ricky and Cam find value in each other’s friendship, and I love that for them. What matters is that I trust and love Ricky, and he needs Cam as a friend.
Also, yes, you did hear that correctly. Cam and Benny. Infer what you wish.
“That’s nice. I’m glad he has you,” I say. “Tell them I said hi.”
“I hear the eye roll,” he says. “I love you! Tell the Coven I love them, too.”
“Love you too, Ricky DeLuca.”
“Loveyoumoreandmost, Fielder Lemon.”
From outside the tangy smell of Nonna’s sauce is immediate, luscious, and warm. The closer I get to the side door, the louder everything gets. Pots and pans banging and scream-talking and—
Matty!
In the window. Waving like the golden retriever he is. My heart races, and I nearly slingshot myself up the steps. He said he wouldn’t be home from his first semester at Stony Brook until tomorrow!
Zia Rosa and Zia Gab sit at the kitchen table, laughing.
I race up the stairs. Topher and Sienna are stirring Nonna’s saucepot, and behind them, Ricky’s parents sip wine, his dad pouring a glass and handing it to Ma, who strains snow out of her hair.
Flinging open the door, Matty throws himself at me. “Thank god you’re back. I have so much to tell you. So much has happened. I think I failed English, don’t tell my ma. Oh, and the two guys I was dating kind of found out about each other, and . . .” His cheeks turn red. “Somuch to tell you.”
He doesn’t get the chance to say more because everyone else crowds me like I’ve been gone ten years.
“What are you all doing here?” I rip my jacket off and hug Topher and Sienna. “I didn’t think—” All the emotions rush to the back of my throat, and I fight back tears.
Everyone hurls questions at me about London and the internship at once as if they all don’t call me multiple times a week, and I can barely focus. Suddenly Nonna breaks through the noiseand asks, “Pasta Dolce, be a good kid and go grab the Bluetooth speaker from your room. We need some music.”
