My eyes meet Raven’s, and she raises a playful brow. The woman hugs me; she moves like a fake cat.
Her tiny dress must have cost a small fortune, and she is covered with chunky Bulgari diamonds and Botox. As she places a hand on my chest, I do not like it. I catch Raven squinting as if the woman is some kind of threat.
“Gia,” I say coldly.
“So wonderful to see you, darling. How have you been?”
“Fine,” I say.
“I do believe you owe me several emails.”
I clear my throat and turn to an unimpressed Raven. “May I present Miss Raven Brooks from New York!”
Raven and Gia eye each other, and they extend their fine hands. “And Gia… is an old friend,” I add, keeping it simple.
“And old lover,” Gia says.
If lover means being forced to finger someone in a pool when you are a teen, she is right. The two women size each other up and shake hands. As I start to worry about a flash of chaos, I spot my grandmother.
She is at a table an aunt is pulling away from, and I decide to chase the window. “Wonderful,” I say. “Now, Raven, come meet my grandmother.” I take Raven’s arm, and we start to pull away.
Gia fake grins, and she pours it on. “I’ll call, Dante, and we must do dinner.”
“Please do, and sorry,” I lie.
We walk the short distance towards Nonna, my grandmother, and Raven grabs my shoulder to balance. As she removes her shoes in the grass, our faces are close.
I watch Raven, and I have trouble stopping. She stares back, her mouth inches away. I want to kiss her badly,but I won’t beable to stop there. It’s both sets of lips I need to kiss too and also taste with my tongue.
“Sorry about that,” is the best I can offer.
Raven grins, not letting the predatorial older woman’s energy contaminate her. “No problem.”
As I escort her around the side of my grandmother's table, the dear older woman notices me. She beams, stands excitedly, and I hug her long and firmly without crushing her.
“You look wonderful,” she says, holding me back and studying my face.
“You too,” I say, meaning it. “You too, darling.”
She is a remarkable woman, and I love her dearly.
We have always been close, and she is more balanced and gentler than my mother. She also never projected her expectations on me, and she always understood I did not like the school system stamping out regimented cookie-cutter types.
Or damaging free and independent thinkers.
I usher Raven forward, and they shake hands. “Raven, please meet the love of my life, my grandmother. Nonna, this is Raven.”
“How do you do?” my grandmother asks without excess formality.
“Nice to meet you,” the respectful virgin says gracefully.
After sitting, we talk, and my grandmother compliments Raven on being bare footed. They discuss walking on unstable ground and conforming with society. They both quickly agree conforming for often ridiculous reasons is unwise. And it is better to do what feels right in life.
We discuss freedom, and we soon agree the US is still the freest country on the planet.
Raven is still tipsy, but she does not show it. She is funny, light, and playful, and she and my grandmother hit it off, which is rare.
My grandmother keeps to herself like me, and also like me, she doesn’t enjoy excessive small talk. It’s good to see the two women talk, and after they laugh about other ludicrous modern activities, my grandmother sips her wine and takes Raven in.
