I feel myself begin to relax with another sip. Something about Serena’s presence is comforting, and I feel the tension in my shoulders ease up. Though she can’t be more than a handful of years older than me, there’s something almost motherlike about her aura. Reggie hops up on the little love seat next to me, turns in a circle, and makes himself a little napping spot, clearly feeling as comfortable as I am. “Reggie and I are from a small city in upstate New York called Northwood. We still live there. And I’m here for work.” I don’t like to dive right into what I do for a living. That’ll come up sooner or later. I’d like to get to know Serena a little better first.
“And you’re here on your own?”
I nod. “It’s my first time here.”
Serena sighs, tucks her feet up underneath her butt, and sits back. She takes a sip of her wine before speaking in a dreamy tone. “I remember my first time. Magical. Romantic. Just lovely.”
“What about you? Are you here alone?” I’ve stopped assuming people have husbands or wives, preferring to let themtell me.
“Oh, yes. My Anthony died two years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He was a good man, if a tiny bit old-fashioned,” she says, and the fondness in her voice matches the wistful expression in her eyes. “But he left me this house, and I can’t bear to leave it. So here I am, a completely eligible bachelorette in the most romantic city in the world, all by myself.” I can’t tell if she’s sad about that, but then she laughs heartily. “Who needs men?”
We cheers again.
I like Serena. A lot. We’re talking about dogs when an older Italian woman appears out of nowhere, laden down with a tray of charcuterie, and I almost jump out of my skin. That sends Serena into a fit of laughter I am not sure she’ll recover from.
“This is Ria, my Housewoman Extraordinaire,” and the capital letters are implied by her tone. “She makes sure I eat and that my house is clean.” Then Serena says something in Italian that I think referred to the groceries I helped her carry in, and Ria smiles, gives one nod, and is gone.
We’ve polished off a bottle and a half of the wine before I even start to feel it. We’ve decimated the charcuterie, only two green olives and one lone piece of bread left on the tray.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Serena asks, and I really, really do. But I also know I’ve used her as an excuse to avoid trying to work today, and that’s not good.
I frown. “Rain check?”
“How about Friday? I have guests coming to visit from the States and I’m throwing a very small dinner party. I’d love you to come.”
Dinner parties with strangers are certainly not this introvert’s idea of a good time, but like I said, I like Serena, I feel exceedingly comfortable with her, and her blue-eyed gaze gives me a gentle nudge toward a yes. Apparently, that’s all I need, andI hear the words come out of my mouth before I even realize I’m about to say them. “That sounds great.”
I’m nervous.
It’s always like that when I’m about to spend time with a group of people I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’s the introvert thing or if I’ve got some social anxiety or what, but the butterflies in my stomach have become drones, going from a weird flutter to an uncomfortable knocking around in my stomach, and I seriously consider texting Serena my regrets.
A glance at the desk with my closed laptop gives me the poke I need, because if I stay here, I have to try to work. I spent all day trying to force words—and I got some. Just not many. And I don’t know that they’re any good. The storyline is feeling very weak to me. Never a good thing. If I’m not excited about my characters, how can I expect my readers to be? And currently? I amnotexcited about my characters.
“All right. Fine,” I say to my reflection. I’m wearing a cute ivory sundress with spaghetti straps and a yellow pattern that feels very summery. Serena’s place is air conditioned, but I’ve noticed she also likes to open her windows and doors, so I’m not taking any chances. I don’t want to be sweating like a farm animal in front of people I’ve just met. “What do you think, Reg?”
Reggie’s on the bed watching me get ready. He tips his head to one side, then sighs and puts his head down on his paws.
“Great. Thanks a lot.” I go to him and swoop him up, not caring that my dress will now be accented with tiny brown hairs. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute, you know that?” I can feel his tail whacking against my arm, and he licks my face withaffection. I give him a squeeze. I love my dog more than most people. I’m not even kidding. We take care of each other. “Okay, you stay here and watch our place. Make sure nobody breaks in and steals anything.” I glance at the desk again, at my laptop. “Except that. They can take that. I won’t be late.”
I give Reggie some treats, grab my jean jacket, just in case Serena changes her mind about the open-air atmosphere in her house, and the bottle of wine I purchased yesterday, and I head out.
The feeling outside is different on a Friday night than during a weekday. It’s busier, yes, but there’s also an element of celebration in the air. It’s kind of hard to describe other than to say people seem more…festive? Which makes sense. It’s the weekend. I merge into the throng of bodies moving down the street, catching snippets of different conversations as I make the short trek. Italian, of course, but I also recognize some English, also a little French. Lots of people here from lots of different places. Serena’s gate is open. I approach her door and am just about to ring the bell when suddenly, I hear cheers. Like, from every direction. Joyous, ecstatic cheering fills the air, echoing all around me as Ria opens the door to greet me.
I must have a question in my eyes because she laughs and says simply in her glorious Italian accent, “Football game.”
“Oh,” I say, and draw the word out as I step inside, and Serena greets me. I forget how insanely popular soccer is in Europe.
“Lily!” Serena breezes in like she’s on a hoverboard, and once again, she’s wearing a flowy caftan or something. This time, she’s all in royal blue with some lighter accenting shades. Her blond hair is down and slightly disheveled, though I think that’s intentional. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come, come.” She thanks me for the wine, hands it to Ria, hooks her hand around my elbow, and leads me into the house, past the kitchen, and intoa living room I haven’t seen yet, and I start to realize Serena’s place is way bigger than I thought, much bigger than it looks from the outside.
The living room is typical of the rest of the house: elegant, expensive, slightly ornate, but not unattractively so. There are two couches facing one another, a cool fireplace on the wall between them. The walls are a crisp white, the floors marble, the furniture a deep gray. It feels modern and classic at the same time, and before I can take in the art on the walls or the vase of flowers to my left, Serena is introducing me to the people sitting on the couches. “Lily, these are my dear, dear friends from back home in Nyack.” She indicates the man and woman on one couch. “This is Margie and Robert.” Across from them on the other couch are three more people. “Their daughter Bethany, her husband Chris, and their daughter Sophie.”
I put Margie and Robert as slightly older than Serena. So, early sixties maybe? Bethany and Chris are younger—I guess mid-thirties. Sophie is clearly a teen. They’re all smiling, and I step forward and shake everybody’s hand.
The evening goes by quickly, and I’m surprised to realize it as we sit around the dining room table talking, plates empty, our bellies full of pasta and wine. I’m having a better time than I expected. Margie and Robert are super sweet, and they have lots of stories about Serena and her husband. While Bethany and Chris lived elsewhere during Serena’s time in Nyack, they must’ve been around for many of the gatherings, as they also have stories.
