‘So on another note, I’ve decided I don’t want to go back to running the studio full-time,’ I said, my throat feeling so tight I wondered if it was about to close up completely. At least that way I wouldn’t be able to speak at all; wouldn’t be able to say the wrong thing and cause a row.
‘Really?’ said Sedi, her expression darkening.
Nolo stared at me with her eyebrows raised so high they practically disappeared into her hairline.
‘Who’s going to run it, then?’ asked Nolo eventually, after an unbearably long and awkward silence.
I cleared my throat, keeping my cool to the best of my ability. ‘I haven’t had time to think it through properly yet. We need to have a family meeting at some point. I’ll arrange it with Mum and Dad and let you know.’
‘Maybe you should just chat to them about it first?’ suggested Sedi, who I could tell was desperate to check out and get off the call so that she could pretend that none of this had anything to do with her.
‘Are you worried they’re going to ask you to step in and cover some of my shifts?’ I asked, deciding directness was in order.
‘I’d never have time for that,’ said Sedi. ‘This time in two weeks I’ll be in Australia.’
‘Seriously, guys!’ I said, losing patience altogether. ‘I’ve taken this on without complaint for all these years. I’ve given up on my own dreams to keep the family business afloat. Sure, I could have said no, and that’s on me. But you two could also have stepped up and offered to help me out. Or even just asked me if I was okay; if I was happy doing what I was doing. Even that might have been nice!’
Nolo went to say something and then stopped. She looked upset and I should feel bad, but I didn’t. Welcome to the real world, I thought. Sure, she might be resilient when it came to her career, she had to be in the ballet world. But when it came to life, to family, she was overly sensitive. If there was even the tiniest hint that somebody was criticizing her, she’d crumble, leaving the other person feeling guilty for having said anything in the first place. But I didn’t feel guilty, not this time. Because she needed to hear it – in fact, she’d needed to hear it years ago.
‘I think you’re both quite selfish, if I’m honest,’ I said, thinking in for a penny, in for a pound. ‘We all have our faults, and so here I am pointing out one of yours – it’s time you two start thinking about somebody other than yourselves. Because it might be cute when you’re in your twenties, you might just about get away with it then, but once you hit thirty, it’s really not a good look. You have a responsibility to me, to this family, to Mum and Dad.’
‘What about them?’ protested Sedi. ‘Why do they get to swan off and do whatever they like? Aren’t they selfish, too?’
‘Yes. And I’ll be telling them as much,’ I said, doubtingit even as the words came out of my mouth. ‘Perhaps not in so many words. But yeah. It’s their studio, ultimately. I will officially hand my notice in and then we can take it from there.’
Sedi and Nolo stared at me in stunned silence. I bet they wished we were doing this in person so that they could join forces against the tyranny I was inflicting on them, look to each other for support, but on Zoom it was every woman for herself. You had no idea who was with you and who wasn’t.
‘I feel terrible,’ said Sedi eventually.
I frowned – this was a different emotion from her.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘I can be a selfish prick at times, I’m well aware of that. You’re not the first person to say it,’ she said.
‘Obviously,’ I said. I couldn’t help myself.
‘And I’ve never given much thought to all the opportunitiesIhad,’ said Nolo. ‘Coming to New York at such a young age. There’s just so much privilege in this industry, that you forget not everyone is as lucky as you are. Not everyone gets to do what I did.’
‘I didn’t,’ I said.
‘I know,’ said Nolo, grimacing. ‘And it’s shit, and I’m sorry.’
I nodded, tempted to let them off the hook, to say it didn’t matter, that I’d been fine, anyway, without their help. But I held back. Because I wanted them to sit with this feeling, for it to really sink in. I meant it this time when I saidthat things needed to change. And I might not know what that looked like yet, but I would, at some point, and I was one hundred percent sure that it didn’t look like running straight back to Castlebury.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURGabriele
Once my father’s funeral was over, I could start to breathe again. Everything before that had been a whirlwind of emotions – dropping out of the show, saying goodbye to the team, to Lira, especially. Returning to Italy. To my family home, but without my dad in it. To Mama, who was numb with grief and who I’d had to care for like a child since I had arrived.
I felt my responsibility very strongly now. I was the part-owner of this house, this farm, this wine business. There was no more putting it off, no easiness now about signing up for another dance show or pursuing a TV opportunity. In her current state of mind, my mother needed me more than ever, and I wanted to help her heal. And so, I had packed away all the emotions I had about my dad dying – allthe regret and guilt and sadness and feelings of abandonment. I stopped asking how he could leave me, how he could do this to us, why he didn’t look after himself more like we’d all asked him to. And I focused on just getting through; on organizing, planning, troubleshooting and comforting Mama.
I had kept half an eye on what was happening withSlow Burn, but it had been too painful for me to see pictures of Lira and Tomas dancing together. The reviews were good, but not as unanimously great as they had been with Lira and me taking to the stage together. In some ways, it pleased me to know that they did not share the same sizzling chemistry that we did, but it also made me sad that this was how the show should end for her, after such an exciting start.
I felt bad for Carlos, bad for Lira, for Tomas, for how insensitive I had been with Luca, for my mother and for everyone except myself. Somehow, I did not have the headspace to think about my own place in all of this, to acknowledge how I felt. I just had to carry on for now, and to hope that, at some point, I would start to feel better again. Just as I had begun to feel hopeful about the future, about what Lira and I were beginning to build, I had been set back not a few steps, but what felt like several hundred thousand of them.
I prepared some breakfast for my mother and I, something I had been doing since I arrived in Italy nearly three weeks ago. She spent her days – and many of her nights – sitting out on the veranda, a shawl wrapped around hershoulders, staring into space. I would bring her enticing-looking food on a tray, but sometimes she would not even touch it, or she would pick at it, not managing more than a couple of mouthfuls. I tried to joke her out of it.
‘Is it my cooking, Mama? Am I putting too much salt in your food? Or does it have no flavour at all?’
