February 13th, 2010
Leaning in close to the mirror, I tugged the blue mascara through the tangle of my lashes. Combined with the golden hued eyeshadow, it had the effect of flaming my hazel-green eyes to emerald. It was more than a beauty routine, however. It was something, the only thing, I did everyday no matter if I was on the job or not. It was a constant bit of honesty. My yearning for the flamboyant was allowed to minutely show through during missions and my family saw a bit of peacock every time they looked at me.
I carefully pulled a teal turtleneck over my head and retrieved vast curls of black hair out from inside the collar. I usually kept it straightened and secured so as not to get in the way, but my mother liked it natural. My mother. I groaned. She was the reason I was in this mess. I should be in London, following a new lead. I’m jeopardizing the entire mission by missing a date with my contact. And, why?
“Oriana, I’ve had it. You’ve missed the last two Christmases. I bet Gian Carlo wouldn’t even recognize you if you walked through this door. And, Bianca! Don’t get me started on Bianca. Do you know what she’s been talking about for the last three months? Becoming a stewardess. A stewardess!
“‘But, Mama, Oriana leads such an exotic lifestyle. Don’t you want me to be well traveled? I could put my three languages to good use.’
“Mio Dio! We did not pay for you two to go to school so that you could run off and never come back. Who will take care of Papa and me in our old age?”
Sometimes, when my mother gets going, my mind starts to drift while still taking in everything she’s saying. It’s a unique skill all of us have picked up over the years. I began wondering if she actually breathes when she rants. I imagined her puffing up like a little balloon before picking up the phone, holding it in until after the pleasantries and then spewing it forth like an unending gale. Silly, I know, but temporarily amusing.
“What about Gian Carlo, Ma?”
“Ah, my little Gian Carlito. There’s a loyal son. No thoughts of running off in his head. ‘I want to be an architect, Mama, just like Papa.’ Of course, your father is a carpenter, but boys have their dreams. You know what the only problem with relying on Gian Carlo is, carina? Hmm? He’s twelve. Dodici.”
One way or another, this conversation would not end well. I could sense it at the back of my brain like a hand holding me under water. I practiced steady breathing and let her vent for a little while longer. Her entire plan was to make me feel guilty for my absence. And it was working.
“Alright, Ma, alright. I’ll come home for Christmas.” There was a pause, pregnant with disbelief.
“Really?”
“I can’t give you a time, I can’t give you a date, but I’ll be there when you wake up Christmas morning. I promise.”
“Will you talk to your sister? Try to talk to her about other career choices.” The thought of little Bianca doing what I do turned my stomach.
“Ma, she’s only seventeen. I’m sure she’ll outgrow it.”
“Oriana! She’s nineteen! See what happens when you’re away for so long? Do you even think about your family when you’re gallivanting around from place to place, having the time of your life? I bet we never even cross your mind.” Shit. Now, I was really nauseous. And I was guilty. Nauseous and guilty were not my favorite combination, especially when I still had a lot of work to get done before making good on my promise. I deflected.
“I’ll talk to her. I’ll do everything in my power to keep Bianca thoroughly grounded. And I’ll be home for Christmas as soon as I can, but right now I have to go to work.”
She’s the only one that’s ever been able to get my ire up. I can be angry, I can be outraged, my adrenaline can be pumping and no one will ever know. But, Ma gets under my skin in a way that no one else can. Don’t get me wrong. I love her. There isn’t a soul alive in this world I love more. I would jump in front of a bullet for her, though given my line of work that may be a bad example. But, she twists me up, and she knows it.
So, here I am. Leaving a hotel in broad daylight, in my most festive garb, hailing a taxi to join my family for the holidays and not working on international crises. Joy.
When the little yellow car pulled up in front of the house, it was as if time had been erased. I was willing to bet not a grain of sand had been misplaced in my absence, and the white clapboard looked as freshly painted as it had ten years ago. As I paid the man behind the wheel and climbed out with my scant belongings, there was a kerfuffle from inside the home. Suddenly, my mother burst forth, all open arms and weeping smiles.
“Mia carina più anziana! You have returned to me, my darling!” I smiled as convincingly as I could and allowed myself to be enveloped by her. She smelled of potato flour and sausage. Papa hung back from the initial greeting, not because he wasn’t glad to see me, but because he didn’t wish to be caught up in the whirlwind that was his wife. When she finally released me, he smiled a little smile and patted me on the arm. That was our way. We weren’t very affectionate, perhaps in resistance to my mother, but the love wasn’t any less real.
Michelangelo Pavo’s hair was thinning and the salt was beginning to over take the pepper. The severe line of his mouth grew more puckered every year from the unceasing cigarettes, but his golden-green eyes were always laughing at something. Benedetta stood a few inches above him, with wavy black hair and sharp brown eyes. She was plump where he was lanky, and her apron was always smudged in diametricity to the strict neatness of her house.
Ma bustled us into the kitchen where GC and Bianca were sitting on stools playing cards. Bianca slapped a card down between them and raised her fists in the air.
“Ha! Yes! I win. Suck it, little man.”
“Such language, Bianca!” our mother scolded. They turned around and I was instantly slammed with the realization of how much they’d grown up without me. It had only been two years. Well, maybe more like two-and-a-half. GC was at least half a foot taller, with spiky black hair and happy brown eyes. Bianca’s hair was even lighter than I remembered it. She had begun lightening it at the age of fourteen, working her way up to blond. Now, she was practically platinum, with eyebrows to match. Her skin seemed lighter, too, though I’m sure it was just a trick of the hair coloring and the careful application of makeup. Her honey-brown eyes were all seriousness, even when at play.
“Oriana!” Gian Carlo cried out, jumping off the stool and slamming into me. I ruffled his hair and locked eyes with my younger sister. She nodded at me with a smile more like our fathers than either Ma or GC’s.
“Long time, no see, sis.”
“Sorry about that. I’ve just been really occupied.” Ma busied herself around the kitchen, injecting exclamations here and there as her Italian blood called for them. GC put the cards away while Papa set the table. Bianca and I continued to stare at each other, as we would size up an old opponent. Critically appraising, but not without some facet of affection. My mind continued to run over what I would say to her. I had spent nearly five years reassuring everyone of my ‘glamorous’ lifestyle. Now, I had to find a way to dissuade mi sorellina from taking up my lies.
Dinner was an affair led mostly by Benedetta. She held court at the head of the table, refilling our plates when we were full and carrying on a one-woman conversation. After all was done and we had finally cleaned everything up, Bianca and I adjourned upstairs. As we sat in her bedroom, surrounded by the changes that had overcome her in just the last two years, I was still at a loss.
“Ma says you’re thinking about flying.”
“I thought I’d look into it.”
“Bianca… Don’t you think you should look into something a little closer to home? I mean, Ma and Pa aren’t as young as they used to be.”
“So, you’re to be free while I’m to be chained to the home?”
“It’s not like that, Bianca. I just, I don’t think it’s the right career choice for you.”
“What is the right career choice for me, then?”
“You could go back to school. Turn your Associate into a Bachelor of Political Science. Get a nice government job and never have to miss a family holiday. You’d have paid vacations, plenty of travel and a use for your language skills. Not to mention a steady paycheck and regular hours.”
“I refuse to sit behind a desk for the rest of my life. You must know how I feel. That’s why you left, isn’t it?” I stumbled over a reply. That wasn’t the reason and she knew it. Then again, maybe she didn’t. We had once been as close as twins, despite the age difference. But, that summer had changed everything. That was the summer we veered off in completely different paths.
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