Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Her shoulders sag as she starts blinking rapidly, fighting off a rush of tears. “There have been a few hiccups,” she says. “The flowers were lost in transit. The cake delivery hasn’t arrived, and all the centerpieces and tablecloths went missing last night. Everything’s going wrong, and I’m trying to fix it—”
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How can I not?” She sobs. “This is your day, and it’s the most important wedding I’ll ever be a part of, and nothing is going to plan.”
“Val.” I pull her in for a hug and let her be in her feelings for a minute before I talk her off the ledge. “I don’t care about any of that stuff, so please don’t stress about it. Whatever happens, it will be okay. Who cares if we have no cake or tablecloths? Honestly, none of that matters.”
“But you should care.” She wipes her eyes. “That’s why I hate this. And now, instead of your wedding being remembered as a beautiful day, it’s just going to be sad and pathetic. It’s not fair.”
“Val, I can’t have you lose it right now. Not today. If you lose it, I’m gonna lose it.”
“I know, I know,” she blubbers. “I’m sorry. Madonna, Mia. Just…give me a minute.”
She takes a few deep breaths, composing herself, and then steps back into the mask we wear so well.
“Okay, we need to get to the bridal suite. We’ll put on some music and handle our business.”
“That’s the spirit,” I tell her.
Five minutes later, I’m ushered into the bridal suite, where chaos is already unfolding. My bridesmaids flit about the room, carrying heels, dresses, and makeup bags while stuffing croissants in their mouths and washing them down with champagne.
“Hair of the dog?” I shoot Gabs a questioning glance.
“There’s no need to yell.” She moans, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“That good, huh?”
“Why aren’t you more hungover?” she asks.
“There’s no time for this right now.” Val directs me to the vanity chair, but before I can sit down, the door opens again, and Antonella Vitale appears.
“Nonna’s here!” The girls shout in unison, surrounding her as they pepper her with hugs and kisses. It’s a universal rule that no matter who we are, we greet her as such, because in our world, she’s everybody’s Nonna.
She mutters a few words in Italian before setting her sights on me. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, Nonna.” Mariella groans when she spots the bottle of olive oil in her grandmother’s hand. “Is that really necessary?”
“Sì.” Nonna waves a hand at the girls. “Vattene.”
“Good luck,” Mariella whispers as they all head to the exit, leaving me alone with Nonna.
I breathe a sigh of relief as she pats my face and looks me over. “Bella.”
“I don’t even have makeup on yet, Nonna,” I tell her.
“You don’t need it. Now come, stand here.”
I follow her to the beverage cart and observe as she pours a glass of water and opens the bottle of olive oil. She dips her finger in the oil, using it to anoint my forehead and make the sign of the cross over me as she utters a prayer in Italian. Once she’s done with that, she dips her finger again and drops the oil into the glass of water, grimacing as the oil breaks apart.
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, steeling her features with determination.
She says another prayer and anoints me twice more, repeating the process until the oil in the glass is to her liking and she tells me I’m cleansed. But for good measure, she retrieves a jewelry box from her dress pocket and pulls out a gold cornicello necklace.
“Italian.” She taps the metal before she drapes it over my neck.
“Thank you, Nonna.” I kiss her cheek, slightly teary-eyed.
This tradition is significant to her, no matter how silly some may think it is. Nonna performed this same ritual on her daughter-in-law at her wedding, and many times over the years for her grandchildren, for everything from headaches to minor illnesses. She will go on to perform the ritual for each of the Vitale descendants when they marry, and in this way, she will welcome new members of the family and protect them.
Though my relationship with Nonna Vitale is as old as I am, this is her way of telling me I’m family now. Her son and daughter-in-law aren’t here to share this experience, and neither is my mother, but I’m grateful for her presence.
“I’m so happy you’re here to share your wisdom and watch over me today, Nonna.” I squeeze her hand in mine.
“There’s no need to worry,” she assures me. “You will have a happy life.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise, so I nod.
“Okay,” she says. “Time to prepare.”
What starts as an uneasy feeling soon turns into full-blown nausea as I sit through hair and makeup, barely registering a word around me. Reality has set in, and with every passing second, I feel like the walls are closing in on me.