you, but you don’t have to give us anything.”
“You make a good point. What the hell do you need? He’s an old fox, and you’re almost middle aged. If you don’t have a nice set of dishes by now, you probably never will.”
“We have plenty of dishes. Mom is giving me the Lady Carlyle.”
“Those pink dishes? I hate pink.”
“I like them for the sentimental value,” I insisted.
“So, enjoy them. But you’ll still get cash from me. I can’t walk around Queens Plaza mall hunting for a food processor or candle holders without wanting to kill somebody.”
“I get it. No problem.”
“Giancarlo, I’m the next left,” Aunt Feen said.
This time neither Gian luca nor I bothered to correct her.
Gianluca helped Aunt Feen out of the car. The brown and white Tudor street-level apartments looked like a stack of Tootsie Rolls in the dark. I took Aunt Feen’s keys, went up the sidewalk, and unlocked her front door. I flipped on lights. The apartment was neat and clean.
Her Regency dining table was polished, and the plaid sofa’s chenille pillows were plumped. Her coffee table was neatly arranged with puzzle books, cards, and a carnival glass candy dish with a lid, the decor mainstays of every senior citizen in my family. She was right, her apartment smelled like canned corn, but the top note was Gold Bond foot powder. I would have to get her a basket of pungent potpourri or a candle or something for her birthday. That, or I’d bring in the Reiki healer Angela Stern and have her wave a bundle of burning sage around to smoke out the negativity. Come to think of it, she’d need to build a bonfire.
Gianluca guided Aunt Feen into the living room. She threw down her purse and gloves, and for the first time that night, she smiled. I understood. She liked to be home, where she controlled the thermostat, the remote, and the refills.
“I hope I wasn’t too rough tonight. I can be a little opinionated,” Feen said in a rare moment of self-examination. “You know I live alone and don’t have anybody to talk to day in and day out, so when I get an audience, I don’t modulate.”
Gianluca and I insisted that it was fine. We didn’t want her to feel worse. After all, it was Christmas Eve and she was alone.
“You know me,” Aunt Feen sighed. “I’m a negative Nellie. Every time I burp, I taste bitter.”
After saying good-bye, Gianluca returned to start the car so it would be warm for the trip home to Manhattan. I loaded Aunt Feen’s fridge with the leftovers, brought the box of Baci chocolates into the living room, refilled her candy dish, and handed her the remote control.
“Good night, Aunt Feen. Jaclyn will swing by and pick you up for Christmas dinner at my mom’s. Around three?”
“So early.”
“You want her to come and get you at four?”
“What time is dinner served?”
“Five.”
“We gonna nosh hors d’oeuvres for two hours? How much clams casino can I consume before it ruins my dinner? Besides, the filling repeats on me. The garlic.”
I gave up. I kissed Aunt Feen on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Auntie.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said with a big smile. Aunt Feen was actually pretty when she smiled. She looked like the girl she was in 1946 when she had sausage roll curls and wore bright red lipstick.
As I turned to go, she grabbed my hand. “Congratulations, kid.”
I gave Aunt Feen a hug.
“Be careful on the road. A lot of loonies out there,” she said, breaking my embrace and pushing me away.
She closed the door behind me. I heard the dead bolt snap into place.
“She is impossible.” I slipped into the front seat next to Gianluca.
“That’s a very stubborn woman.”
“Had I been behind the wheel, I would have driven us into the Hudson River. She drives me crazy, but it makes me sad that she’s alone. I want to leave her and yet I want to take her home.”
“She loves her apartment. Her mood lifted the minute she was home.”
“True, but God help us if
“You make a good point. What the hell do you need? He’s an old fox, and you’re almost middle aged. If you don’t have a nice set of dishes by now, you probably never will.”
“We have plenty of dishes. Mom is giving me the Lady Carlyle.”
“Those pink dishes? I hate pink.”
“I like them for the sentimental value,” I insisted.
“So, enjoy them. But you’ll still get cash from me. I can’t walk around Queens Plaza mall hunting for a food processor or candle holders without wanting to kill somebody.”
“I get it. No problem.”
“Giancarlo, I’m the next left,” Aunt Feen said.
This time neither Gian luca nor I bothered to correct her.
Gianluca helped Aunt Feen out of the car. The brown and white Tudor street-level apartments looked like a stack of Tootsie Rolls in the dark. I took Aunt Feen’s keys, went up the sidewalk, and unlocked her front door. I flipped on lights. The apartment was neat and clean.
Her Regency dining table was polished, and the plaid sofa’s chenille pillows were plumped. Her coffee table was neatly arranged with puzzle books, cards, and a carnival glass candy dish with a lid, the decor mainstays of every senior citizen in my family. She was right, her apartment smelled like canned corn, but the top note was Gold Bond foot powder. I would have to get her a basket of pungent potpourri or a candle or something for her birthday. That, or I’d bring in the Reiki healer Angela Stern and have her wave a bundle of burning sage around to smoke out the negativity. Come to think of it, she’d need to build a bonfire.
Gianluca guided Aunt Feen into the living room. She threw down her purse and gloves, and for the first time that night, she smiled. I understood. She liked to be home, where she controlled the thermostat, the remote, and the refills.
“I hope I wasn’t too rough tonight. I can be a little opinionated,” Feen said in a rare moment of self-examination. “You know I live alone and don’t have anybody to talk to day in and day out, so when I get an audience, I don’t modulate.”
Gianluca and I insisted that it was fine. We didn’t want her to feel worse. After all, it was Christmas Eve and she was alone.
“You know me,” Aunt Feen sighed. “I’m a negative Nellie. Every time I burp, I taste bitter.”
After saying good-bye, Gianluca returned to start the car so it would be warm for the trip home to Manhattan. I loaded Aunt Feen’s fridge with the leftovers, brought the box of Baci chocolates into the living room, refilled her candy dish, and handed her the remote control.
“Good night, Aunt Feen. Jaclyn will swing by and pick you up for Christmas dinner at my mom’s. Around three?”
“So early.”
“You want her to come and get you at four?”
“What time is dinner served?”
“Five.”
“We gonna nosh hors d’oeuvres for two hours? How much clams casino can I consume before it ruins my dinner? Besides, the filling repeats on me. The garlic.”
I gave up. I kissed Aunt Feen on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Auntie.”
“Merry Christmas,” she said with a big smile. Aunt Feen was actually pretty when she smiled. She looked like the girl she was in 1946 when she had sausage roll curls and wore bright red lipstick.
As I turned to go, she grabbed my hand. “Congratulations, kid.”
I gave Aunt Feen a hug.
“Be careful on the road. A lot of loonies out there,” she said, breaking my embrace and pushing me away.
She closed the door behind me. I heard the dead bolt snap into place.
“She is impossible.” I slipped into the front seat next to Gianluca.
“That’s a very stubborn woman.”
“Had I been behind the wheel, I would have driven us into the Hudson River. She drives me crazy, but it makes me sad that she’s alone. I want to leave her and yet I want to take her home.”
“She loves her apartment. Her mood lifted the minute she was home.”
“True, but God help us if
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