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“Oh, no,” I said. “Not the grappa. You know I hate that stuff.”

“Bella, Bella,” he said as he pulled out the bottle anyway.

“What kind of an Italian are you?”

I grabbed the refrigerator door from him and reached inside to put the pizza on the shelf. “The Irish kind? Come on, you must have something to drink in here that doesn’t taste like Karo syrup.” I moved things around until I found a bottle of pinot grigio. “Okay if I open this?” My father nodded, so I went hunting for the corkscrew. My father had been divorced from his third wife for years, and his kitchen drawers had taken on a life of their own. I pulled out three golf tees and a deck of playing cards from the silverware drawer before I found the corkscrew. A long-forgotten cork was still impaled on it.

My father opened a cabinet and handed me a wineglass. As I reached for it, I saw a whole row of unopened grappa bottles lined up like soldiers across the shelf below.

“Dad,” I said. “Where’d you get all that grappa?” My father poured some grappa into an aperitif glass. He turned to admire his reflection in the glass panels of the kitchen cabinets and ran his hand over his head. “I just told those condo barracudas on the telephone that if they wanted a shot at my waterfront property, they had to sweeten the deal.”

“You’re not really thinking about selling, are you?” I couldn’t imagine life without this house, the flagship salon attached to it.

“Nah, but it’s a great way to get grappa.”

“Be careful,” I said. It seemed like developers were buying 100

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up the whole town. “Don’t sign anything without your reading glasses, whatever you do.”

My father disappeared into the living room, and
The Marriage of Figaro
blasted out. He came back in and headed over to sit at the kitchen table.

I joined him. I loved this table. It was an old pine trestle table we’d carved up pretty thoroughly over the years. It started when we were doing our homework and accidentally pressed down too hard with our pencils. We’d lift up our math sheet and 12 ÷ 3 = 4 would be permanently etched below.

We began doing it on purpose after our mother moved out, throwing us into a flurry of limit testing. I remembered my father handing me a piece of sandpaper to sand off the i hate you I’d carved. Angela was the one to rat me out, but I no longer remembered whether the sentiment was directed at Tulia’s or Sophia’s mother.

My father held up his glass. “
Salute
,” he said. “
Cin cin
.” I touched my glass to his. “What’s the one Grandpa used to say?” I asked.

“
Slainté
,” my father said.

“
Slainté
,” I repeated as I clinked my glass to his. “I remember now. I used to think he was saying ‘it’s a lawn chair,’ really fast.” I took a sip. “You know, sometimes I wish you’d brought us up Irish instead of Italian. Life would have been simpler.” My father took a sip of his grappa. He made a face, then chugged it down. “Life is never simple,” he said.

“What, you don’t like grappa either?” I asked.

“The kind you get over here is too sweet for my taste. It’s much more fiery in Italy. But I still like the idea of it.” My father leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, then ran them up and down his smooth scalp. “I suppose it’s all perspective. If we were Italians living Summer Blowout

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in the North End, I might have thought the Irish were the ex-otic ones. Your grandfather’s favorite expression was ‘If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough.’ Truth be told, my father was a two-bit Irish barber, and I wanted something better for my family. It’s every immigrant’s dream.”

I’d heard this one at least a thousand times. The real truth was that my father had been born in South Boston, so he wasn’t technically an immigrant, but I took another sip of wine and let him have his version. I wondered what my dream should be, as the daughter of the son of an immigrant. Did that make me an immigrant twice removed? I’d never been able to figure out that family tree stuff. Precious jumped up on my lap, circled around, and made herself comfortable.

I didn’t really plan on saying it, but it came out anyway. “Do you think it’s my fault Sophia turned out the way she did?” I asked.

“What? What way did she turn out?” My father got up to ditch his grappa glass and pour a glass of pinot grigio for himself.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I was thinking she never developed her own interests. . . .”

He topped off the wine in my glass. “And so she got interested in your husband?”

“Thanks. I don’t know. Maybe it’s crazy. Or maybe it’s true.”

My father looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

“And I guess I was thinking maybe you would have picked a different kind of husband if I’d set a better example.” I reached out and put my hand on his. “Oh, Dad, no.

There’s no connection at all.”

“And you’re not responsible for your sister’s behavior.” 102

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“Half sister,” I said.

“Blood is thicker than everything.”

“Even grappa?” I took a sip of my wine, and Precious started twitching in her sleep. She was probably having a nightmare about her former owner, that awful Silly Siren bride. “You know,” I said. “The thing is, I miss Sophia so much more than I ever missed Craig. But I don’t see how we’ll ever get past it. It’s just too big a betrayal.”

“
L’amore domina senza regole
,” my father said.

“What’s that?”

“Love rules without rules. At least I think that’s how it translates.” He grinned. “Either that or I just swore at you in Italian.”

“So what’s it mean? Assuming you got it right, that is.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Everybody does stupid things in life, Bella. Some of us more than others. You think you’re going to get away with it. Or they think they’re going to get away with it. Or one or both of you just stop thinking. But it happens. And when it does, you can keep drinking it like poi-son, or you can put it behind you and go make the most of the rest of your life.”

“Is that what you did with Mom?” I asked.

“No,” my father said. “That’s what she did with me.”

• 14 •

I RIFLED THROUGH MY LIPSTICK DRAWER, LOOKING

for something strong, confident, and hydrating. Beeswax, shea butter, jojoba, and almond oil are all great moisturizing ingredients. I found a tube of Tarte Inside Out Vitamin Lipstick in a deep rose called Revive. It had jojoba, vitamins A, C, E, and K, plus acai, green tea, and lychee extract, so I figured I was covering pretty much all the bases. Maybe if I ate the whole thing like a Popsicle, I wouldn’t have to take my vitamins for a couple of months.

I’d meant to call Sean Ryan to tell him I’d meet him in Providence at the college fair. I wanted to make sure he understood this was strictly business. I was all about the kits, and the fact that he was a good-looking single guy and I’d been dumped by my husband a year ago was not going to factor into the equation at all.

Of course, I distinctly remembered him saying something or other about not being interested in me either. But people say a lot of things, so it never hurts to be sure your message is absolutely clear. Driving my own car would create a certain professional distance for both of us.

The way I looked at it, there was a nice long low-drama life ahead for me if I could just keep things simple. One small dog, some nice scenic walks, a new creative kit-making adventure.

Lots of people lived perfectly fulfilling single lives. It was such an antiquated idea that people needed to be one half of a 104

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matched set, like salt and pepper shakers. I mean, what evolved person even used salt anymore?

And I’d skip the rebound relationship, thank you very much. It was actually sort of a patronizing suggestion Sean Ryan had made, if I stopped to think about it. As if I needed to have a meltdown and run around like a wronged woman for a specified period of time before I could behave myself again.

Ha. Other than hitting Craig’s windshield with my shoulder bag, throwing one tiny rock, and okay, putting his jock itch cream in an envelope and mailing it to Sophia, and that was ages ago, I hadn’t felt the urge to act out much at all.

Sure, I’d had a few destructive fantasies. I’d thought about strapping our mattress to the top of my Volkswagen bug and driving it into Boston, and then torching it on the street outside Craig’s office. But traffic was a nightmare on the South-east Expressway, and you’d really be taking your life in your hands trying to drive with a mattress. Plus, I didn’t think Craig and Sophia had actually slept in that bed anyway. Why would they, when Sophia had a perfectly good bed of her own and no one sharing it since she’d broken up with what’s his name. Sophia’s boyfriends never lasted too long. I used to wonder what she was looking for. Now I knew: my husband.

So I settled for donating all our sheets, along with some of our wedding presents I’d never really liked anyway, to a women’s shelter and buying new ones. Fairly pitiful as an acting-out gesture, I knew, but maybe it just meant I was a quick healer. I was calm. I was clear. I was starting to pick up the pieces of my life. I was getting ready to fly solo.

Or almost solo. Precious came skidding into the kitchen.

She was wearing her don’t hate me because i’m beautiful T-shirt today, and the soft yellow worked really well with her new highlights.

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As soon as she looked up at me with her big Chihuahua-terrier eyes, I knew she knew.

I reached down to scratch her behind one of her ears. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I really can’t take you with me today. It’s business.”

She tilted her head and leaned into my hand as I scratched her.

“And I can’t drop you off anywhere because I don’t want my family to know about the kits. You have no idea how controlling they can be, and five will get you ten, they’ll try to get in on the action. So it’s better just to keep my mouth shut, you know?”

Precious raised her tufted eyebrows. This talking-to-your-dog thing was really addictive. I wondered if it would be completely rude to call Sean Ryan now and tell him I’d meet him there. Of course, I’d have to get directions, since so far I only knew we were going somewhere in Providence, which was a pretty big city. Maybe I could follow him. I’d just tell him I had something to do afterward, and there was no sense driving all the way back here to get my car.

It sounded like a plan. I’d packed all the kits I’d made into two big cardboard boxes before I went to bed last night, so I piled one on top of the other, swung my bag over my shoulder, got my keys ready in one hand. I opened the door a crack and threw a dog treat way across the room for Precious to chase.

“I’ll be back soon,” I said matter-of-factly. I wondered how people ever managed to leave actual children. I picked up the boxes and started backing my way calmly out the door.

I pulled the door shut and leaned the boxes against the doorframe while I locked it. I turned around and took a step.

Precious yelped.

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I screamed. “Ohmigod, are you okay? How did you get out here anyway?”

I heard a car door slam. “Are you talking to yourself up there?” Sean Ryan yelled.

I looked down over the railing. “Nope. I’m just being out-smarted by a small dog. Do you think I can get away with bringing her?”

He smiled up at me. He was wearing dark jeans and a navy-and-white-striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It was a good thing he answered, because I’d forgotten the question.

“Why not?” he said. “She can be our chaperone.” I opened my mouth to tell him we wouldn’t be needing one.

“I know,” he said. “We won’t be needing one.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“Exactly,” he said. “So, she can be our assistant.” He ran up the steps two at a time and grabbed the boxes out of my hands.

He was already halfway down the stairs before I thought of it. “I can get those,” I yelled in the direction of his back. I bent down and picked up Precious. “Guess he has them,” I said.

I unlocked my door again, then ran back in and grabbed some dog food and a few of Precious’s favorite toys. By the time Precious and I caught up to Sean Ryan, he was already putting the boxes in the trunk of his dark green Prius. “Um,” I said.

He shut the trunk and turned to face me. “Um?” he said.

I didn’t remember him being quite so good-looking.

“Maybe I should take my car? You know, just in case you have plans? No, that’s not it. I mean, I have plans. Oh, forget it.” Precious and I walked around to the passenger side.

“Are you okay?” he asked as we were buckling our seat belts.

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“Fine,” I said. “So, how many miles do you
really
get to the gallon in this thing?” It seemed to me that the interior could have been bigger. When I’d reached for my seat belt, our knuckles had almost brushed.

“Who knows. But it sure makes me feel superior.” Precious jumped over onto his lap. I certainly wasn’t planning on reaching for her, that was for sure, so she was going to have to find her own way back.