Page 74 of I Think Olive You
And somehow it cracks me wide open. That… missed opportunity to know him, and for him to know the man I’m becoming.
I taste salt at the back of my throat, on the corners of my lips. Air won’t pass through my nose and I’m gasping, little catches in my breathing through my tears. My mother, bless her, hesitates for only a moment before wrapping me up in a hug.
“I never cried. I never cried at the funeral.” I sob into her shoulder. “I never said goodbye because I was too pissed.”
Shushing me, she runs a gentle hand over my curls but it’s like bloodletting. The poison I’ve kept inside of me for so long is finally seeping out.
“Alan said he was glad to be rid of Dad, and I hated him for it. I hated myself even more for thinking the same thing. I’m so sorry.” I don’t know who I’m apologizing to, whether it’s her or Dad or me.
It’s sure as fuck not Alan but I can’t even spare another thought for him under the torrent of this grief and guilt that I’ve carried with me all year. Anger, black ichor, leaches out and my body releases it through every sob and tear. My mother holds me through it all, rocking me against her shoulder.
I’m all stages of myself at once. I’m the petulant child, the rebellious teenager, the broken angry man. Every part of me clings to her as my repressed pain pushes toward the surface. My father wasn’t perfect, and I’m not either. But I can let him go now, after almost thirty years I finally have a grip on the man I wish I’d gotten to know.
I grieve for the untouchable Thomas Palmer and the unfamiliar Tommaso de Palma, and by the time my tears have dried he’s not a stranger anymore. He’ll be a part of me forever and the best way I can honor him—both the good and bad parts—is to learn from his mistakes.
“Thank you, Mom. I’m sorry for all of this, but I’m so glad I have you.” Pulling away from her, her eyes are red-rimmed too, and the tip of her nose pink.
She plants a kiss on my forehead and although there’s no medical reason why it should, it makes the pounding in my head just a little less painful.
“I love you, and he did too. Even though he didn’t know how to show it. Even though he did it wrong.”
“I know. I know that now.”
“We’re going to figure this out, I promise.” My mother’s smile is kind, tired but full of reassurance. Choosing to believe that despite how drained I feel now, I nod.
I close myself off in the guest room. The space is dark except for the city lights beyond. This world is familiar but so different now that I’m the one changed. New York never fit properly, and now I doubt it ever will. Italy gave me a peace and happiness I’d never imagined for myself.
The least I can do is try to return some of that peace and happiness to Giuliana.
Opening my laptop, I pull up a blank document and get started. It’s time to set things straight and to fix what I can, for myself and for Giuliana. For our fathers and the past that sits between all of us like an open wound.
Calling in all the personal favors I can, I pull from every single reserve I have. I draft and redraft until it's somewhere between an article and an essay. It’ll never be an adequate apology but it’s something. Finally, I have a chance to put my writing degree to use.
My mother’s attempt at contacting a few board members proves enlightening. Apparently, the board wasn’t notified of my little jaunt to Italy, business running the same as usual, and the members were under no expectation being CEO was contingent on taking over the grove. Alan proves as difficult the next day with my mother as he does with me;first screening her calls and then having his secretary give my mom half-answers and platitudes.
By the time Alan sends along a scrap of the will, it’s been redacted to hide company information (something I doubt he has the power to do), but he cites “removal from my position” as his reason. Only the page relevant to my part in the clause is readable. Mom’s already dropped it off with her lawyer, Charlie, and he’s filing a motion of discovery, as well as a contest to the will. The will is old—older than we expected—which was a surprise.
When Charlie pushed for access to the will he hit a wall. Even though it’s supposed to be public record and probate was filed (whatever the fuck that is), it’s been filed under seal. The sensitivity of the will and my father’s considerable influence are the excuse but my mother and I both agree: this is suspicious. If Alan truly won—if he gets everything regardless—then why is he even bothering to pester me? Why is the will hidden from us?
So, we gear up to fight. I never thought I’d be doing this when I was ready to walk away from it all. But the thought of Alan getting it pisses me off to no end. I don’t want to win. I just want Alan to lose.
I keep away from the process, preferring to leave it in my mother and the lawyer’s capable hands, because I have a bigger mess to contend with.
Starting with this essay. Pulling it up, I paste the preliminary link into the email. It’ll go live tomorrow but Giuliana deserves a heads up, since I couldn’t give her that last time.
My Italian Summer of Renaissance and Regrets
My reputation precedes me. It affords me a certain amount of privilege and notoriety. I’ve made many missteps in my colorful life as one of New York’s corporate progenies. The opportunity to fade into being a stranger on an olive grove in Puglia, Italy proved too good to resist. This is my recounting of a summer of change and one giant mistake.
Strap in for lies and fake proposals and very, very real love.
The ‘Palmer Playboy’ (as I’ve been dubbed) falls, then crashes and burns.
I scroll through the introduction. The editors still have one more pass before it goes live. It’s not great but it’ll get the point across. For now, I need to get some of this out. I don’t suppose she’ll even open it but hopefully it’ll get some of the press off our backs.
Most have heard the PR story of my father’s start in New York, but his life in Italy has been somewhat of a mystery to me—or was until I ventured back to where he grew up. Grieving my father since his death a year ago hasn’t been easy but getting to know the man he was in his youth put a lot of things into perspective. The biggest takeaway has been how lies and scheming don’t have a happy ending. In trying to follow in my father’s footsteps—to assert myself in business in Italy—I’ve lost the only person I’ve ever really loved. And I’d do it again. I’d lose her again if it means protecting her and her family from men like me and my father:
people who focus on legalities over legacy, financial gain over family.