Page 68 of It's Always Sonny
“Yes!” Nonna says. “Eddie, are you and Parker gonna squeal when we cook you for lunch?”
“Easy, Mom. Let’s not scare her off, okay?”
“She can take it, can’t you, sis?”
I roll my lips together and nod. “I can take it.”
“Good. That smile had me worried you were too nice to handle some healthy competition. I can’t abide all that niceness.”
I want to say something smart. Something with the tiniest bit of an edge. In the split second of debate, my adrenaline spikes. Blood rushes through my veins. My breath quickens. I heft the beanbag and let the words come out. “Get your popcorn ready, Nonna. I’m about to put on a show.”
Aunt Mary and Sonny’s dad explode with laughter.
Nonna looks me over. “Now that’s better.”
The heat in my ears crawls into my cheeks, but I’m cold enough that I doubt anyone can tell. “Let’s play.”
After approximately four thousand rounds, Nonna beats me.
Edward is good enough that we only lose by a couple points, but my ex-boyfriend’s grandmother has beaten me at a sporting event. I officially suck at cornhole.
“Shake it off, sis,” Nonna says as she takes my arm and drags me to a pair of Adirondack chairs. She pulls her coat around her more tightly, but she doesn’t show any other signs of being cold. The couples who didn’t play last time rotate in and start playing. Sonny’s parents are on the same team this time. “No one’s good at cornhole on their first try.”
“Thanks, but I’m all right,” I say, even though being so awful at anything makes my skin physically itch.
“You may not be devastated, but losing to an old lady never feels good.”
I choke on a laugh. How is this woman real?
We sit and watch for a few minutes. I’m an introvert by nature, so I’m used to sitting in quiet and letting the extroverts around me fill the silence. Sonny’s family has a lot of extroverts, but I can tell Nonna isn’t one of them. When grandkids and great grandkids have asked her to regale them with tales of her spunk, one of her kids has acted as her mouthpiece.
Does she expect me to fill the silence? What do I say? I don’t want to say something stupid just to say something. I’ve never understood the point of small talk, and I suck at it anyway.
But the truth is, I want to talk to Nonna. I want to know everything about her. I want to understand how she managed to raise four incredibly accomplished children as a young widow in an era that didn’t offer women many opportunities. I want to know how she’s created such a tight family culture where everyone loves and supports each other. I want to know how she’s been able to love so many people so freely and be loved by so many people without … without …
Scaring them off.
Pushing them away.
Freezing them out.
How has she managed to be vulnerable enough to let people in for eighty years when, by all accounts, she’s been salt and vinegar just as long?
I’ve gone too long without saying anything. My mother would tell me what bad manners I have. All I want is to charm Nonna, and here I am, isolating her, instead.
But she doesn’t seem to mind.
In fact, she’s almost smiling.
So I sit with her.
We watch her children and their spouses play a game with no stakes, with no animosity. My insecurities slowly fade as I watch couples support and tease each other and siblings and in-laws talk smack to each other. I watch them laugh and I watch how they share their love so freely, all without saying “I love you.” But they show it by engaging. By watching each other. By being together.
“What a legacy, Nonna.”
Nonna puts her hand on mine and squeezes. “You’re a good girl, sis.”
She doesn’t look me in the eye, and for that I’m grateful. I don’t need anyone else to see me cry today.