Page 1 of The Don

1SHAE

Gettingyour heart’s desire can be complicated.

Four months ago, if someone had told me that I could go back to Italy — and on someone else’s dime, no less — I would have been jumping for joy. But now that my dream is about to be a reality, all I feel is an overwhelming dread washing over me in the blink of an eye. I’ve been drifting over the past few months shoving metric tons of uncertainties down inside myself, too nervous to feel or make decisions or live, even. But as soon as the Council of Aunties decree, in one decisive old Black womanly melodic hum, that Zoe and I will be going to Italy, all that fear begins to rise to the surface. That bright flash of excitement — that might have bordered on ecstasy, if I can be honest with myself for a moment — crashes into the barbed wire fence better known as reality. This confusing mix of feelings is only made worse by the fact that my mother, aunts, grandmother, great-aunts, and great-great-aunts seem to be so damn happy to have this matter settled. It’s as if they can already see Zahra boarding a plane to return home and explain her weeks-long absence.

I guess I’m glad they’re happy, because I sure as hell am not.

I feel like I’m watching the Aunties’ celebration and Zoe’s annoyed negotiation about plane tickets from a completely different room in Auntie Ella’s apartment. Every time someone looks in my direction, I feel like they can see through me — like if they want to, they can pluck all the secrets I’ve been hiding straight from my brain.

And then what would I do?

I’ve been batting that question around in my head for so long, but I still don’t have an answer. Normally, in moments like this, I’d turn to Zahra, but she’s MIA. Or Zoe, but she’s currently huddled in the corner with her mother and mine, trying to convince them to at least upgrade us to business class for the inconvenience. They don’t seem to be buying her argument, but my sore back wishes her well. Meanwhile, I am sitting in a chair in the center of the room, trying to exert enough self-control to force my tense muscles to relax and my pounding pulse to slow.

I’m failing, but I don’t think anyone’s noticed that just yet. As usual, I am wrong.

My Auntie Caroline slides into Zoe’s seat next to me with a warm smile on her face. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

I can only glance at her before I feel the all-too-familiar pressure of tears in my eyes, and I have to look away.

“I dreamed about fish again,” she says softly.

I shut my eyes and pray not to let a single tear fall. Especially not in this room of women who will notice and be relentless about finding out what’s upset me, no matter if they upset me in the process. Families are very complicated.

“These dreams just won’t let me rest,” Caroline says. “At first, I thought it would be Zahra ‘cause you know? But that was before…you know. Then I thought it could be your cousin Maryse, but now did you know her roommate was actually her girlfriend?”

I laugh so hard that a tear falls from my right eye, but I brush it away and cover my mouth to muffle my gasping laughs.

Caroline gives a good-natured hum. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. I bet not be the last to know.”

“I don’t think you are,” I say, squeezing my aunt’s hand but still not daring to look at her.

“It’s not Zoe,” she says.

“Never,” I say and then hold my breath, waiting for her to ask me or accuse me or something.

She does neither, and so we sit there together while Zoe pleads our case, and the other aunties start putting together a list of various Italian delicacies they want us to bring back — smuggle, in some cases — because apparently, this is not just a mission to retrieve my wayward cousin, it’s a shopping spree. I should have expected that. Normally, I would laugh at my family’s ability to multi-task, but this all still feels like it’s happening from far away — but not so far away now that my aunt is holding my hand.

We lounge in a companionable silence for a while before Caroline finally reaches for my chin and turns my head toward her. Thankfully, I’ve had enough time to compose myself that I’m not so immediately on the verge of tears — although with the havoc of my hormones lately, I know that could change at any moment.

“Do you want to go back to Italy?” she asks.

Caroline is technically my great-aunt, but she’s always been on her Rich Auntie Vibes — the one who showed up for family events only if they fit her schedule, who never missed the opportunity to commemorate a birthday with a cute Afrocentric card and a crisp twenty-dollar bill inside that arrived at least a week early and by airmail from a new country every year. She was the auntie who showed up at the family reunions with a store-bought cake, top-shelf liquor, and a different handsome, obviously rich man on her arm.

Caroline was Zoe’s role model and the kind of aunt who always made sure to let us know that the world was so much bigger than we imagined. I can guess that she’s probably the reason Zoe and I are going back to Italy when a private detective would be a better choice. I can only suspect why she doesn’t ask if the fish dreams are about me.

“If you want to stay here,” she says, whispering only loud enough for me to hear her, “then you can stay. Zoe can bring Zahra back on her own.”

I nod because she can. Zoe can do anything on her own.

“And if you want to stay with Steve—”

I shake my head sharply, cutting her off. “We’re done.” Those two words still taste sweet on my tongue.

Caroline exhales and smiles. “Good. But still, you can stay, and we can move you into Zoe’s apartment. No one should have to stay with their ex after a breakup. Especially not a triflin’ man who won’t even take the couch so you can get a good night’s sleep.” She shakes her head and brushes the pad of her thumb along the edge of one of my deep-set, dark brown under-eye bags. “You can do that,” Caroline says. “Youcanstay here if you want to.”

“But I don’t want to,” I admit emotionally. That teary pressure is back again.

“Are you sure? Because you were sitting here looking like you was full up of dread.”