Chapter 22
Lily asked to meet Delia when she was thirteen.
Raffaele said nothing for almost five seconds.
Sofia noticed.
“That’s impressive.”
He ignored her.
Lily had read three letters over six years.
Answered two.
I READ IT.
Then:
I REMEMBER MOMMY’S HANDS.
Delia’s reply to that had been one sentence.
So do I.
No defense.
No request.
The meeting happened at Claire’s office.
Neutral place.
Forty-five minutes maximum.
Sofia nearby.
Raffaele nearby.
Neither inside.
Lily entered first.
Then Delia.
Her aunt looked older.
Lily knew that from photographs.
Still.
Reality was different.
Delia sat across from her.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Silence.
Then Lily asked:
“Why did you make Mommy wear bad clothes?”
Delia looked down.
The gala.
Torn work clothes.
Grease.
Detergent.
Humiliation.
“I wanted people in the kitchen to see her as staff.”
Lily stared.
“But she wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Delia took time.
“Because I wanted her to remember where she came from.”
Lily frowned.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
That simple answer destroyed the old logic.
Sofia had never forgotten she worked kitchens.
Delia needed the past to reduce her.
Different.
Lily continued.
“Did you think kitchen people less?”
Delia became still.
“I told myself I respected them.”
“That’s not answer.”
Apparently inherited.
Delia tried again.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“In ways I did.”
Lily looked angry.
“Samuel?”
“Yes.”
“Maria?”
“Yes.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes.”
Good.
No polishing.
Lily asked:
“Did you love Mommy?”
Delia looked surprised.
“No.”
Immediate.
Lily waited.
“I cared about her sometimes.”
Different.
“When?”
“Before I started treating her as competition.”
Lily frowned.
“Competition for Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“And house.”
“Yes.”
“Lily?”
Delia’s face changed.
That was harder.
“Sometimes.”
Raffaele, listening in the next room, closed his eyes.
Delia continued.
“I hated feeling like the family was moving on without needing me the same way.”
Lily sat back.
“So you wanted us need you.”
“Yes.”
“Did Daddy?”
“For a long time.”
Lily thought.
“Now?”
Delia looked toward the wall.
“I don’t know.”
Correct.
Raffaele’s relationship with Delia remained minimal.
One phone call about their father.
A funeral.
Two brief family encounters.
No restored sibling intimacy.
That answer belonged to him.
At thirty-nine minutes Lily stood.
Delia did too.
Then stopped.
No hug request.
Good.
Lily looked at her.
“I don’t want another meeting now.”
Delia nodded.
“Okay.”
“Maybe later.”
“Okay.”
Outside, Raffaele asked:
“How was—”
Lily stared.
He stopped.
Right.
No evaluation.
Three weeks later Lily said:
“She was honest.”
Sofia nodded.
“That matters.”
“Still don’t like.”
“That can matter too.”
May you like
Both.
Again.
