The Turning Point

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I
smoothed my fingers over the gold lettering of the college’s emblem etched on my diploma cover. Even though it was empty, and my actual diploma would arrive in the mail in a couple of weeks, I reveled in the fact that I was a college graduate. All my hard work and sacrifices had paid off, and in a few short weeks, I’d start med school. Everything I’d planned was falling into place.

Smiling, I looked out the backseat window of Mom’s Murano. After the pomp and circumstance of the morning, Mom, Nonna, and I were en route to our favorite restaurant, a little Italian bistro down the street from Mom’s gelato shop, ready to celebrate my graduation.

As we traveled down the highway, trees blurred into a wall of green on the side of the road, while Mom and Nonna chatted away in the front seat, caught in a heated discussion over Nonna’s newest guilty pleasure television show,
Dating Naked
. Where Nonna thought the show was hysterical, Mom was completely disgusted by the thought of a seventy-one-year-old woman finding it enjoyable. And the fact that Mom got her panties in a twist over it only made Nonna love it even more. They lived to antagonize one another.

“Andrea, there is nothing wrong with watching fine young men parade around in their birthday suits,” Nonna scolded. “Right, Sophia?”

Mom glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “She’s got a point, Mom.”

“Yeah, if you’re Sophia’s age.” Mom gestured to me in the backseat. “She’s supposed to like it.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Nonna waved Mom’s comment away. “The day I give up admiring the male physique is the day you better call the funeral director, because I’m probably dead.”

“Mom!” my mother shouted.

“You’re missing out on some tasty television, Andrea.” Nonna tsked and shook her head.

“Whatever. Any fun plans tonight, Sophia?” Mom asked, changing the subject. “Parties?”

I thought back to the girl in front of me in the procession line. She’d been on the phone, planning some epic party. I hadn’t gotten an invite. And why should I? In the last four years, I’d passed on a social life—friends, clubs, parties, boyfriends, anything that could be considered a distraction. I studied, worked hard, and got into medical school. That had been the plan all along. I had goals, and I was determined not to let anything get in the way.

Yet, as much as I wanted to ignore the small pinch in my chest, I couldn’t help remembering when I used to be the girl planning the parties. When my life wasn’t just textbooks and late-night study sessions, but soccer games and parties, boys, laughter, and fun.

Then Penley died and my priorities changed.

Losing my cousin, best friend, and teammate to an undetected heart condition my senior year of high school put things into perspective faster than a striker firing on a goalkeeper. Who knew that hypertrophic cardiomyopathy—the leading cause of cardiac death in young athletes—would become an integral part of my lexicon and the reason I planned to dedicate my life to pediatric cardiology. I’d never felt so powerless. I didn’t understand. Why hadn’t the doctors known her heart was weak? Would she still be alive if we hadn’t gone out drinking the night before? One minute we were running down the soccer field together; then the next she wasn’t, because her heart quit beating. If I could save just one child from Penley’s fate, then her death wouldn’t have been in vain. I missed her every single day.

“Nope.” I answered Mom’s question.

“Aw, Soph,” she sighed, sneaking a peek at me in the mirror again.

“It’s fine, Mom.” I averted my gaze. My partying days were a thing of the past.

“I worry about you,” she mumbled. “You work so hard…put so much time and effort into school, planning your future, but at what cost, Sophia?”

Here we go again.
Why did she have to do this today? Rain on my parade. Make me think of Penley more than I already was.

“Enough, Andrea,” Nonna scolded. “This is Sophia’s day. Leave her be.”

“It’s okay, Nonna.” I didn’t like when they argued, especially about me. “Mom”—I sat up straight and wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs—“I’m doing what I want. What makes me happy.”

Mom forced a smile. “Okay,” she agreed with a heavy dose of exasperation. “As long as you’re happy.” She flipped on the turn signal and merged onto the off-ramp. As the car slowed, she turned left.

“I am. And where are we going? The restaurant is in the other direction.” I pointed to the right.

“We need to make a stop first.” Mom glanced at Nonna and smiled.

With the look she gave Nonna, I knew they were up to something. “What stop?”

Nonna turned around and smirked in my direction. “Oh, sit back and enjoy the ride,
Principessa
.”

Sit back and enjoy the ride? Did they know me at all?
I hated surprises. “Tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“Chill out, Sophia, we’re almost there.” Mom turned again, this time into a new car lot.

“Mom?”

“What?” She pulled the car into a parking space near the entrance and killed the engine.

Nonna bounced in her seat, clearly overcome with excitement. “Everybody out!” She pulled the latch on the door and jumped out of the car. At seventy-one, she was quite agile.

I knew full well what was going on. Mom had been hinting about me needing a new car for the better part of a year. “What did you two do?” A smile pulled at the corners of my lips.

“Ladies,” a salesman crooned, coming out to meet us. “Everything is ready and waiting. Follow me.”

Mom and Nonna giggled like schoolgirls, looping their arms through mine. I shook my head. They had no shame.

We walked to the back of the building and came up right behind the salesman as he stopped.

“Here she is.” He sidestepped, bringing his hand up in a sweeping motion, showcasing a sleek, black car bearing a bright red ribbon on top. I’d always thought giant bows were reserved for car commercials, not real life. But here I was staring at one. I gaped.

A key fob dangled from the man’s pointer finger. “She’s all yours,” he said with a toothy grin.

“Well, go on,
Principessa
.” Nonna wiggled her bony elbow into my side, forcing me from of my stupor.

“How…You can’t,” I sputtered. “This is way too much.” The car was a brand-new Acura TLX; there was no freaking way either one of them could afford something like this.

“You can’t drive that piece of shit clunker on your first day of medical school,” Mom added. “You need something befitting a future doctor.”

Tentatively, I stepped closer to the car, afraid it would disappear into a cloud of mist if I touched it. The sales guy dropped the key fob into my left hand as I ran a finger over the shiny door latch. It was gorgeous. I loved the elegant, sleek design.

Pulling open the door, I climbed inside. Bombarded by the musky scents of new car and leather, I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. The black leather interior held the heat of the day, warming the skin on the backs of my legs.

“Mom. Nonna.” Gripping the steering wheel, I eyed each of them. “This is…” The car was too much, but seeing the immeasurable amounts of pride and happiness on their faces, I knew this was what they wanted.

“Happy graduation,
Patatina
.” Mom’s voice wobbled as she latched on to Nonna’s arm.

“We’re so proud of you, Soph,” Nonna added.

I exited the car, my arms opened wide. “Thank you.” I wrapped them in a hug, squeezing as tightly as I could. I loved them so much. Things hadn’t been easy after Dad walked out on us, but Mom and Nonna were two of the strongest women I knew. I could only hope to be like them one day.

“As much as I love this mushy stuff, we’ve got reservations at Charlie’s.” Nonna patted my back, a cue to let go. “And I’m famished.”

Taking a step back, Mom quickly swiped at her eyes. Like me, she wasn’t a crier, and if I called her on it, she’d deny it, saying her contacts were giving her fits.

“I’m riding with Soph,” Nonna announced, clapping Mom on the back.

Mom gave Nonna a sidelong glance. “I kind of figured.”

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, sir.” Nonna shook the salesman’s hand and skipped—yes, literally skipped—around to the passenger side door.

“Nice doing business with you, ladies. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” I said, climbing behind the wheel.

Mom started toward the front of the building, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you guys at the restaurant.”

“Well, start her up,” Nonna instructed.

With a huge smile on my face, I pushed the button to start the engine, and my brand-new car purred to life. “Thank you, Nonna.” I stared at the white-haired woman next to me.

“Anything for my
principessa
.” She patted her arthritic hand on my knee. “Now, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I grinned, shifting into reverse. Looking over my shoulder, I eased my new car from the parking space just as I remembered the giant ribbon on the roof. “Oh”—my foot came down on the brake, the car jolting to a halt—“the ribbon.” I shifted my gaze upward where the shiny material was threaded through the interior.

“What about it?”

I raised an eyebrow, giving Nonna a dubious stare. “I can’t drive down the street with it on the roof.” I reached up, my fingers settling on the Velcro holding the ends together.

“Don’t you dare,” Nonna said, her hand covering mine. “You leave that ribbon up there. This is your day,
Principessa
. You get to flaunt the hell out of it.”

“Nonna!” I lowered my hands and laughed.

“I mean it. My granddaughter is a big deal and everyone needs to know this.”

I shook my head. “I love you, Nonna.”

“I love you, too. Now, can we go eat, please?”

“Yes.” I smiled, easing off the brake.

Pulling out of the parking lot, we headed north, toward Charlie’s, with a big-ass red ribbon atop my car and Mom following behind.

“When does your med school summer session begin?” Mom asked, finishing her stuffed shells.

“In a few weeks. I thought I’d help out at the shop until then.”

Mom smiled, yet it didn’t touch her eyes. “That’d be great, Soph, but wouldn’t you rather do something fun with your few weeks of freedom? I remember being twenty-two; the gelato shop was the last place I wanted to be.”

I picked the last toasted ravioli from my plate and took a bite. Chewing slowly, I did my best to avoid my mother’s pitiful stare. I knew where she was coming from. Being proud Italian Americans, Mom and her brother—my uncle David—took over the gelato shop when Pappous passed away. Nonna didn’t want to sell, so Mom and Uncle David inherited the business. I always wondered what Mom would have rather done with her life if she hadn’t been forced to take over the business. Her life hadn’t gone the way she’d planned or hoped, that was for sure.

“How about dessert?” Nonna asked enthusiastically. “This is a special day—we need to sweeten up this conversation. Far too depressing for my delicate ears.” Nonna frowned and pressed her hands to her ears.

“Anything but ice cream.” Mom cringed.

Nonna nodded. “Deal. Tiramisu?”

“Yes, please,” I sighed. I loved Nonna dearly; she
always
had my back. I knew Mom meant well; she didn’t want me to look back on my life and regret the choices I’d made. She just had a difficult time understanding that my choices were what I wanted.

After we finished our dinners, the waiter brought three plates of tiramisu. No matter how much we loved each other, dessert was the one thing we refused to share.

With a forkful of liquor-drenched ladyfingers at the ready, Mom spoke before she took her bite. “Your dad called again.” She stuck the fork in her mouth, awaiting my response.

Why? Why wouldn’t he leave me alone? I had no desire to call him back. NONE. With the exception of a prompt check each month and birthday and Christmas gifts each year—which conveniently happened on the same day—I hadn’t seen him since he left when I was seven. Why was he calling now?

“You should call him, Soph. See what he wants.”

“Why? As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a dad.” I swirled my fork in the glob of whipped cream on my plate.

“I know, Soph. But it’s the sixth time he’s called in two weeks. Whatever it is, it must be important for him to call so much.”

“Nope. No thanks. Not going to happen.” I scooped a large bite of custard and shoved it into my mouth. Nothing cured that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach like food.

Mom sighed. “It’s up to you. But I have a feeling he’s not going to give up.”

I put my hand in front of my mouth and mumbled around the food there, “You talk to him, then.”

“I’ve tried. He won’t.”

“You know, if you talk to him this time, see what he wants, maybe you won’t have to interact with him any longer,” Nonna piped up.

I shook my head. “He left us. He walked out and never came back. He doesn’t have the right to demand my time and attention.”

Mom’s features softened. She understood how much it hurt me when my dad left. I was a daddy’s girl. Some of my earliest memories were centered around my dad. I remembered getting all dressed up for the Girl Scouts Daddy–Daughter Date Night when I was seven years old, just a couple months before he walked out on me.

Dad wore a dark suit and looked so handsome with his black hair slicked back. He gave me a wrist corsage with pink and purple carnations that matched the color of my dress. Mom put a little makeup on my cheeks and lips, curled my hair, and sprayed some of her expensive perfume on my wrists. I felt like a princess.

The whole evening, Dad danced with me. I’d stood on his toes and looked up at his face and smiled. He beamed. His eyes were shiny, his hands firm, holding on to me for dear life as he whirled me around the elementary school’s gym floor.

Or at least that’s what I remembered. My seven-year-old brain had no idea that he’d planned on leaving me. When he left, I was devastated. I’d called him countless times during the day, every day. He never called back. He never visited.

Just two gifts a year and a sizeable child-support check once a month, that’s what I got. Not what I wanted…or needed.