Adriana Trigiani - Brava, Valentine

“You’ve known her a long time.”

“All my life.”

“When she moved down here, she found her bliss. You know, you can still be yourself in this part of town. Did you ever see her dance?”

“No, I never did.”

“She was a wonder. Long lean body, legs that went on for days. When she was young, she had no peer. Red hair to her waist, flying behind her when she’d do these amazing jumps. She started out with Paul Taylor. So did I. That’s how we first met. I’ll never forget her dancing. That’s for sure.”

I stand on East 5th Street in the Village in the snow. Through the flurries, I can see strands of Christmas-tree lights across the street at the neighborhood stand where they sell trees. Red, green, and blue Roma lights sway in the wind, punching color into the gray morning.

“Oh, June,” I say out loud. “You left me at Christmas.” Tears and snow sting my face, but I don’t move. I can’t. June is gone.

The first thing I do after I tell Gabe, Bret, and Alfred about June is go up to the roof. The snow has stopped, leaving a dusting on the roof. I take in big gulps of air, hoping it will help me stop crying. But I can’t.

I asked Alfred to call Mom and my sisters. I told him that I would tell Gram. I pull out my phone and scroll down to Gram’s number. I look down at it, and think better of it for a moment and scroll back up to the previous number: Gianluca Vechiarelli.

I don’t want to call him, and yet, he’s the only person in the world I want to talk to. He will comfort me. He knows how. I press the send button. The phone clicks into the international line, and I hear faint buzzing and then a series of beeps.

“Pronto.” I hear Gianluca’s voice, bold and strong on the other end. I begin to cry. “Pronto?” he says again.

“Gianluca, it’s Valentine. In New York.”

“What’s wrong?” he says softly.

“June died.”

“Oh, Valentina.”

“I need to call Gram, but I thought you could be with her when I called, in case she gets upset.” My cries turn to weeping.

“Of course, of course,” he says. “I’m so sorry, Valentina.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I wail. “I was waiting for her to come to work this morning. And now I’ll never see her again.”

“Where’s Gabriel?” he asks.

“Down in the shop. He’s a mess too. June taught him how to cut patterns. I mean, she trained him, you know? She taught him everything she knew.”

“She was a wonderful woman.”

“And she was all alone,” I wail.

“No, no, carissima . She was surrounded by love.”

“No, I went over there and she was all alone. I couldn’t bear it.”

“That was her choice. June wanted her privacy at the end. That’s different from not being loved. She was loved. You took good care of her.”

His words soothe me. June was Gianluca’s greatest champion. She only met him a few times last fall, but she read all of his letters and loved every single word he wrote. I blurt, “I’m sorry about everything, Gianluca. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t follow you when you left the hotel. I was too proud. And I’m sorry about that stupid letter I sent. I’m always joking around, as if humor is what is required in every situation. It’s not. There’s nothing funny about your feelings…or mine. I never meant to diminish you in any way with my dumb, cavalier attitude.” My face stings where my tears meet the cold.

“I understand,” he says softly.

“Thank you.”

“I go to Papa’s now. You call there, okay?”

“Okay.”

I flip the phone shut and hold it close to me. A cold winter wind kicks up and blows the snow off the roof west toward the Hudson River like a sheet stretched across a summer clothesline. The snow clouds hang low over my river in a veil of gray fog. I can’t see anything. Everything, it seems, is gone.

Gram and Dominic changed their airline tickets to come to New York sooner than they planned for June’s funeral. June’s friends have planned a funeral/life celebration, a hybrid Catholic/Buddhist ceremony at Integral Yoga on 13th Street.

June took yoga classes there for years. Of late, she had started Pilates, but yoga was a passion with her. She’d often grab a class during lunch when she worked in the shop. A few blocks from the Angelini Shoe Company, she’d throw her rolled-up mat in its case on her back like a sack of arrows for her bow. She’d return an hour later, centered, calm, and ready for an afternoon of hard work.

Gabriel taps on my bedroom door. He peeks in. “You ready?” Gabriel adjusts his black tie which he wears with a black shirt, and a black suit.

“Not really.” I straighten the zipper on my skirt. “Do you think I’m overdressed?”

“Have you ever been to Integral Yoga? You’re way overdressed. And so am I. People meditate in their underwear over there.”

“It’s not the grocery store, is it?”

“The natural foods section is downstairs. We’re going upstairs to the yoga studios. What did you think? We’d put June to rest in the raw nuts section?”

“I have no expectations.”

“You’re better off,” Gabriel says. “I shop there from time to time. And those vegans are the least healthy-looking people I’ve ever seen. Their skin tone is puce. They need to eat a burger. But I’m not getting involved in that movement. Believe me.”

Gram and Dominic are dressed and waiting for us in the living room. Gram looks beautiful in a navy suit that June liked. Dominic wears a black suit with a navy-blue-and-white-striped tie.

“Gabriel, what you’ve done with the house is marvelous.”

“Gram, I was a nervous wreck before you got here,” he tells her. “I really changed it up, you know.”

“I approve. I love what you did in Mike’s room upstairs. You kept the wallpaper and painted the furniture.”

“Are you comfortable in there?”

“Very much.” Dominic smiles.

“We’d better go,” I tell them.

Even though Integral Yoga is only a few blocks from our building, with the snow and ice, I didn’t want to take any chances of Gram or Dominic falling, so we ordered a town car. As we drive across Perry Street, we bounce on the cobblestones. June would have gotten a kick out of the town car going such a short distance. She didn’t like anything on wheels, except her work stool. She’d take the bus, but only in a pinch. She walked everywhere in this city, regardless of the weather.

When we arrive at Integral Yoga, there’s a hand-printed sign on the door that says

JUNE LAWTON

with an arrow pointing up. Gabriel holds the door open. Gram and I go up the stairs, followed by Gabriel and Dominic.

When we arrive at Studio C, the room is filled with a few rows of folding chairs, and on the floor, a series of small yoga mats laid neatly in front of them-for anyone who wants to sit pretzel style during the service, I imagine. It’s a fairly large room with polished blond wood. The long wall opposite the door is covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The mourners hang their umbrellas and snow gear on the barre. A large window overlooks the back garden. A lonely old tree, with gray gnarled branches, is glazed with ice.

My family takes up two rows of folding chairs. We are dressed like a pack of devout Catholics, while June’s friends, ages nineteen to ninety, mill around in jeans, spandex skirts with leggings, and for one gentleman, in a bright blue kimono. My family looks completely out of place, like Capodimonte lamps at a Conran’s yard sale. June would love the contrast.

Mom is already weeping. She wears a black pillbox hat with a whimsy that cascades over her eyes. When she sees Gram, she gets up and goes to her.