Adriana Trigiani - Brava, Valentine

“Just a word of caution about friends, Pamela. I looked like a fool to a lot of my friends when I took Dutch back in 1987. They thought I had a head full of church teachings, or I was afraid to lose his pension-or the house-or that it happened on the cusp of college for our kids, and that maybe because of all that, I stayed out of fear. Well, I think you know me pretty well, and there aren’t too many dragons I won’t slay-I’m pretty tough. And so are you. I stayed because I knew I could love him again. At the time I didn’t love him-sorry, Dutch, but it’s true.”

“I knew it to be true,” Dad agrees. He leans back in the chair and closes his eyes.

“I wanted nothing more to do with him. But I stayed, hanging on to the idea that if I loved him once, maybe I could love him again. You owe it to yourself-because I promise you, many, many months down the road, you will be grateful that you stuck it out. And my friends? Now that I’m-now that I’m of a certain age…”

My sisters and I look at one another. We try not to smile.

“Now that I’m older and wiser, the very friends that advised me to kick Dutch out are remarried-and in some cases, unhappy in second marriages themselves-and we talk about staying versus going; and they admire that I listened to my own voice, and not theirs. And now I have this-the satisfaction of a life with a man that tested his love for me, and found out that he loved me all along. That’s my prayer for you. That you keep your own counsel. And whatever you decide, you will always be my daughter.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Pamela turns to go. She digs into her coat pocket and finds a clean tissue. She dabs her eyes. “I’ve really got to get home.”

“We can finish up in the morning,” I tell Alfred.

“Okay, great.” He grabs his coat and pulls it on. “Pam?”

She turns to Alfred.

“I’d like to ride home with you.”

Pam looks at him. Then she fixes the lapel on his coat.

“Okay,” she says.

They go down the stairs. My mother calls after them, “See you at Tess’s!”

My sisters and I glare at her.

“Where you gonna hang Nudie?” Dad asks Gabriel.

“Over the sofa.”

“You better put some swatches over the private areas. We got kids around here.”

The roof is lit from the apartment across the way, in the Richard Meier Towers. It seems someone finally moved into the fourth-floor apartment. But we wouldn’t know. Gabriel put up a trellis, high enough to obscure the direct view. All that comes through the lattice is the light, throwing squares of bright light on the roof.

I’m wrapped up in a down coat, hat, and mittens.

I look up at the night sky, and there’s no moon, no stars, just gray clouds in odd shapes. June filled the sky with pattern pieces tonight, just for me. I think about our conversations in the last several months of her life. I search her words and reactions for clues that might have portended her death. But I don’t think June knew. I don’t think she had any idea she was going to die. And more to the point, I don’t think she cared. My friend June was all about life-the living, and the moment.

I remember when she tried to quit work, and I wouldn’t let her. She could have retired, it was her right to insist upon it, but she didn’t. She saw the fear in my eyes when she suggested leaving me alone with Alfred in the shop. She knew I needed an ally in the transition. She was one for me, and so much more.

Then, crafty planner that June was, she trained Gabriel to take her job, even though Gabriel still keeps a night shift at the Carlyle. She made pattern cutting, one of the most serious operations in our shop, sheer fun for Gabe-he almost didn’t notice that she was teaching him a new skill that required concentration, technique, and focus. She trained Gabriel, knowing that if she succeeded in passing along all she knew, he’d be ready in the event that she could no longer work. And now that day has come, and Gabriel is ready to take over.

I picture the faces of the people that came to her memorial, such a disparate bunch of people-old artists, young dancers, gays and straights, village diehards, and of course my family. June lived in a world of her own design. How many people can say that? She chose the people in her life carefully, and then she took care of them, nurtured them, and encouraged them.

She didn’t have to become a mother; she was a mother.

“Would you like some company?” Gram says through the screen door.

“Sure, sure.” I jump up and run to the door to help Gram across the icy roof. She grips my arm as I guide her to the chaise next to mine.

I explain the seating arrangement. “Gabriel and I come up here and look at the sky.”

“It looks lovely up here. Besides you and my family, this roof is what I miss the most about my old life in New York.”

“Do you like the new look?” I ask her.

“It’s a real roof garden now.”

“When Gabriel finished the interiors, he came up here and painted and planted. And down in the shop-June trained him, and he works really hard.”

“I can tell. I looked at his pattern work. Not bad.”

“Do you think he can ever be as good as June?”

“Give him thirty years.”

I shrug. “Where am I going? I got thirty years.”

“I wish I did.” Gram smiles.

“You have a lot of time, Gram.”

“June was younger than me.” Gram turns to me. “Did she really just go fast like that?”

“Her neighbor Irv called me. I jumped in a cab, and when I got there, she was gone.”

“Isn’t that marvelous?”

“Well, I guess. For June.”

“Think about it. You get up, eat your breakfast, get dressed. Then you lie down, and cross over. I think it’s just about the best exit I’ve ever heard of,” Gram says.

At Gram’s age of course she thinks about dying and how and when it will happen. I don’t give it much thought but I probably will from now on. June’s death has rattled me. I always felt so young. But now I see the future as finite, not an endless bolt of silk that unfurls perfectly across the cutting table.

“I feel so guilty, Gram. June wanted to retire, but I wouldn’t let her.”

“Don’t you feel bad for one second. June always did exactly what she wanted to do. If she didn’t want to work, believe me, she wouldn’t have been here. I had to force her to take vacation. She never asked for time off because it’s a family-owned business, and she knew if she wasn’t there, I’d have to do her work. And she knew, once I left, when she took off, you’d have to do her work. Please don’t worry about that.”

“But, she gave up a lot to work here.”

“Why do you say that?” Gram asks.

“I don’t know. She didn’t have a husband or a family.”

“She didn’t want either of those things.”

“She didn’t?”

“No, she did not. She had a very difficult childhood. She got over it, but it left her a committed free spirit. Her goal in life was to be self-sufficient and live alone, and do exactly as she pleased. I know she was afraid about getting older, and only because she was always fearful of having a stroke and going into a home. That’s nothing new. I have the same fears. But she didn’t have a family to make decisions for her.”

“I was her emergency contact.”

“She made a good choice.” Gram pats my hand. “You know, she called me in Italy quite a bit. She kept me in the loop. She was so proud of you. June marveled at your determination to make the business more profitable. I worked here over fifty years, and I never even changed the way we record in the ledger. And look at you. I’m barely gone a year, and you’re launching a new line of affordable shoes. Your grandfather is dancing in heaven.”