Cassandra Behind Closed Doors: A Teenager's Struggle Into Adulthood

Prologue

M

y computer is my sanctuary. It’s where I drift off into another world and become another person, someone I choose to be. I run away from who I am and even though my character’s life may be unpleasant, it is far better than my own. I can be anyone: a lawyer battling a hard case, a doctor saving people’s lives or simply a woman finding herself lost in a loveless marriage but this story is different. In this story, I choose to be me.

As I type this, a flood of memories swirls through my mind. The tears are falling freely now. I wipe those tears away but how can I wipe away the emptiness in my heart? The loneliness. The betrayal. The heartbreak. All the pain and anguish I felt at that moment in my life is now going to resurface, yet I know I must do this. My writing is my own therapy. It has always been my way of dealing with the past and the present. That’s why I know that even though I may hurt my family and friends, I need to do this — I need to do this for me.

My life is like a book. Each chapter represents a moment of happiness and a wave of downfalls. Therefore, I share with you my hopes, my dreams, my fears and most of all, the way I survived.

I grab the journals from the purple container stored in my cupboard. I sit in front of the computer; the thick books perched on my desk. I open one marked 1994.

Now I begin my story.

symble Chapter One

I

didn’t know what was louder. My racing heart, thirty-three people shouting over one another or Quando blasting from inside the house. It was so embarrassing. If I could hear it and I was outside, then so could the neighbours and they were probably thinking the same thing I was; Why the hell are they listening to Italian songs on Christmas Eve instead of carols? I couldn’t understand it but that was wogs for you, always trying to fill the younger generation with memories of their youth, even though they hadn’t lived in Italy for over twenty-six years.

Was I embarrassed about my heritage? Definitely not. I was proud to be Italian. We were well known for our culture and elegance; our cuisine was considered a delica-cy in countries all over the world: pizza, gelati, Nutella, mozzarella and over a thousand different recipes involving pasta with their unique sauces. We were noted for our art and history, our fashion, Antonio Sabato Junior; undeni-ably one of the sexiest males on television, and we were known as the world’s best-organised crime.

When I was five, besides telling people I was a member of the Johnny Young Talent School, I used to brag to my friends that my dad was part of the Mafia. I didn’t understand why I was suddenly playing by myself until I cried to my mum and she brought out the English dictionary. Mafia: International secret criminal organization, orig. Italian.

Of course, being so young, I didn’t understand those big words, so Mum explained to me what the dictionary didn’t. After that, I stopped, then slowly my friends returned and I could once again tell them stories of Dannii Minogue.

I loved Dannii Minogue and had been her biggest fan for twelve years. I was a year old when she first joined Young Talent Time in 1982 and Mum told me I used to sit in her lap, mesmerised by Dannii’s voice. Apparently, I started to cry whenever Dannii left the screen and the only way Mum could calm me down was to show reruns of her performances. That phase ended really quickly, but from then on, every Saturday night for six years, my sisters and I would sit in front of the television at six-thirty. We never missed an episode and I would often imagine performing on stage with them, in those brightly coloured costumes, singing All My Loving.

I bawled my eyes out when Dannii left the show, even though the next week she was on All the Way. I had always hoped Vince would dump Natalie, realise he had always loved Dannii and together they would have formed a duo and re-released The Time of My Life. Then again, if they had been together, perhaps Dannii wouldn’t be the star she is today. And I definitely believed in fate, destiny and the saying ‘things always happened for a reason’ , because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been here right now, experiencing a triangle of my own. Actually, it was more of a square but nevertheless the emotions were the same and the betrayal doubled.

Cassie, it’s your turn!

I spun the bottle. It circled round and round, spinning endlessly. Well, not really. I knew it would eventually stop but it felt like it was turning in slow motion and the more I stared at it, the slower it seemed to be going. I waited, my stomach churning, my hands shaking. Trying to keep them occupied, I lifted my long brown hair off my back, scooping it high into an imaginary ponytail. It didn’t work. The motor cortex located inside my brain wasn’t communicating with my fingers properly and it looked like I had the early stages of Parkinson’s disease. Instead of trying to calm my nerves, the constant knocks to the head were starting to give me a headache. I let my hair back down again, each strand falling into place. The bottle finally stopped and everyone stared at me, waiting for my next move.

Not you again, I said, but inside I felt as if I had turned into scrambled eggs, all soft and mushy. Brayden and I stood up and met in the centre of the circle. He bent his head towards mine and kissed me softly on the lips. Ten seconds later, we drew apart and walked back to our spots.

I quickly sat down; afraid if I didn’t I would fall and make a complete fool of myself. I had to try to act like I was in control, though it was so hard. My head was whirling around like revolving doors, I had no sensation in my legs and my lips were still burning from the heat of the kiss.

Hey Cassie, this fell as you got up, Tessa said, passing me the stuffed brown and white puppy dog I had carelessly dropped.

Thanks Tess.

Yeah, thanks Tess…thanks a bunch! Just hit me while I’m down.

I crossed my legs and placed the plush animal in my lap, its black glossy eyes staring up at me accusingly, mouthing out the word bitch. Well, that’s what I would imagine it to say if it could talk and it was a hundred per cent right. I was the biggest bitch but despite that, I couldn’t change the way I felt.

The soft toy was a Christmas gift from my boyfriend Vinnie. When I first opened it, I loved it. Now it was a constant reminder of what I had done.

You’re next, Sophie, Sav said. Sophie reached for the bottle and turned it around. I sunk down lower into the ground, trying to push the guilt to the back of my mind.

A kiss was just a kiss. It wasn’t even a kiss, just a quick peck on the lips, so technically it wouldn’t be considered cheating. I was overreacting; stressing for no reason and I felt like a ping-pong ball being smacked from side to side — Brayden, Vinnie, Brayden, Vinnie — then towards this stupid poem that I had recently read in Tessa’s diary: a peach is a peach, a plum is a plum, a kiss ain’t a kiss, if you don’t use the tongue!

And we definitely didn’t use the tongue! That would have been disgusting, considering we were all related. My mum, Tessa’s mum and Sophie’s dad were siblings, meaning we were first cousins. Sav was our third cousin and Brayden was Tessa’s third cousin on her dad’s side with no relation to either me, Sophie or Sav. Confused? Well, when I was younger, I definitely was but when you were Italian, it was normal to have half-a-million cousins. First, second, third and some who weren’t really related but just called them that because you couldn’t be bothered explaining how you knew each other.

Therefore, I didn’t do anything wrong. My conscience was clear and I didn’t have to justify myself to anyone. Except there was one problem, inside my heart, I knew I was to blame. It was what lay behind the kiss that really mattered and I could fool everyone into believing otherwise but I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. My feelings for Brayden grew stronger with each second of the day and I couldn’t push them aside no matter how much I tried. And I had tried. I tried to forget the image of him and me at the park last week, the way he looked at me with those brown eyes of his and the dimples that deepened when he laughed.

Besides, it hadn’t been my idea to play this stupid game. It was Sav’s, so it wasn’t as if I had devised a plan hoping Brayden and I would kiss and then become a couple. It didn’t happen that way. We were sitting on Tessa’s driveway, bored and when Sav suggested spin-the-bottle, we all agreed. Then, Tessa snuck into the kitchen and when no one was looking, stole a half-empty bottle of Coke from the table, watered the grass with its liquid and we began.

It was innocent; at least it was supposed to be. Every time Brayden and I had our turn, it would automatically land on each other. I had kis…pecked Brayden twenty times, actually after the last shot, it made the total twenty-one. I was beginning to think the damned bottle was fixed or had a magnetic strip attached. Better yet, it was a practical joke played on us by some evil jester, who was watching the scene and laughing at our expense. I could just picture him in his chequered multicoloured tunic, see his lips stretched out into a hideous, permanent red grin and hear the bells that dangled and tinkled from his pointed hat as he danced. Well, it wasn’t bloody funny and wasn’t something to celebrate. Besides Brayden and I, there were other people involved. Vinnie, for one and two…

Hey guys, Tessa said, grabbing the bottle. It’s ten-to-twelve. We better go inside before they come out and see what we’ve been doing.

I shot up quicker than a piece of bread inside a toaster. There was no way I could get busted unless I wanted to be buried at the age of thirteen. As if that would happen. It wasn’t likely my father would leave his usual habitat just to come looking for me. At every function we had, the men would dart outside the back, play cards and argue the entire night. At least I was free and not controlled in my dad’s watch. He was probably in his own world, sculling down glasses of whisky, smoking one cigarette after another and cursing every saint, from Santa Maria to San Lorenzo. Any saint that is except for San Bartolomeo. Dad would never use his name in vain and would fight with anyone that did. It was said that San Bartolomeo was skinned alive and later cruci-fied with his head upside down. Afterwards, his remains were placed in a box, tossed into the ocean and eventually drifted towards Lipari, where the natives strongly believed his presence had resided there on their island, giving them good luck. Dad considered San Bartolomeo a protector of the sea and if you uttered his name in ill-will, his spirit would rise from the water and either drown you or slice your throat — and Dad’s worst fear was drowning.

Besides, I had to find my mum. It had become a ritual for me to be the first one to kiss and hug her at midnight. Even my sisters knew they had to wait in line.

The boys went inside, while Sophie and I tagged along with Tessa as she threw the bottle into the bin.

I can’t believe it is Christmas! Sophie said, as we headed towards the house.

Yeah, I know. This year has gone so fast, Tessa replied.

I just hope I get good presents, Sophie said. She paused. Hey Cassie, are you going to tell Lizzie?

Elizabeth Bastiani, the fourth person to the square. She was Brayden’s girlfriend and my best friend. Some friend I was, kissing her boyfriend, though I had fallen for him first. I had fallen for Brayden a long time ago before I even knew what the word ‘love’ meant.

I shrugged. I don’t know. What do you guys think?

You should tell her, Sophie said. You don’t want her to find out from someone else.

True, but I do think Brayden should be the one to tell her if he feels it’s necessary. It might sound malicious coming from me and I don’t want her to be upset.

What does ‘malicious’ mean? Sophie asked with a blank look on her face.

Destructive, I said.

Huh?

Cruel, spiteful, nasty, I said, shaking my head. How can you not know what ‘destructive’ means?

Sorry I don’t know big words. Why couldn’t you say cruel in the first place? Sophie asked.

It’s not even a big word Sophie. I could have used ‘detri-mental’ or ‘prejudicial’ in that sentence.

Well, I’m sorry I don’t read and memorise the dictionary.

I do not! I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word. Isn’t it too big for you?

I knew I went too far but I couldn’t help myself. I definitely used the dictionary a lot but I was a hopeless speller and I couldn’t hand in work with misspelled words. Besides, I had three older sisters and they used bigger and more impressive words I wasn’t aware of. But I wouldn’t ask them to ‘speak down’ to me so I could understand them. I looked the word up so I could learn from it and then used it in my own vocabulary. Why else would the words be part of the English language, if not to use them? Besides, I didn’t use ‘big words’ all the time, I did however find it useful with homework, reading, dialogue and the most important one of all — my writing.

When I was eight-years-old, our task in class had been to write a creative story. I wrote Lost in the Forest, where my main character Dannii Minogue, obviously got lost in a forest. My teacher, Mrs. Hunter was very impressed with my work and I remember her words clearly to this day. ‘You have a lot of talent. You should be an author.’ From that moment on, my script was written out for me. I wanted to be a writer.

Come on guys, cut it out. You’ve both been good all night. You’ve only fought once, it must be a record. Tessa began. Anyway Cassie, about telling Lizzie, it’s really up to you. Personally, I don’t think you should. It didn’t mean anything, it was just a game.

Yeah…I suppose you’re right, I said, opening the door. I lingered for a moment, staring at my cousins. I wanted to tell them that to me it wasn’t ‘just a game’. To me, it was surreal, a moment that I wanted and thought about constantly.

Though I didn’t know what I was feeling at the moment. My emotions were like stereograms. On the outside, the picture appeared to be straightforward, yet hidden underneath was the accurate interpretation. In my case, it was a chain of confusion, deception and feelings of despair. It was something that could have been avoided if I had just been honest in the first place, not with Brayden but with Lizzie, then maybe I wouldn’t be feeling like a punching bag knocked around in too many directions.

It had been seven days since the twisted maze of lies had begun. It was the night of my cousin Tony’s twenty-first birthday party, when someone decided to play Cupid and mismatched all the wrong couples. That’s what I believed anyway, though at the time, I think our hormones controlled us and we were all distorted by the illusion of each other.

I had seen Brayden earlier that afternoon and I was surprised at how comfortable I felt even though it had been ten months since I had seen him last. After he left, I couldn’t stop talking about him to Tessa. It was just so easy being with him, which was surprising because whenever I had a crush on somebody, my shyness would kick in and I found it difficult to speak, let alone smile or laugh. With Brayden, it was different. Maybe it was because for the first time ever I actually felt a connection that was not only one-sided. He was just so nice, so gorgeous and I felt myself pulled in with every word he spoke. If only I had the chance to tell Lizzie how I felt beforehand. Maybe it would have changed the outcome but I knew that was only wishful thinking. I knew how much Lizzie liked him too.

It just happened so quickly, Superman would have been impressed. One minute, we were all chatting, and then the next, Brayden was beside Lizzie, asking her out and crushing me in the process. Before I even recovered from the shock, Vinnie asked me out. I laughed, assuming he was joking because he had always been interested in Tessa. Apparently, it was no prank and he honestly liked me. Vinnie had been a friend of the family for about six years. He was good looking, nice, fun to be around and proved to be quite sweet when he wanted to be. He even gave me a rose that night and although he picked it out of Zia Sarina’s garden, I was quite flattered by his attention. I liked him and I assumed my feelings for Brayden would disappear, so I said ‘yes’. Obviously, I was wrong or I wouldn’t be here, debating with myself on who I wanted.

I usually told my cousins everything, especially Tessa. She was fourteen-years-old and there was no one I loved more than her, besides my mum. We were as close as sisters, always together and it had been like that ever since we were young. We spoke on the phone every night and whenever I had a problem, she was there for me without exception. We barely ever fought and if we did, we patched things up straight away.

Whereas with Sophie, we had a different relationship and I couldn’t say it was the best. I loved her, however she annoyed me at times and we argued constantly. Not just petty little tiffs, but full-blown arguments where we wouldn’t talk to each other for months. Well, she would try to but my stubborn streak would let it carry on until I was ready to forgive her and the only reason I did was because she was my cousin. If it had been anyone else, trust me I would have given them the flick a long time ago. She had done things to me that were unforgivable and would never be forgotten.

Sophie wasn’t a bad person; she just didn’t think before she spoke which normally caused most of our arguments. I wasn’t an angel either but I wouldn’t take any shit from anyone, regardless of who they were to me. I was probably considered the mean and spiteful one that could not let anything go but the thing that pissed me off with Sophie was when we had a fight, she would twist the story around to her mum. Then Zia Manuela called, blaming the argument on me and trying to get me into trouble with my parents. Well, it didn’t work. If I was at fault, I would admit it and my mum knew I wouldn’t lie to get myself out of trouble. We all knew Sophie was the liar and a copycat.

She practically copied me in everything I did. The boys I liked, my letter folding, favourite actors and my writing style. I dot my ‘I’ with a little cross on top, and she had to mimic me with that too. Okay, so I had copied my best friend Maddy, but did everything have to be the same between us? We were a year and three days apart, both born in the same month, both Scorpios and we even had the same godmother, which meant every year we received the same gift from her because she didn’t want to show favouritism. That was understandable but it really bothered me and I think Sophie too. There were some differences between us. I loved to write, she loved to sing, I loved Bugs Bunny while she loved Tweety, her favourite group was Girlfriend while mine was Boys II men and TLC. Why not buy us presents that we would individually enjoy? Maybe then, Sophie would get the hint and stop imitating me in other things.

Cassie, are you going inside or are you going to keep on standing there with your mouth open? Sophie asked, bringing me out of my thoughts. It’s bloody cold.

Sorry, I mumbled. I opened my mouth to speak, then hesitated, and went inside, with Tessa and Sophie following me. There was no point trying to describe what I was feeling, considering I didn’t know myself.

I walked through the corridor and into the kitchen, heading towards my mum who was standing near the bench, her back facing me. I noticed she was speaking to Nonna and not wanting to interrupt her; I just hugged her from behind, resting my head on her shoulder. She squeezed my hands gently.

"Aspetta Mama, I heard her say to Nonna. Cassie, what’s wrong?"

I lifted my head. How did you know it was me?

She removed my arms around her waist and turned around. Of course I knew it was you, you’re my baby. What’s the matter?

I’ll tell you later, I said.

Are you sure? she asked, concerned.

I nodded. She parted my thick fringe and kissed my forehead. Despite how much I wanted to tell her, I couldn’t. Not here at Zia Sarina’s. It was a traditional wog gathering. Too many people, too much food and a lot of noise. You’d think we were at a soccer match or something with all the yelling and screaming but we weren’t. We were just a typical Italian family, celebrating Christmas.

I looked at my watch and realised it was midnight. Merry Christmas Mum, I said, kissing her on the cheek and held her close. I could hear the shouts and smack of lips against cheeks in the background. I knew it was time to let go, but I didn’t want to yet. I just wanted to be cuddled like a child again and be told everything would be all right.

Come on Brat!

I groaned. Older sisters; they would protect you without the slightest hesitation but they were also your worst tormentors.

Shut up Carla, I said, easing away from Mum and pivoting around, towards her and my other sister Abby. You know how much I hate it when you call me that!

‘Brat’ had been her nickname for me since the moment I had been born. Carla was seven years older than I was but sometimes it felt like we were a million years apart. Our personalities clashed, maybe because we were too much alike in some ways. We were both stubborn, bitchy and very opinionated.

I’m sorry, it’s a habit.

Well, break it!

I don’t know why you hate it so much, it’s an affection-ate nickname.

"Just like mine for you, huh? Bitch!"

Merry Christmas Cassie, Abby said, giving me a hug, obviously interrupting, trying to prevent Carla and me from whacking and slapping.

Same to you, I said.

Come on, it’s Christmas. Truce please, for Mum, she whispered in my ear.

All right, I replied grudgingly. I wished Carla a Merry Christmas and hugged her.

I started making the rounds, kissing my grandmother, aunties, uncles and cousins. By the time I was finished, I had had enough. My lips needed lip-gloss and I needed ice for my cheeks. I didn’t understand why Italians had to pinch cheeks. It killed and they see you grimacing in pain and instead of stopping, they did it more. It was as if they enjoyed inflicting pain on you, especially Commare Caterina and those sharp, long nails digging deeply into my flesh for at least half-an-hour. All right, I was exaggerating a little bit, but it felt that long. I wished I could squeeze their cheeks and see if they liked it. I bet they wouldn’t find it very amusing, but I could never do it. I would probably receive a lecture on respecting one’s elders or worse, end up with malocchio.

Many people didn’t believe in the evil eye but like most Italians, I was brought up believing in it from the day I was born. What else could explain the constant pounding in your head or the misfortune in your life? A doctor couldn’t diagnose it but water and oil certainly did.

Malocchio was caused by the bad thoughts of other people — either they disliked you, were envious of you or jealous of your possessions. They could be talking behind your back or just give you one long unfriendly stare in the eye and you would have it.

Panadol couldn’t even ease the pain of the migraine. Nothing could, unless you knew the spell to remove it. Mum was taught years ago the chant to check for the evil eye, though couldn’t get rid of it.

There were ways to ward off malocchio, by wearing gold good luck charms of a mano cornuto or a corno. The mano cornuto is an Italian hand gesture of a horned hand, where you made your hand into a fist, held your middle and ring fingers together with your thumb while extending your index and pinkie finger outward like horns, whereas the corno was an amulet of a long, twisted horn. I had both charms and usually wore them on my bracelet but I didn’t wear them that often. At Newton Secondary College, the high school I attended, the amount of jewellery we were allowed to wear was limited and I preferred not to anyway. Once I did and my friends asked me if I had a fascination with chillies. I tried to explain it was to protect me but gave up eventually. There was no use trying to explain a custom they didn’t know of or didn’t believe in.

There was another way to cure malocchio but it was rather difficult. You needed to spit three times on the person that gave it to you. You may have suspicions about who cursed you but unfortunately you never really knew and you couldn’t really go around spitting on everyone. It was offensive and dangerous, especially if you were living in a small town in Italy. There would be a flood from all of the saliva. It would actually be pretty funny to see, wogs in all shapes and sizes, dressed in black, spitting and screaming out puttana. Usually, malocchio was from someone fairly close to you, a person you would never suspect because they always seemed nice to you. I was definitely wearing the charms tonight though and had to at most family occasions like weddings. You needed them at places like this. Italians always gave you malocchio, deliberately or not.

All right everyone, my cousin Cynthia began. It’s time to open presents! Cynthia was Tessa’s nineteen-year-old sister. She was a lot of fun to be around with and very easy to talk to, which was why I chose her to be my sponsor for my confirmation last year. Ever since she sponsored me, she had never once failed to come over for occasions, whereas my Commare Rose, who baptised me, had neglected me the last couple of years, which was very strange. Every year, she would visit me for Easter, my birthday and would often call just to see how I was. Except now, things had changed. She no longer came over, nor phoned regularly and it really hurt me. Especially since, she still visited Sophie. My once high opinion for her had faded and I didn’t appreciate being ‘second best’ and although I still loved her, I couldn’t display any affection to people who couldn’t show me love in return.

Not that Cynthia was Saint Theresa either, far from it. She had her faults, everyone did. Eight months ago, she married Tom Corvi and I was very upset with her regarding her bridal party. Not because I wasn’t in it but the outcome of the entire event. When Cynthia chose her bridesmaids, she apologised for not picking me. She claimed she had too many and couldn’t afford another. I accepted that, you couldn’t have everyone. I honestly didn’t expect to be in her bridal party and wasn’t offended. However, a week after her apology, she chose another bridesmaid and that hurt me. If she didn’t want me, that was fine but why did she have to give me some little speech when it wasn’t true. I would have been better off not knowing as being lied to was the one thing I hated most. I was over it now but at the time, I was pretty pissed off.

It may seem like I had about fifty Commares but I really didn’t. Commare Caterina was actually my Godmother Rose’s mother but as a sign of respect, every married female or male were called ‘Commare’ or ‘Compare’. Personally, I thought it was stupid. By addressing everyone this way, it actually demeaned the titles your real godparents had. However, no matter how silly I thought this custom was, I had to do it. People actually became quite offended when you didn’t use the correct terminology and it was so much easier to give in to Italians, than to argue with them. You would never hear the end of it and then be labelled as bad mannered for the rest of your life.

We all followed Cynthia into the formal lounge room and gathered around the tree, its bright multicoloured lights flickering on and off against the window, illuminat-ing the enormous mass of gifts underneath. We sorted through the pile, picking up and giving the presents we had bought.

Our families have always celebrated Christmas Eve together and then opened our pressies at midnight. I loved our tradition. I knew all my friends had to wait until the morning to open their gifts and I would have hated that extra day of suspense.

Here Brat, open this one first, Carla said, throwing her gift at me. It’s from Abby and me.

Thanks Bitch…I think. I started to unravel the wrapping, trying not to tear the paper. Abby and Carla were staring at me intently, both wearing the same stupid grin on their faces. Impatiently, I tore at the rest of the paper. A navy blue T-shirt with matching shorts, a couple of R.L. Stine novels and the Wheel of Fortune board game I had always wanted. I couldn’t believe it. I loved the game show and had always wanted to be a contestant. Unfortunately, I was too young and too shy to audition. I may be good enough guessing at home, however I didn’t want to embarrass myself on television.

Thank you so much, I said, hugging them both. I love it.

We thought you would since that’s all you’ve been talking about, Carla said.

Thanks for listening to me for once. They both chose to ignore me, giving out their other gifts. I began opening the other presents I had received, and then went into the dining room for dessert.

The table was covered with a wide range of cakes: z uppa inglese, thick chocolate custard with teddy bear biscuits within each layer, tiramisu, savoiardi biscuits dipped in espresso coffee, spread with mascarpone cheese, lathered with whipped cream and grated chocolate sprinkled over the top and Carla’s lemon cheesecake, her speciality, it was smooth, creamy and the cookie crust just melted in your mouth. There were also a couple of large trays of biscotti topped with glazed cherries or almonds and an assortment of little Italian cakes; profiteroles and mini cannolis filled with chocolate or vanilla custard. Cakes were one of my downfalls, especially zuppa inglese and these miniature cakes. These cakes from the Italian pasticceria were to die for and I couldn’t resist them for anything. Not that I tried. They were very expensive, eighteen dollars a kilo, and were only bought for special occasions.

Then there were the panettones. We had about ten of the light, dome shaped cakes, arranged on our bench at home that were given to us as Christmas presents by no other people besides wogs and Aussies that assumed we liked it because we were wogs. Definitely not true. While my family members might like panettone, I hated it. It tasted like a bumpy, rotten peel of an orange. Not that I had ever eaten one, nor expected to, however I didn’t think there would be much difference between the two. Besides, I hated sultanas and I would be spitting them out every two seconds. I know there are hundreds of others flavours but to me, a cake needed to have all of its trimmings. Sometimes it had to be smooth and creamy like a cheesecake and other times, it had to have custard, cream, icing, almonds scattered on top and with no fruit inside. Panettone was similar to a cake but without the good bits. It had no delight, no gooey bits, wasn’t as high in calories as some and my mentality was, that if you were going to fall down and splurge, why not go with a bang? Then you would have something to feel guilty about.

I helped myself to a slice of zuppa inglese, grabbed some tiny cakes and sat in the lounge room with my cousins and Brayden. I felt uncomfortable around him now. When we said Merry Christmas to each other, I didn’t know whether to go for the kiss on the cheek, like we usually did or go for the handshake like you would do with a stranger or with people you didn’t like much. We just stood there; staring at each other awkwardly, then he stepped in and kissed me on the cheek.

He was speaking to Sav across the room and I couldn’t help but stare at him. I wondered if he was feeling guilty about the kisses as I was or if he liked them as much as I did and wished we had gone further than just a peck. I couldn’t tell from his eyes or read his mind, though I wished I could.

The minutes ticked by and before I knew it, it was one-thirty in the morning. The men were still outside while Mum, Zia Manuela and Nonna were in the kitchen, helping Tessa and Zia Sarina clean up.

Brayden’s family had just left whereas Commare Rose and Commare Caterina had gone half-an-hour ago. I was so exhausted. My eyes were drooping lower and I could barely keep them open. Sophie was blabbing about her Christmas presents and I had tried to listen but my thoughts kept wandering to Brayden. I excused myself and found my mum putting dishes away in the cupboard.

Ma, are you finished? I’m about to fall asleep.

She nodded, closing the cabinet door. Find your sisters and I’ll get your dad.

They were outside, sitting on the front step with Cynthia, Tom, Tony and his fiancée Megan. Guys, we’re going now.

What? Already? Abby asked.

Yeah, it’s still early, Tony added, brushing a hand through his hair. I tried not to laugh. Tony reminded me of Jordan from New Kids On The Block. Thick, puffy hair that was controlled by gel and hairspray and he had a gold stud in his left ear. Whenever I was around Tony, which wasn’t very often, I kept expecting the other members of New Kids On The Block to jump out and join him in a verse of Step By Step.

It’s quarter-to-two, Megan said. Even though they were engaged, I was still surprised Tony had fallen for her. When he was younger, Tony was obsessed with Robin Wright and the singer Colette. Naturally, I expected Megan to have the long, blonde hair, blue eyes and see the push-up bra hanging out from her midriff when they stretched. Thank God, Megan wasn’t anything like that. She was the totally opposite — brown hair, brown eyes and when you talked to her, you knew she understood what you were saying. She was really nice and had the most beautiful hair. It was so long; down to her waist and I was jealous of it. I was hoping I would have it at her length some day, maybe even longer.

Shit, Abby said, getting up. I can’t believe it’s that late.

They came inside and we collected our belongings, waiting at the front door. Mum had Dad by the arm and was practically dragging him towards us. We said goodnight to everyone and walked outside.

Bye Zia, I said, giving her a quick cuddle. Thanks for tonight.

Thank me for what? she asked. For your company? That I have to thank you for.

Yeah right Zia. It’s us who are thankful for being with you, I said. My Zia Sarina was one of the most remarkable women in this world and I loved her deeply. She may not have wings or a halo; however, she was the angel of our family who guarded, protected and fought for us. Zia Sarina would do anything for us or for any stranger. It was in her nature to be so caring to everyone. Drive, cook and lend money or advice, she did it all and never complained even when people took advantage of her. I couldn’t count the number of favours she had done for my family and me and continued to do daily. Zia Sarina drove Abby and me to school every day because Mum didn’t have her licence. We felt guilty and had offered her money but she brushed us off. That was my Zia though. She didn’t see the things she did as favours or chores; she did them out of love.

The air was colder now and we were all shivering. I gave Zia a kiss and quickly walked to the car with Mum and my sisters. Dad was still at the front door, speaking to Zio Nico. He had the keys, so we couldn’t even open the car.

Dad, hurry up, Abby screamed out.

He acted as if he hadn’t heard her. She called out again.

"Aspetta," he said.

Wait a minute? It’s bloody cold, Abby replied. He continued to ignore us.

Marcella! Zia Sarina called out. Did you take the dessert?

No, Mum said, shaking her head.

Wait, I’ll go get it.

Don’t worry Sarina. I’ll get it tomorrow, Mum said. It was too late. Zia was already inside the house. She came out a minute later and gave the plate to my dad.

Come on Dad, I yelled.

We heard them say their goodbyes. We watched as he stumbled towards us, his eyes twinkling, a big grin plastered on his face.

Geez Christ, he said as he tripped over his own feet, nearly dropping the plate.

We laughed. Obviously, he had a