Lydia's Point Of View
"Aunt Rita?" My mother's tissue froze halfway to her nose. She blinked, the teary puffiness of her eyes instantly hardening into a look of absolute, unadulterated bewilderment. "Rita? As in... our Rita? Isn't she in Italy?"
"What do you mean, Rita is in town?" Grandma snapped, her posture shifting from a comforting matriarch to a rigid, terrifyingly sharp general in half a second. Her fingers dropped from her pearls, clenching into a tight fist against her pleated skirt. The transformation was startling… like watching a gentle breeze turn into a hurricane. "Like, here? In Texas? On this soil?"
I sniffed, wiping the last of the dampness from my upper lip, suddenly feeling very small under the collective, burning gaze of my entire family. The weight of their attention pressed down on my shoulders. "Yes, Grandma. Here. In Texas. Actually, she's right here in the city."
