Chapter 15

A/N this chapter is shorter than normal, and rather boring, but needs must for exposition. I'll try and get to something more exciting soon. As to the delay, that is entirely my fault for getting distracted with other ideas.

(L) Everything's going ok, I guess. What about you?

Matthew stared at his phone, trying to word a reply that wouldn't be quite a lie. He was overjoyed that Lovino had responded to his texts, was even happier that he had told him about his sessions with Antonio and the games, but when it came to a reply, he was rather lost.

There was nothing exactly wrong, after all. He was surrounded by family, he had been to Paris (Paris! He still couldn't quite believe it), he was slowly (or was it quickly?) learning to accept Francis as his father. He should have been happy, and yet he wasn't.

The truth of why he had come all this way lingered heavily in his mind. The words that no-one dared to say hung unspoken in the air. He still hadn't met with the one person he was supposed to see, the person for whom Francis had risked all and reached out to him.

You're just waiting for her to die.

Matthew honestly didn't know what to think about his grandmother. He was sad, of course, but in the sense of knowing that a life was drawing to close. He had only been formally introduced to her once, and saw her sometimes at dinner, where she sat at the head of the table opposite his grandfather, surveying the room with a gentle, imperious smile and occasionally cautioning the older cousins when they got a bit too rowdy.

But he had yet to be called to see her. Francis had said she wanted to wait until she felt a little better, which Matthew didn't quite understand. He would have seen her at any time, she was his family, after all, but he accepted her wishes, and waited.

He bit his lip, looking down at the phone again. He started typing.

(M) I'm alright.

He hit send, already feeling the guilt of the lie.

His phone buzzed with a reply almost immediately, despite the time difference.

(L) No you're not, idiota.

Matthew smiled. Lovino could tell when another person was lying, of course he could. He did it so often himself, how could he not?

His phone buzzed again. Two words stood out on the screen, blinding in their innocence.

(L) Tell me?

He stared at the screen, shocked. Lovino had said that he would listen to Matthew if he needed, but he must be in an extraordinarily good mood if he was actually prepared to offer it.

Matthew's hands hovered over the screen, wondering how to reply. Eventually, he decided to go for brute honesty.

(M) It's strange, that's all. I'm waiting for someone to die, and I don't even know them.

(L) Your nonna? Have you even met her yet?

(M) When I first got here. But not on my own. At dinner. She gets annoyed at my cousins for being loud. Mostly she has dinner in her room. She barely leaves it now.

(L) Good thing your brother isn't there then. He's nothing but loud.

Matthew laughed softly at that.

(M) True! But that aside, it's just…strange. What do I do when I talk to her? What am I supposed to say? 'Hello, my name's Matthew, I'm the grandson you've never met, I'm only here because my father thinks I should meet you before you die?'

He hesitated for a long time before hitting send.

(L) I can't really say anything. Nonna died when we were very little, so I don't remember her much. Just be nice. She's your nonna, she's old and ill. She just wants to see you. Then you can come back, yeah?

Matthew smiled tiredly. He could imagine Lovino frowning deeply, biting his lip as he wondered how to reply, his typical anger warring with the politeness that he only showed to women. The last line was tacked on as an afterthought, no doubt, a way of reasserting himself, trying not to show any hint of care.

(M) Thanks, Lovino. I'm sorry about your grandmother. Hopefully this will all be over soon and I can come home. I don't mean that badly, of course! I just want to come back, you know?

(L) of course. and thanks. It was years ago though. We were back in Italy then. I barely remember anything.

(M) What was it like? Italy, I mean.

(L)? what do mean, jerk? Italian. Pasta, tomatoes, hot. Didn't rain like it does here, not as much. Lots of fields. A big house, but I don't remember it much. Feli remembers it more than me, for some reason. Ask him.

(M) Really? It sounds wonderful.

(L) I suppose.

They messaged for a while longer, although Lovino was evidently growing bored with the conversation, his replies becoming shorter and shorter until Matthew made some excuse about it getting late and not wanting Lovino to stay up on a school night. He received a rather rude reply, followed by a customary good night as though Lovino had pressed send without really thinking.

Matthew replied in kind, then sat back on his bed. He tossed his phone onto the covers, thinking.

A soft knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to see Francis standing with a look of faint concern.

"Matthieu? Are you alright? It is late, you should be in bed by now. is there something wrong?"

Matthew hesitated, then decided to tell his father. He opened the door wider, then turned and walked over to the bed. Francis picked up on the hint, and after shutting the door behind him, he sat beside his son. Matthew looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. This was becoming a habit, he thought.

Francis waited until Matthew was ready to speak.

"It's my grandmother" he said finally.

Francis' nodded once, immediately understanding. Cautiously, he lifted his arm and placed it around his son's shoulder. When Matthew didn't draw away, he looked down at him and said quietly,

"It will be soon, don't worry. She Is, to be honest, scared, that is all."

Matthew lifted his head, confused. "Scared? Why?"

Francis frowned slightly. "It is hard to explain. You see, she blamed me very harshly for leaving you, as she should have. She wanted me to go straight back to America and bring you home, here, to live with us. She has never quite forgiven me for refusing, I think." He took a deep breath, his mouth quirking and brows drawing together as if in pain. He spoke the next words slowly, not looking at Matthew.

"I…did not tell her that you were coming. I kept it to myself, thinking that it would be better to hide it from her until I was sure. You see, I was so scared that you would refuse to come, that you would want nothing to do with me, that I thought it best to wait. So I held my tongue, and I did not tell her until I knew that you would be willing to meet me.

When I did tell her, she was so happy. She was so happy that she would finally meet her adorable grandson. She is so proud of you Mattieu. She wants so much to see you and talk to you, to get to know you." His eyes began to fill with tears, seemingly unconsciously.

"She knows, I think, that she does not have long. but still, she is scared to meet you. she has built you up to her image, and she does not want to shatter that. She is worried for you, Matthieu."

Matthew looked at his father in confusion. "I don't understand. Why would she be worried for me?"

Francis smiled sadly at him. "Because she loves you" he said. "She is not worried about you, as such. Perhaps I said that wrong. I mean that she is worried what you will think of her."

Matthew's face showed his surprise. "Think of her? Why would she worry about that? I'm sorry, papa, but I really don't understand." His face fell as he thought. Then, slowly, his eyes brightened, and he gasped softly. "oh, I see", he murmured.

He suddenly understood. His grandmother was old. To have lived her life with her husband, her son, her nieces and nephews, would have been enough. To be told that she has a grandson that she had never met, never seen, barely even knew existed, would have been hard to bear. And now Matthew was here, come to see her, and everyone knew, without saying, the reason why?

He felt a flash of guilt over his earlier thought. It isn't me waiting for her to die. It's her. To know that she did not have long, that her life was slowly but surely drawing to a close, must to terrifying. She was scared to meet him. Who wouldn't be, in her situation? Matthew was young, his whole life ahead of him. She was old, made thin and pale with illness and the weight of her years. What would he think, meeting her for the first time at the end of her life, at a time filled not with happiness and laughter and the promise of days to come, but pain, and sadness, and the regret of time not spent together? From what he knew, she had already accepted her fate, and was ready to meet it calmly, but that in no way lessened the pain that meeting him would surely bring.

He blinked away a sudden rush of tears. Francis, seeing his face, drew his arms tighter around him. "Matthieu? Matthieu? What is wrong? Don't cry, mon Cherie."

Matthew tried to smile through his tears. "I'm ok. I just understand, that's all. I'm sorry. I get it now. Please, tell her that I won't think anything bad. I really want to see her. I want to talk to her."

Francis smiled and kissed the top of his head. "I'll talk to her in the morning. I can't promise anything, but I am sure she will be very happy to know that. Now, you should sleep." He drew away slightly and stood up.

Matthew nodded. "ok. Thank you, papa."

Francis quirked a smile. He looked down at Matthew, sadness and nostalgia warring across his face.

"papa? What's wrong?"

Francis came back to himself, and shook his head. "Nothing. I was just remembering something."

Matthew looked at him curiously. "What?"

"I used to tuck you in at night, when you were very little" Francis replied sadly. "Your mother would pick you up and rock you in her arms, then we would lay you down in your cot and she or I would sing to you until you fell asleep. I cannot forget that. I will never forget that." His gaze was distant, his voice almost a whisper. "She loved you so much, Mattieu. So very, very much."

He looked up suddenly. "But you are too old for that now. So I will say goodnight, and have nothing but sweet dreams." He pressed a kiss to Matthew's forehead, then turned and walked out the room softly, closing the door as he went.

Matthew stared at the door for a long time after he had left, thinking. It was strange, he thought. Each person in the house had their own reason to be there, each a member of the family in some way or another. Some lived there permanently, with their own rooms and lives, some were merely guests, moving in and out interchangeably, with their own lives lived elsewhere.

And then there was him, thrust into this to upset the peaceful balance. What did the others think of him, he wondered? Lively, sweet Michelle he had got along with immediately, and he did not have to question Francis' feelings for him for a moment. But what of the others? The cousins, the aunts and uncles, his grandfather, his grandmother. To them, he was a complete stranger. Did they consider him to be no more than another guest, a boy who would stay for a while and inevitably leave again? Or was he some golden boy, the prodigal son of the household, the heir apparent, as Michelle had so abruptly told him? He didn't quite know which was worse.

Either way, he was here, and he was determined to make the best of it. He would have to wait for Francis to speak to his mother in the morning. She was normally an early riser, but illness and age had taken their toll, and there was now no telling what she would be like in the morning. She wished to see him on a better day, to make their meeting more favourable. Matthew could not begrudge her that, no matter that he would not care what she looked like. He just wanted to see the grandmother he had never met. But the least he could do was bow to her wishes, to grant her this small happiness.

He got ready for bed and settled down, and was soon asleep. He would see what tomorrow would bring when it came.