Nonna Pessia came to visit me yesterday. It was a real honor because the rumor is that she’s more loaded than anyone in the family.
“Yasmine,” she said before her gloves had come off. “Who is representing you?”
“An associate of Charles Endicott’s,” I told her.
“Get rid of him,” she said. “Call Stanley.”
“He’s dead, Nonna,” I reminded her.
“Then call Myron.”
“Dead,” I said.
She exhaled from exasperation.
“You are going to end up in prison, Yasmine. This is very serious. Who is this man in the kitchen?”
“That’s just Mark. He’s renovating the bedroom. Supposedly.”
Mark approached my grandmother but she put her hand up to stop him.
“I stay out of Chelsea,” she hissed to me. “Why does he have to come to the Upper East Side?”
“Please, Nonna. I won’t go to jail. Anyway the real issue is Daddy. He’s going to marry that horrible woman. Can’t you talk to him?”
“We haven’t spoken for twelve years,” she said. “I’m not sure this is a good enough reason to start now.”
“Oh forget it,” I said. “Let’s just go to lunch.”
You see? There’s nothing as frustrating and disappointing and complicated as family. You can wish you were adopted all you want, but in the end, if you have a grandmother who can get a table at Jean Georges just by walking in, then order the foie gras brule and count your blessings.