“He’s going to miss the ball dropping.” Bianca gestured to the muted television, which showed split-screen images of happy revelers on both coasts.

“I’m recording it,” Angi answered with a shrug. “He can watch it tomorrow, and I’m sure it will be just as exciting.”

Her mother lowered herself into the chair across from Angi’s. “If only it were that simple to go back in time. The changes I’d make...”

Angi frowned. She’d never heard her mother express regret for the way she’d lived her life. Bianca was steady and steadfast like the ticking of the grandfather clock in the formal living room.

“What would you do differently, Mom?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“I would have told your father I loved him more often. I would have found a way to take time off and travel the way we’d planned to.” She sighed. “Always planning for the future but never making those big dreams come true. Your father worked too hard, Angela. Maybe if he’d had more rest...”

“Dad loved working,” Angi said. “The restaurant meant so much to him. The two of you built it together, and that meant the most.”

“Yes, we had a good life. I shouldn’t wish for things from the past. A new year is for looking forward.”

Angi sat upright when her mom pressed an open palm to her heart. “Mom, are you okay? Is that why you’re awake? Let me help you back to bed, and you can sleep in tomorrow. I’ll handle—”

Bianca waved her to sit down when Angi started to rise. “I’m fine, sweet cannoli.” She shook her head. “I suppose I shouldn’t call you that any longer. I know the nickname caused you too much distress with those nasty kids you insisted on calling your friends.”

“It’s okay,” Angi assured her. “I don’t mind.”

Her mother arched a brow.

“You’re right, I hate it,” Angi said, and then wrinkled her nose when her mother chuckled.

Andrew stirred and both women were quiet for a moment.

When her mother spoke again, her voice seemed to come from miles away instead of a few feet across the room.

“Just like you hate running Il Rigatone.”

Angi’s heart pinched, and she tried to decipher her mom’s tone, squinting to read her expression. Bianca had sat back, her face in shadows, giving away nothing.

“I don’t hate it,” Angi said carefully. It would have been so easy to lie or gloss over the truth the way she’d done for so many years. But a glance at the television told her there were only thirty seconds left in the current year. And she’d made a vow to be different.

Maybe Gabe hadn’t believed her, but this was her chance to prove it to herself.

“The restaurant was your dream, Mom. Yours and dad’s. I know how much you both sacrificed, and I appreciate the life you gave us because of it.” She glanced at her sleeping son. “I understand that you wanted something dependable and solid. We had a good childhood. It was a wonderful way to grow up.”