The Turning Point Read Online Free Page B

was the day I drew this.” She tapped the notebook on my lap. “Andrea and Gio were on the couch and you were bundled tightly in the blanket my mom hand knitted for you. Gio brought you to his face and just cooed.” Nonna’s voice rose as she relived the memory. Her eyes sparkled like lit Christmas trees, her smile shining through. “That picture is seared into my brain. I could develop dementia and still remember that scene.”
    “Nonna, you shouldn’t joke like that.” Sometimes she had no tact.
    “Oh, nonsense.” She flailed her hand again. “That night, I went to my room and drew this portrait from memory. He loves you, Sophia. You should talk to him.” Nonna wrapped her arm around my shoulder and drew me to her side.
    “This drawing is lovely, Nonna. But, sadly, my last memory of him ”—I spat the word—“is him leaving. I have no desire to speak to him.”
    “I have no desire to see the gynecologist, dear, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”
    I rolled my eyes again. “Nonna,” I groaned.
    “You can do what you want; you’re a big girl. But my two cents, go see him and then you can be done with him.” She nodded once, took the notebook from my lap, and slapped it closed. “Want to use my phone?” she offered.
    I shook my head. “No, I’ll use mine.”
    She winked at me. “Good, because I just remembered I need to make an appointment at the gynecologist.”
    “Nonna!” I screeched. I got up from the bed and went to the door, ready to leave before she divulged any other medical information. I may be going to med school, but I did not need to know anything else about my grandmother’s yearly exam.
    “See, now we both have to make uncomfortable appointments. Misery loves company, Principessa .”
    “I have one word for you, Nonna: HIPA. Just remember HIPA.”
    She waved me off. “Oh, you and your fancy medical words.”
    I smiled and turned on my heel, walking out of her room. I admired her ability to lay the guilt on thick, her sketch giving me the courage I needed to make a very difficult phone call.

Chapter Three
    I f I’d thought talking to my dad on the phone was hard, getting my butt out the door to drive to his place was nearly impossible. All morning I procrastinated like it was an Olympic sport, which was totally not like me. But today, it was my favorite pastime.
    Any little thing I could find to take up time, I did. Instead of a quick shower, I opted for an hour-long bath, taking my time to read the latest romance novel I’d downloaded. The blazing hot water did wonders for my nerves and the steamy romance transported me to a fantasy world that was much more pleasurable than reality.
    By the time I was a shriveled prune and nearly halfway through my book, I finished up my bath, taking extra care in washing and conditioning my hair. I was a shoo-in for the procrastination gold medal.
    As I brushed the tangles out of my long, dark hair, there was a knock on the door. “Soph, you about finished in there? I’ve got to get to the shop.”
    “Yeah, Mom.” I pulled the door open. “Sorry.”
    She checked her watch. “What time are you meeting your dad?”
    I shrugged, playing dumb. “Don’t remember.” Innocently, I went about brushing my already tangle-free hair.
    Mom cocked her head and put both hands on her hips. Over the years, she’d gotten really good at that “Mom” glare. “Soph?”
    Inwardly, I cringed as she held the “o” in my name a little longer than was necessary, and then her voice did that weird pitch change thing at the end, getting higher before she pinched off the “f” sound. I was six years old again. Moms wielded some magical power in their voices that made their grown children feel three feet tall and mildly ashamed.
    Wide eyed, I answered as I bent over to fish the blow-dryer from the cabinet below the basin. “What?”
    “I know what you’re doing. Just get it over with.”
    I stood back up, plugged in the dryer, and flipped it on