Holiday Flash Fiction: Jonathan Brònico
What do you get a man who will live only one more week after Christmas? I wanted to give my nonno more time, but his cancer had other ideas.
Money? Pointless.
Clothing? Pointless.
So much of what we spend our money on during the holidays is 100 percent pointless when you know it's going to be somebody's last.
Nostalgia? Now there's something.
If I could give him something—maybe recreate a warm memory that he had—maybe one of a Christmas long ago.
Maybe the one that he told about where his mamma made him caggionetti: a cookie almost unheard of even among fellow Italian Americans. Even my mamma, who prides herself about her cooking, wouldn't make them because they're just so much work. Maybe if they were easier to make, they would've caught on, I guess.
But my bisnonna would make them for my nonno when he was a boy. And maybe if I could make him some caggionetti, I could give him that memory back. And that would be a Christmas gift that meant something…
He'd remember it for the rest of his life.
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