Our Italian Summer Read online

  Hana looked sympathetic. “It’s hard juggling it all, isn’t it? Dan’s been pulled away a few times also. They can’t seem to run any projects without him.”

  “I used to think it was a good thing, but I’m beginning to want a break,” my mom said. I didn’t believe her. She thrived on work like people did on food. “I’m free now and looking forward to the main course. Isn’t it beautiful here?”

  My mother began to chat with Hana and Kai, and I felt my presence being leeched away under the power of her personality. She always knew what to say, even to strangers. It was a miracle I could come up with a few things, and then I usually got nervous and shut down. A rush of envy swept me as I watched her. She wore an apple green dress that flared around the knees and nude designer heels. Her dark blond hair was just a little messy, giving her a sexy type of look. My mother was dynamic, but not classically beautiful. Tonight, though, she came close.

  A wave of love washed over me and I wished I was more like her.

  And then I hoped I’d never be like her.

  “I’m going to check out the balcony,” I said. Nonni had gone to the restroom, but I saw her talking with Mary and Ray, so I headed outside alone. A few people filled the alcove, but they made room as I pressed against the stone wall and looked at the darkened city streets. The air was hot and muggy on my face.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. “Hey.”

  Ian smiled at me. My heart did a tiny leap. “Hey.”

  “I was hoping to sit next to you but your table was already taken up. What do you think of this place?”

  “Pretty fancy. Never partied in a castle before.”

  “Me either. Had to find my good suit.” He straightened his tie with extra exaggeration. Normally, no guy I knew would dare wear a white suit, but on Ian it looked good, especially with his coloring. His lean, lanky height meant he towered over me, and he’d gelled his hair to tame back the cowlick. I wasn’t a big fan of freckles, but his deep blue eyes reminded me of one of those Caribbean islands with turquoise, still waters.

  “I like it. Reminds me of prom.”

  He arched a brow and I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way!”

  He cracked up and relief flooded through me. “It kind of does look like I should be escorting you into a limo. I guess I don’t buy a lot of fancy clothes.”

  “Don’t worry, neither do I. Nowhere to go.”

  His gaze flicked over me, and he didn’t try to hide his male appreciation. But it didn’t feel icky or sexual, just nice. “I would’ve assumed you have a date every weekend and were prom queen. You look amazing in that dress.”

  I blushed. I had a few standard cocktail dresses, but this one was a bit more fancy. I’d found it on clearance and begged Mom to buy it for me, even though I had nowhere to wear it. She surprised me by agreeing, saying a woman always needed a solid backup in her closet for emergencies. The gold slinky fabric clung to my body, but it had a high neckline and a low back and draped to the floor. The fabric shimmered so it looked like light bounced off me when I moved. It was sophisticated but sexy, and I felt really good about myself when I wore it. Even though my boobs were too small and my butt too round, I didn’t tear myself apart like I usually did with my clothes.

  “Thanks. Nah, I’m not into school dances or formal functions. Not my scene.” I thought of my friends showing off at the country club events with their money and fancy clothes, trying to score the hottest boys, who were mostly assholes. Then the image of David flickered in my memory. We’d FaceTimed yesterday after Nonni went to bed. He told me about his night, when Freda and Connor got drunk and passed out in the RV while he played in a dive bar till two a.m. He’d said the crowd was a bit lame but the bartender mentioned he had a cool voice and to keep trying. I wished I was with him to experience a summer with no rules, but I was scared of breaking the law and about getting caught with drugs again.

  I was so lame, but I didn’t like getting in trouble. I wished there was a way to push boundaries without crossing them completely. “I’ll probably skip senior prom too.”

  Ian nodded with understanding. “I was never with the cool kids either. Had a few close friends in high school, but I sailed under the radar. College was better. Do you know what school you want to go to? Senior, right?”

  “Yeah, next year. I’m not sure.” Actually, Mom already had an Excel spreadsheet with her top picks, but I had no interest in attending any of them. I still wanted to apply to a few cooking schools like the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park. My grades were top rate, and my second scores on the SAT kicked ass, so maybe I had a shot. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I think I want to be a chef.”

  His face lit up. “You like to cook? That’s awesome. I suck in the kitchen, but I’m good at eating.”

  I relaxed and laughed. “My grandmother taught me a lot. I’m not sure what direction I want, but a college where I can figure out if I have decent talent is key.”

  “Your mom must be psyched.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Not. She created her own company and eats, breathes, and sleeps work. When I try to mention cooking, she thinks it’s beneath me and brushes me off.”

  “Did you try telling her how important it is to you?”

  I let out a breath. “No, because she doesn’t care, and she doesn’t listen. She’s too caught up in her own world.” I realized the bitterness ran deep, and my heart ached. I realized she didn’t know who I really was. Maybe she never had.

  Even worse? Maybe she didn’t care.

  Ian touched my shoulder. “Parents can be tough. I’ve had some issues myself to work out. There was a point where I didn’t think we’d ever be able to have a decent relationship.”

  “Really? I figured you seemed so close that things were always good.”

  “Nope. Things were bad for a long time. But I finally got them to understand what I needed to do, and now we’re really close. I meant it when I said I was excited to spend time with them this summer. People change. Maybe this trip is a gift for both of you so she can really get to know you again. Away from work.”

  I nodded, picking at my thumbnail. I liked the positive way he saw things. I knew there was a four-year difference, but he didn’t seem to view me as a kid who was just whining. It was as if he recognized what I was going through. I wanted to hear more, but my grandmother peeked around the wall. “There you are! Honey, dinner just got served. Hi, Ian.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Ferrari. Did you enjoy the Vatican today?”

  His face was genuinely kind and interested as he watched my grandmother. Tons of kids at school asked why I’d want to spend any time with someone so old, but there was a special bond between us that meant everything to me. Nonni’s face lit up. “It was magical, wasn’t it? All these years I dreamed of seeing such treasures in person but never thought I’d get here.”

  “My great-grandmother was born in Naples,” I explained.

  “Any other relatives still living here?” he asked.

  Nonni shook her head. “No, my parents both came to America and unfortunately they died young. I remember my mother used to speak Italian in the house and it took a while for her to learn English. When I was growing up, she’d lapse into rapid Italian when she got angry, which made me angry that I couldn’t understand what she was yelling at me.”

  Ian laughed. “You should hear my grandmother curse in Irish. It’s a scary thing to behold.”

  “Now, Ireland is next on my bucket list, so you’ll have to give me all the secrets,” Nonni said.

  “I’d love for you all to come visit.” Something flashed in his eyes—it seemed a little bit like regret—but it passed too fast for me to figure it out. “The land gets in your blood so you feel like you can never leave.”

  His soft, lilting brogue caressed my ears with the dreaminess of his
statement. My grandmother glanced back and forth between the two of us, her lips curving in a smile. “That’s how a real home should be,” she said. “Now, let’s get back to the table before our food gets cold.”

  I followed her back in. “Maybe a dance later?” Ian asked. “If they play something we recognize?”

  My nerves tightened. I didn’t know how to formally dance, but I shrugged. “Sure.”

  When I got to my place, the handsome waiter hurried right over and placed my plate in front of me. “I didn’t want it to get cold,” he said.

  Nonni patted his arm in gratitude. “I told her to hurry. Thank you for keeping it warm.”

  He beamed. “Prego.”

  I stared down at the plate of meat in rich brown gravy. “Is this chicken?”

  “Veal, signorina. Saltimbocca—medallions in sage with prosciutto. Very delicious.” He bowed and hurried off.

  My mother leaned over. “Did he say veal? Isn’t that baby cows?” She shuddered and looked at her plate in distaste. “Maybe I’ll just have salad.”

  I rolled my eyes. My mother was as much of a control freak over her food as over the rest of her life. Nonni gave her a hard stare. “They worked diligently to prepare this food, Frannie. Try it. You can’t subsist on grilled chicken and greens your whole life.”

  Mom stiffened but glanced down at her plate again. I held back a chuckle at the way Nonni scolded her. “I don’t think I like it.”

  I tried a bite and focused on the taste and textures. She watched me, nervously nibbling on her lower lip, like I’d blow up in front of her from one bite. “It’s excellent,” I said. “Tender, but thick enough to hold the flavor. Meat cut too thin can fall apart on your tongue and taste flat.” My hero was Anthony Bourdain, and I loved the way he was fearless with food. I’d sworn to be like that and cried when he died. The culinary world wasn’t as good without him.

  Mom stared at me with surprise. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll try.” She put a piece in her mouth and chewed slowly. “It’s pretty good,” she finally said.

  Nonni nodded in approval, then lowered her head and spoke in a hushed whisper. “I like Ian.”

  I shot her a warning look. “Nonni, it’s not like that. He’s very nice but not my type.”

  One hand waved in the air in her typical fashion. My grandmother always told me if her hands weren’t available, no words would be able to pass her lips. “Types? Ridiculous. It is about a boy’s soul—not his looks.”

  I sighed and kept my voice low. “I’m sorry, but I don’t find him attractive. Isn’t physical chemistry also important?”

  “Yes, there are things such as love at first sight, but there are many roads to love. A boy who makes you laugh or looks at you with respect. One who holds your hand when you’re scared—those are the things that resonate and the attraction grows. These are the surprises in life that keep us paying attention.”

  “You said Grandpa had a cute butt,” I teased. “Nothing about his sense of humor.”

  “Oh, shush, you are so bad. I regret telling you my secrets.” But her eyes filled with laughter. “You are probably too young. Too caught up in the bad boys who will hurt you. Just never mistake such a thing for passion, Allegra. Are you still texting this boy who smokes weed?”

  I avoided her probing gaze. I didn’t want to lie. “Yes, but everyone smokes weed, Nonni. Some of my friends have heroin or cocaine parties—it’s just more acceptable because they have money.”

  “But you are too smart to ruin your life for a fake substance. Your mother agreed to come on this trip because she is terrified you will make a mistake you cannot come back from. Drugs ruin you.”

  I glanced over, but my mother was talking with Hana. “I think Mom came because she almost lost a big account and couldn’t handle the failure. This wasn’t for me.”

  “Not true. Your mom is going through some other stuff that maybe she’ll share later. This trip is for you, but it won’t matter unless you believe it. You are both overdue for a long talk and some honesty. Mothers will never be perfect, my sweet girl. We make many, many mistakes.” Her eyes turned sad and a bit haunted, which made my heart hurt. “The only thing we can hope is for our children to forgive us and believe we did our best.”

  I gently squeezed her hand. The fragile, wrinkled skin was a badge of her age and her wisdom, and it always comforted me. “Mom has nothing to forgive you for. You were always there for her.”

  “We must forgive our mothers for everything they are not. One day, you’ll understand.”

  Her words struck something deep inside me, but I couldn’t figure out what it meant. Instead, I tried to comfort her with the truth. “I’m not into drugs, Nonni. Yeah, I did weed a few times, like most kids do, and I drink at parties, but it’s nothing to worry about. And David isn’t bad. He just has a different philosophy about things, and he interests me. Okay?”

  She squeezed back in reassurance. “Your job is to make many mistakes, and that’s okay. Own them proudly. But choose your mistakes carefully.”

  I shook my head and laughed. “That makes no sense.”

  “Eat your veal. And have another sip of my champagne. I already feel too drunk to finish it.”

  Mom leaned over. “What are you guys laughing at?”

  “Nothing,” we said together. At my mother’s hurt look, I felt a flash of sympathy but pushed it away.

  Nonni jumped in. “How’s your head, honey? I still think you should have gone to the doctor.”

  “I feel fine, not even a headache. My butt’s a bit sore still.” She made a face. “I’m just embarrassed. Did you see everyone staring at me?”

  “No one saw,” Nonni stated. “You got up really fast.”

  Mom bit her lower lip at the bald-faced lie. “You can’t even fall without being recorded nowadays. I just hope I don’t end up on America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

  “They give you ten thousand dollars for a winning video,” Nonni said. “That would be worth it!”

  My mother and I met each other’s stares and burst out laughing. It was one of my grandmother’s favorite shows along with Dancing with the Stars and Wheel of Fortune. “It wasn’t a funny fall,” I pointed out, trying to make her feel better. “A simple slide won’t get you any airtime. Now, if Mom did a flip or her pants fell down, we’d be rich.”

  We finished dinner and the lights dimmed, spotlighting the band as they launched into Dean Martin’s “That’s Amore.” Plates were cleared and my waiter appeared by my side to drop off the dessert—a perfect, plump cannoli spilling out fresh cream, the crust dusted with powdered sugar. The crisp shell crunched and the cannoli filling was stuffed with chocolate chips.

  Mom pushed it away. “I better not.”

  “It’s the best cannoli I ever had,” I said. “Why are you so stuck on dieting when you’ve always been thin? Don’t you ever want to try anything new?”

  She blinked. “I just get used to a routine,” she said slowly. “It’s easier not to make any mistakes.”

  “That makes no sense, Mom. Enjoying food or indulging now and then isn’t going to blow up your orderly world.” Frustration shimmered through me. “Can’t you just eat the cannoli and be happy?”

  I waited for her to lash back or give me a hurt look and ignore me. Lately, I’d noticed how easy it was for her to shut off from me when I annoyed her. But I watched with surprise as she pulled the plate toward her and took a bite of the dessert.

  “You’re right. It’s really good.”

  I held back a smile, not willing to give it up for now. At least, not yet.

  I ate my pastry while I listened to the music. “Why don’t you ask Ian to dance?” Nonni asked, blotting her mouth with a napkin.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Why not?” she insisted. “You don’t have to marry him to dance with him.”

  “I kno
w! It’s just, well, I don’t really know how to slow dance.” Embarrassment flowed through me. It wasn’t like I had a dad to teach me, or went to dances or on tons of dates. The waiter appeared by my side and began clearing plates.

  “Honey, dancing is easy! You just put your arms around the man’s shoulders and follow his lead. Do you want me to teach you?”

  “Oh my God, no!” The thought of my grandmother showing me in front of our tour group made me want to die. “Forget it. I don’t want to know how to dance anyway. Can we please change the subject?”

  She sighed. “Okay.”

  Thankfully, she dropped it. Mom was chatting with Hana, Dan, and Kai, and I just sipped my water as some couples walked onto the dance floor. I watched Mary and Ray sway together. Their feet weaved a simple yet intricate-looking step that made both of their bodies become one. It was romantic, and I sighed a bit dreamily, with the background of a Roman castle and a full-fledged orchestra serenading a room full of beautifully dressed guests. It was fun to be involved in something different from high school parties and drunken beer pong.

  Suddenly, a shadow fell over me. The waiter stood before me, his hand held out, bowing slightly. “May I have this dance?”

  I blinked. My heartbeat sped up. “Uh, um, oh, thank you so much, but I-I think I’ll sit a while.”

  He didn’t move. His dark gaze met mine with a patient affection, his hand still held out in entreaty. Nonni hissed out, “Allegra, dance with the man.”

  My palms began to sweat and fear pumped through me. I couldn’t dance like that! I’d be laughed at and there weren’t enough people on the dance floor yet. “Um, see, I can’t really, um, I can’t dance like that.”

  “I teach you.”

  Oh my God, people were starting to stare. Swallowing hard, trapped in a nightmare, I gave him my hand.

  He grinned broadly and escorted me to the center of the floor like I was royalty. With an expert flourish, he twirled me into his arms and I automatically reached up to put one hand on his shoulder. “Very good,” he said. “Follow my lead. Do not look down. Listen to music.”