Chapter 9
Lora:
How did interview go?
Andrea is letting me move into his house
Vilmari:
With him??
Lora:
No. Alone. I’ll give you details later.
Interview??
Ms. President??
Vilmari:
She is a pillar of feminism
Wore a dress made by indigenous weavers
Iconic
Lora:
Amazing
Send pics
So worth the trip
Vilmari:
For my Prez or your Mayor?
Lora:
“Good morning,” said Giada, placing a cappuccino in front of Lora.
After ordering exactly the same thing for breakfast every day that she had been in Baia Santa, Lora didn’t need to actually say it out loud anymore.
Giada also set down a bottle of sparkling water, a glass, and a piece of focaccia.
A savory-breakfast kind of girl, Lora had veered away from the sweet pastries and toward the salty, just-oily-enough bread.
There was something about it that reminded her of when she’d pick up a dollar slice of pizza and a small coffee before class when she first arrived in Brooklyn.
Though this focaccia did not have cheese, the olive oil was so fragrant and savory it hit all the right flavor buttons.
“Buongiorno,” Lora replied, grimacing at her attempt at decent pronunciation.
“Ah, OK, are we speaking in Italian today?” Giada smiled.
“We are trying. Wait,” she said, typing into an app. “See sto provando.”
“That’s good! But you pronounce the c-i like chee. So, it’s Ci sto provando.”
“Ci sto provando,” she repeated. “It’s tricky. I can’t get the difference between c-i, c-h-i, and c-e. Ugh, I don’t know.” She took a sip of coffee.
“You know, the best way to learn is to make a lot of mistakes. You can’t have fear! Just say the words. People will help you, you’ll see!”
“Sure, and in the meantime, I look like a complete fool,” she said, laughing.
“Nooo. No one will think that. You know who is the fool? The one who don’t try. Then if you make a mistake and someone corrects you, you don’t forget. Ever.”
“Doesn’t try.” Lora smiled.
“Grazie! See? Now I will never forget.” Giada turned, hearing her name called. “Ah, this is my girlfriend! Vivi, vieni qui! Lora, this is Vivi. Vivi, this is Lora. She’s the one from America I told you about.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” said Vivi. She had a terrifically raspy voice and a short cotton-candy-pink haircut.
Her chef coat was starched and ironed, CHEF DE CUISINE–VIVI ROSSI embroidered in black script on the chest. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing a cluster of intricate black tattoos: a hummingbird, a radish, a chef’s knife.
“No, no, tell her piaciere, she’s learning Italian,” Giada corrected.
“Piaciere,” said Vivi. “You are Italian, though, yes?”
“Piaciere,” Lora repeated. “I am trying to be. I’ve filed documents to become a citizen and I’m hoping everything goes OK.”
“So you want to live here?” asked Vivi. “I’ve heard so many Americans are trying to move here now. It’s not strange, maybe.”
“No. I don’t want to live here,” said Lora. “I want to be a citizen, but for another purpose.”
Vivi screwed up her face, looking confused. “Are you sure? The food in America is…” She trailed off, scrunching her nose.
“Not all of it is bad.” Giada squeezed her arm. “You liked the hamburgers when we went to Chicago to see your cousin.”
“It was either that or starve to death,” Vivi sniffed. Giada rolled her eyes. Vivi picked up her head, focusing behind them. “Andre, please tell them that Italian hamburgers are better than American?”
Lora felt a hitch in her belly before she turned around to see him weaving his way through the café tables. That feeling was going to be a nuisance if it kept happening.
“No,” he said. He was holding a tiny olive tree in a pot, some of the leaves threatening to scrape along the side of his neck above the shirt collar.
She wanted to reach over and smooth them away just to touch him there.
And that feeling wasn’t helping either. “Well, maybe. It depends on what you want.”
“What’s your idea of a good burger?” Lora asked. “Buongiorno, by the way.”
“Buongiorno. It depends,” he said, shrugging.
“That’s not an answer,” Giada said, crossing her arms.
“Because it depends on the moment. Sometimes you want some gourmet Angus thing from a steakhouse and you really enjoy it. Sometimes you want a greasy mess that’s been pressed flat on a grill with onions and that rubbery orange cheese. Anything can be good in the right circumstance.”
“Ugh, the rubber cheese in America! No, no, no, no, no, grazie. It’s against nature,” Vivi said, clutching her chest.
“Yes, but here in Italy we make this dish, vitello tonnato, which is also against nature, I think. Is veal with a tuna sauce. They are two animals that don’t go together.” Giada made a face. She turned to Vivi. “Why do you do this?”
“Because it is delicious—a fact you will never know because you refuse to try it,” said Vivi, looking offended.
“I’d rather have the rubber cheese,” said Giada, and shuddered.
Andrea laughed. He shifted the tree in his arms. “Sorry to cause a debate, but I have many meetings with many people who want their dirt roads to be paved, so I will see you all later.”
“Do you have time for me to visit you this afternoon? I want to talk to you about something,” Lora said.
Since she’d found the birth certificate, she kept thinking about the stacks of other documents that were sitting there collecting dust. She thought maybe it could be a good time to do something about them and wanted to ask Andrea how she could help.
“Sure, great! Well, this is for you anyway,” he said, nodding to the tree. “I mean, it’s for the house. For you, for the house—you know what I mean. Erme and Patrizia gave it to me earlier.”
“That’s so sweet! Of them, I mean. Thank you,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”
“Buon appetito.” He grinned and turned back to city hall.
“Hai visto?” Giada asked Vivi.
“Yes, I saw it,” Vivi said, laughing.
“Saw what?” asked Lora.
“I told you I’ve known Andrea a long time, yes?” Giada tossed her head toward city hall. “He doesn’t act like that. Ever. He’s letting you move into his house, right? The one that’s been sitting empty since he bought it? He told me and I thought he was kidding.”
“And I thought she was kidding when she told me. I don’t know Andrea so long, but—” Vivi broke off and shook her head.
“It’s bad,” said Giada.
“What’s bad?” asked Lora, not ready to acknowledge that she did, in fact, know exactly what they were talking about, because that very same thing was swirling the cappuccino in her belly as she spoke.
“Is it possible you are still sleeping? Maybe she needs another coffee,” Vivi said, turning to Giada.
“No, no,” said Lora, holding up a hand.
Giada tapped Lora’s shoulder and smiled down at her. “I know you don’t speak Italian yet, but now I see you don’t speak Italian men either.” She sighed. “You’re going to need to learn—both.”
“I’m going to go make the pansotti because I cannot help with this,” Vivi said, pointing toward the kitchen.
A group of people with day packs and sun hats walked toward the café.
Their heads swiveled to take in the architecture as they chattered on in a clipped speech.
A gray-haired woman wearing a blue tech T-shirt pointed at the menu board as they advanced toward the tables.
“Lora, what are you doing now?” Giada asked, eyeing the group.
“Just this, I think,” she said, pointing at her breakfast. There were no more documents to be hunted, and it was too soon to pack her things up from the hotel.
She’d written enough notes for her research to support three postdocs, and she was too distracted to start any of the new books that were clogging up her Kindle.
She had thought maybe she would walk the long curvy road down to the sea, but aside from that, she was, perhaps for the first time in a decade, 100 percent unoccupied.
“You know, another great way to learn Italian is to learn how to do something in Italian.” Giada grinned. “I was going to help Vivi with the pansotti, but—” Her eyes flicked toward the trekking-pole-wielding tourists, who were settling across three tables.
“Oh, no. I don’t have any idea how to cook. I could burn a fruit salad. Seriously,” Lora said, wincing.
“Don’t worry,” said Vivi. “I only need an assistant, and I give good directions. You’ll learn.”
“Well, I’ll try my best,” said Lora. Maybe it would take her mind off the restless feeling she couldn’t seem to shake since finding Ivo’s birth certificate.
“Ah, grazie! Sei la migliore! You’re the best!”
“Vieni, bring your breakfast,” said Vivi, directing Lora toward the kitchen. “We start with two lessons, OK? Mani freddi, mani veloci. Cold hands, fast hands. Remember those two things and you will do great.”