Chapter 69
Giorgio
Istared out the kitchen window as Giancarlo, Benito, Palmira, and Serafina all talked with Emilia. Their husbands and wives were a bit more reserved, but most of my siblings were effusive – just like me.
My little brother Rolando was more standoffish, but he was like that. He liked to think he was way cooler than everybody else. He’d tried to pretend he wasn’t impressed when I went to work for the Rosolinis, but he was the one who’d asked me the most questions.
I wasn’t so sure about his girlfriend, Silvia. She seemed a little too ‘cool for school’ for my tastes. But then, that probably made her a good match for Rolando.
“How are you, baby?” Mama asked me as she pulled a hot dish from the oven. It was just the two of us in the kitchen; everybody else was outside on the patio.
“I’m good, Mama.”
“That Emilia’s a beautiful girl,” she said slyly.
“She is.”
“She’d give me some equally beautiful grandchildren, I just know it.”
“MAMA, STOP.”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry!” she said humorously. “I won’t say anything to your girlfriend!”
“THANK you.”
“I’m just stating the obvious!”
“Okay,” I said sardonically.
“I mean… is that something that might possibly happen…?”
“Mama, you’ve already got Mirabella and Alberto!” I protested.
“I know, I know! But there’s always room for more!” Mama said, then shook her head. “Unless it’s out of wedlock. Rolando and Silvia… mamma mia…”
She crossed herself.
“Well, don’t you worry,” I said. “When I have kids, I’ll definitely be married when I do it.”
“Good,” she said as she patted my cheek. “At least you’re not gonna break your mama’s heart.”
I stared out the window at Papa, who was slouched in his chair at the head of the table, drinking a glass of wine and scowling.
“Giorgio,” my mother said softly as she looked at me. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Mama.”
“Are you happy?”
I looked over at her and smiled. “Very happy.”
“Emilia – she’s good to you?”
“She’s wonderful, Mama.”
“Tutto bene. You deserve a good woman.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Well, I’d like one at least half as good as you.”
“Stop it!” she said, laughing.
But then she peered at me closely. “Why do you look so sad, then, when you stare out the window?”
I looked at my father, grumpy and sour.
“Papa,” I said simply.
“…ah,” my mother said, nodding.
“Has he come around yet?” I asked.
She looked at me sadly. “No.”
“Hm,” I grunted.
“Giorgio,” she said quietly, “I’ve tried not to dwell on it like your father – ”
“Mama,” I warned.
“But your job – ”
“Mama.”
“I just want you to be happy,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “And safe. Is that so horrible?”
“I’m happy, Mama,” I said with a smile, and hugged her. “I’m very happy.”
But I couldn’t bring myself to say I’m safe.
At least she didn’t say anything more about it. Instead, she just continued preparing lunch.