Chapter 15
Nonna shrugs and bustles around, cleaning up crumbs and dishes from breakfast as I try to absorb her words.
“It was an old book, Juliana,” she explains.
“Nothing lasts forever. Ink fades. Moths eat paper. Perhaps it’s better this way.
Now you can make something new instead of using those old recipes. You can cook from your heart.”
Which is exactly what I can’t seem to do.
I slump into the nearest chair, stunned.
It makes no sense. The book is here but the recipes are all gone?
How did that happen? Humidity? Age? Would the ink fade like that?
Whatever the reason, the recipes are obviously not in the book.
This is a catastrophe. What am I going to do now?
As the reality of my predicament sinks in, I can feel my anxiety kicking into high gear.
I shake out my hands, like I’m shaking water off them, trying to calm down.
It’s a Dr.Dana trick to regulate emotion.
Nonna is there in an instant. “What’s wrong, Juliana?
” She puts her hand to my forehead. “Do you feel sick? Did you get caught in a draft? I can crush some garlic for you to eat. Or maybe you want some hot wine?”
I brush off her concern, embarrassed. “I’m okay. It’s nothing.”
She fixes me with a disapproving stare. “This is not nothing, Juliana. What is it?”
I gust out a loud sigh. Now I am going to have to tell her what’s really going on. Nonna is as stubborn as a rock. If she thinks I am withholding something, she’ll badger me gently but persistently until she gets the truth. Believe me, I know this from experience.
I glance over at Alex, but she seems absorbed in her phone at the table.
I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing deeply for a moment, holding and counting.
“Nonna, I’m in trouble.” And then I tell her about my predicament—about the cookbook deal, about what they want from me, and about how little time I have to come up with fifty recipes that feel personal.
I do not tell her about the blankness, about how I cannot seem to remember a single recipe she taught me or any recipe that I have emotional ties to.
I can’t admit that to anyone, not even Nonna. It feels so personal, shameful even.
Nonna listens intently, eyes narrowed in thought. “So you must come up with these recipes, these dishes from your heart in such a short time?” she says at last.
I nod miserably. “And I have no idea how I’m going to do it.”
“Hmm…” Nonna tilts her head and fixes me with a beady, considering gaze. “Why did you want that old recipe book?”
I hang my head. “Because I thought I could use the recipes for my cookbook,” I admit. “The recipes in your cookbook are the ones that have meant something to me. But now that the recipes are gone…”
“You are in trouble,” she finishes my sentence.
“Yes, I see.” She gazes at me thoughtfully for a moment, then sits back and slaps her hands on her knees.
“Juliana, those old recipes are gone, but do not despair, mia cara. They live on in here”—she taps my forehead—“and in here.” She touches my chest right above my heart.
“You can do this. You must do this,” she announces. “I will help you.”
“But how?” I protest, lifting my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Ah.” She holds one finger up in the air.
“We stop and listen until we understand. There is magic in this kitchen, Juliana, whether you know it or not, and the magic never lies. It is always right, and it is trying to tell you something now. We just have to hear what it is saying. It will lead us to the answer.”
“Listen to what?” I’m confused. Italian nonnas are a naturally superstitious bunch, armed with a staunch Catholic faith supplemented by old wives’ tales and folk remedies. Is that what Nonna is talking about when she speaks about kitchen magic? Some folktale from the past?
“The kitchen magic,” Nonna says mysteriously. “It will show us how to make these recipes you need.”
I deflate instantly. “Right. Good luck with that.”
Nonna reaches out and lightly cups my cheek.
Her palm is tough and leathery from years of hard work.
“What happened to you, mia cara?” she asks.
“You were always my brave girl, full of laughter and life, full of light. When did that light go out? When did you get so full of doubt? What are you afraid of?”
I open my mouth but find I have no answer.
What am I afraid of? Failure? Loss? Feeling like the rug keeps getting pulled out from under me over and over in my life?
It started the day they dragged my father’s lifeless body from the lake.
Or maybe it had started even before that, when Nicolo was sent away and broke my heart, or even earlier, when Lisa left us to begin a new life and a new family.
There has been so much loss in my life. It has made me afraid to hold on to anything too closely, because I know in the end I will probably lose the things I love the most.
I glance over at Alex, who’s tapping on her phone and doesn’t look up, but I have a feeling she is listening to everything. One of her headphones seems to be partly off her ear.
“Juliana!” Nonna stands and gestures to me impatiently. “Come, there is no time to waste. We start now.”
I stand reluctantly too. “Okay, but I’m going to get dressed first.” I am determined to at least brush my teeth and put on a touch of mascara, just in case Nicolo reappears. And to immediately throw away this embarrassingly skimpy Hello Kitty sleep shirt.
I have very little confidence that Nonna is going to be able to unlock my culinary creativity using her kitchen magic powers, but at least if I am going to fail again, I want to look as cute as possible while doing it. I head upstairs, bracing myself for whatever the day may hold.