Chapter 41
“You tried to steal the recipe back? And got caught? That’s no fair. I always miss everything fun,” Alex protests with a pout of disappointment the next morning as I fill her in on the events of the night before over pistachio biscotti and caffellattes.
“Oh, come on.” I shake my head at her with a touch of amusement. “I saw you flirting with Tommaso at the festival. You’re having some fun, admit it. Admit your summer is better than you thought it would be.”
She crossed her arms. “I admit nothing.” But she throws me a tiny smile and I know I’ve won. “It beats Camp Complain,” she admits finally.
I knew it! It’s a low bar to beat a camp whose idea of fun is a timed math-facts competition in the dining hall on Saturday nights, but still…Alex is officially having fun in Italy. I’ll consider that a win.
“Let’s see what we have here,” Nonna announces to no one in particular.
She has the cookbook and the yellowed envelope laid out in front of her on the table.
She opens the cookbook, and true to form, the torn half of the recipe appears, plain as day.
But I notice for the first time that the torn half a recipe takes up one side of a whole page of the cookbook. The other half of the page is blank.
“Why does the book show a whole page if you and Violetta tore the page in half?” I ask, puzzled.
Nonna looks at the page and shrugs. “The next time I opened the book after we divided the recipe, this is what I saw. Half the recipe, and half the page a white blank space, as though it is waiting to be filled. It has always been like this. It is useless to ask why about this book. Some things are beyond our understanding. Some things we cannot know.” She carefully takes a folded half sheet of paper from the envelope and smooths it out on the table.
One edge is ragged and uneven. It’s the missing half of the recipe.
“Ah, there it is,” she says with a tender smile.
“How are you going to fix it?” I ask curiously.
“Like this.” She gently presses Violetta’s yellowed, folded half of the Orange Blossom Cake recipe back with its other half on the first page of the recipe book.
She sits back and we all stare at the complete recipe, but nothing happens.
I’m not sure what I expected. That they’d magically fuse together into one?
That they’d restore justice, order, and harmony to the universe?
The two halves of the recipe lie there next to each other, still torn, still separated. Nothing happens.
“I thought it might knit back together or something,” I murmur, disappointed.
“Ah, the two halves have been apart a long time. This recipe might need a little help,” Nonna says.
She gets up and takes a small bowl from the shelves.
She mixes a little flour and water with her finger, then spreads the paste thinly over the back of Violetta’s half of the recipe and presses it firmly onto the blank half a page in the recipe book.
“There. That should hold.” She sits back and surveys her work with a look of supreme satisfaction. “Now it is whole once more.”
We all stare at the reunited recipe. Alex is the first to break the silence.
“So are we going to make the cake?” she asks.
“Do you want a chance to see your future?” Nonna asks.
Alex thinks for a moment but shakes her head. “What if there’s nothing good?” she asks nervously.
“Impossible.” Nonna reaches across the table and grips Alex’s chin.
Alex startles, but doesn’t move away. “There is such greatness inside of you, nipotina mia,” Nonna says firmly.
“It is okay if you don’t want to spoil the surprise of the happiness that lies ahead for you, but don’t avoid it out of fear.
Don’t do anything out of fear. It will only hold you back from the fullness of what your life could be.
That is a lesson for both you girls to learn, I see. ”
I don’t miss the fact that it’s the first time Nonna has referred to Alex as her granddaughter.
From the brief flash of comprehension that crosses Alex’s face, I see she caught the reference too.
It makes me unexpectedly happy. What a difference a few weeks can make.
Maybe family, like love, can grow in numbers and be strengthened, not diluted, by the increase.
Maybe our family is stronger because Alex is taking her place in it.
“I want to taste the cake,” I volunteer.
Nonna nods. “Let’s see if the book will let you,” she says sagely. “It only works if you open the book and the recipe appears. Otherwise it is not time for you to use the recipe.”
“Oh, then this is probably a fool’s errand,” I say glumly. I have yet to open the book and see anything but a blank page. I’ll give it a try, but my hopes are low. Carefully, we check to see that the paste is dry, then Nonna closes the cookbook.
“First, I must see something for myself.” She opens the cookbook again as we all hold our breath, leaning in. What will be on the page? Nonna laughs in delight and relief when she glimpses the recipe displayed on the first page. It is not Orange Blossom Cake.
“Olive oil and basil spritz,” she crows.
“Made with prosecco. Carlo used to love it. It’s a celebratory drink.
The last time I had it was with him.” Her eyes get a little misty.
We stare at the page in awe. It worked. For the first time in a long time, the book has given Nonna a new recipe to make.
Now that the two torn halves of the cake recipe are reunited, it appears she can move on.
I have a feeling that her ability to move on isn’t just about her pasting the recipe back together again, but the other events of last night too.
Nonna and Violetta hashing out the past, Violetta’s apology and their reconciliation after such a bitter and lengthy estrangement.
I’m guessing all of that has led to the cookbook’s celebratory spritz today.
“I’ll make us all spritzes at lunchtime,” Nonna tells us, “to celebrate this success.” She closes the book and hands it to me. “Now you try it, Juliana.”
I close my eyes briefly, sending up a prayer to Saint Sebastian to let me see anything but a blank page. Carefully, I flip open the book and take a peek. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m staring at the familiar recipe for Orange Blossom Cake.
“No way,” Alex breathes.
I can’t help the huge grin that spreads across my face. “Finally!” I’m elated.
Nonna looks thoughtful. “So the book has given you a recipe? Interesting.”
“Do you think this means I learned whatever lesson I was supposed to learn?” I ask. I stare at the recipe for a moment, wondering what exactly I was supposed to learn from those frustratingly blank pages.
“Only you can answer that,” Nonna says. “What have you learned?”
I hesitate, thinking. “I’ve learned that Dad’s death wasn’t my fault,” I say quietly.
“For so long I blamed myself and blocked out anything that made me remember the pain of losing him. But now I can embrace the past again, even the memories that are tinged by grief and pain. Now when I make our family recipes, I remember all the good times that are connected to them, all the good memories, even if they also make me miss Dad. I think I’ve learned to open up my heart and connect to my past and our family again. ”
“Bene.” Nonna nods in a satisfied way. Her eyes are suspiciously shiny. She clears her throat. “And now you have a new recipe to try,” she says, gesturing to the Orange Blossom Cake recipe in the cookbook.
“Keep the book open to the recipe. I’ll shoot a video about the cake and what we’re planning to do,” Alex says.
She whips out her phone and narrates the video, showing the kitchen and the recipe book.
She has Nonna explain about the recipe for Orange Blossom Cake, the magical properties of the cookbook, and our plan to make the cake and see the future.
Alex turns the camera to herself. “Will the cake really show us the future? Find out what happens next here @OlivesandAmore. Ciao.” Then she taps her phone and ends the recording.
“You’re a natural at that,” I tell her. “You should be in front of the camera more.” I thought she’d be awkward and shy, but she’s great on-screen.
She shakes her head. “I like to be behind the scenes.” She hunches over her phone and a few quick seconds later, she has edited and posted the video to TikTok.
“This is great content,” Alex says, viewing the video she just posted. “TikTok eats that kind of stuff up. It could boost our followers a lot.” She glances at me, offering offhandedly, “You can use any footage like this for your show if you want, since you’re not shooting new segments right now.”
We’d briefly discussed my show and how I was on a hiatus while my cohost was off filming in LA.
“Oh.” I hadn’t considered using any of the videos Alex has filmed in Italy. It’s not exactly on-brand for The Bygone Kitchen , but I’m about to run out of content entirely. “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” I tell her.
“Ready, Juliana?” Nonna is starting to get ingredients out so I can make the cake. I join her in the kitchen but then I hesitate.
“Somehow it doesn’t feel right for me to do this alone.” I confess. “I think it should be more than just me who tastes the cake. I mean, you never got to take your first bite, right? Why don’t you open the cookbook with me now and see if it will give both of us the cake recipe again?”
Nonna purses her lips and thinks about it.
“I agree, but I think it should not just be the two of us,” she says finally, firmly.
“Violetta is a part of this too. Anyone who wants to taste this cake should do so, if the cookbook allows it.” She smiles a little craftily.
“Maybe Nicolo will want to join us and taste the cake too, hmm?” She raises an eyebrow meaningfully. “I wonder what he will see.”
I ignore her insinuation. “I’ll ask Nicolo this afternoon,” I tell her. “I’m supposed to go over to the Fiores’ to help with some marketing materials for their farm. I’ll see if he and Violetta are interested in helping us make Orange Blossom Cake.”