Chapter 48
“Say yes to what?”
I glance over to find Alex standing beside me, her earphones around her neck. She must have heard Drew’s parting encouragement out the car window.
“It’s…complicated,” I say with a frown, staring in the direction of the departing car.
My phone pings with a text. Nicolo. He has taken Violetta into Verona for an appointment, but she is willing to come tomorrow morning to try to make and taste the cake one more time.
My heart flutters with hope. If we start early, I can eat that first bite of cake before I have to give my answer to Drew and Keith.
Relieved, I text back a confirmation and a start time of seven a.m. tomorrow morning, then tuck my phone away.
While I might have a momentous decision to make, I also have my own cookbook I need to finish.
Regardless of what I decide about Drew’s offer, I still need to keep cooking.
I turn toward the kitchen with a sigh. I need an espresso, and then I need to make some Italian food. Wordlessly, Alex follows me.
We find Nonna in the kitchen. She is sitting in a chair, an untouched espresso in front of her, staring into space.
For an alarmed moment I think she may have suffered a stroke, but then I notice that her gaze is soft and far away, and her lips are curved into a smile.
I have a hunch she’s thinking about Lorenzo’s proposal.
I’m not the only one with a big decision to make.
She starts when I lay a hand on her shoulder. “Ciao, Nipoti,” she says. “Quite a lot of excitement this morning, eh?” She rises and briskly claps her hands together. “But now we must get to work on your recipes. What are we making today?”
“Hold on,” I stop her. “We can’t ignore what just happened. The Orange Blossom Cake worked! It actually worked, and you just got a proposal of marriage from Zio Lorenzo!”
Nonna makes a pfft sound and waves away my words. “Of course it worked. The cookbook always works.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Though sometimes not in the way you think it will.”
“Why did it work for Zio Lorenzo when he didn’t even make the cake with us?” I ask.
Nonna shrugs. “Who knows? Sometimes the cookbook does unexpected things. Always they turn out for the best, though. I’ve learned not to question it, but simply to trust the wisdom it contains.
For instance, look at this.” She pulls out her phone and shows us a photo.
The young woman with long brown hair pulled into a low bun looks vaguely familiar.
I think she was one of the women cooking love pasta in the kitchen that morning.
“Who’s that?” Alex asks, peering over my shoulder curiously.
“A woman who consulted the cookbook for help,” Nonna explains.
“She liked a man who worked in the next office over, but he did not seem to notice her. So she took the gnocchi al pesto recipe she made here and shared it with the man and his coworkers. It was not the man but the owner of the company who ate the gnocchi and asked if she would like to go on a date. He took her on a boat ride to dinner in Riva del Garda. See?” Nonna points at the photo.
The young woman is sitting in a chic cigarette boat with a handsome older gentleman.
They are toasting with champagne. “See how happy they look? Not who she had in mind, but the cookbook knows best.”
Nonna slides her phone in her pocket and looks very satisfied. “Now, what are we working on today?”
I guess we are not going to be talking about Lorenzo and his proposal after all.
I consult the list Nonna and I made a few weeks ago. “Cassata Gardesana,” I tell her. It’s a refreshingly sweet and creamy frozen dessert that is popular in this region.
Alex grabs a glass of milk and two biscotti and settles down with her phone at the table.
It’s sweet how she does not hide away in her room now.
She still spends much of her time on her phone, but she’s usually just hanging around the kitchen when we cook, texting Tommaso or practicing her Italian.
A few days ago I found her reading a book in Italian, and although she struggled with some parts, overall she managed to follow the plot pretty well.
I grab the ricotta cheese from the refrigerator and Nonna gathers the icing sugar and honey from the cupboard.
“So, what does that Drew boy want?” Nonna asks, arching a brow suspiciously. “Why did he come all the way to Italy?”
I bite my lip, hesitant to tell her about Drew’s offer, but this concerns her too, and I need her advice. “He offered me a role as cohost of a TV show,” I tell her baldly.
Nonna doesn’t flinch, but I hear her quick inhale, as though she is bracing herself for impact. Her hands are steady as she measures out the honey, though. “It sounds like what you hoped for,” she says. “So you will say yes to him?”
“I don’t know. There’s a catch.” I spoon the right amount of ricotta into a big mixing bowl and Nonna pours in the sugar and honey.
I start to beat them smooth using Nonna’s ancient handheld mixer.
“It would be filmed in LA, so I’d need to be there for the filming, and then if the first season went well, there’s the possibility of them renewing the show for more seasons.
” I have to talk loudly over the grinding whine of the ancient mixer.
“So you would go to LA?” Nonna purses her lips. She is chopping toasted almonds for the recipe, and she’s handling the knife with a sort of terrifying vigor. Chop. Chop. Chop.
“There’s something else,” I admit, turning off the mixer. The silence is blissful. “They want to use our family cookbook in the show.”
The knife falls still and Nonna gazes at me quizzically. “Our cookbook? But why?”
I explain the premise of the show. Partway through, I’m aware that Alex is no longer focused on her phone. She’s still sitting there with her phone in her hand, but she’s listening to our conversation intently.
When I’m done talking, Nonna looks troubled. “Is this what you want, this show? Is this your dream, Nipotina?”
I exhale in frustration. “It’s an amazing opportunity. I’d get to cohost with Drew. And the money would be good.”
Nonna frowns, opens her mouth, and then seems to reconsider and closes it. “Humph,” she says, a noncommittal sound.
I dump a container of heavy cream into a separate bowl, cold from the freezer, and turn the mixer back on.
The noise fills the kitchen, giving me a moment to think.
When it is whipped into firm peaks, I gently fold the cream into the sweet ricotta mixture.
Nonna is still wielding the knife. The almonds are in very small pieces now but she keeps chopping.
“When do you have to decide?” She adds the slivers of almond to the creamy mixture, scraping them off the cutting board with her knife blade.
I don’t meet her eyes. “They asked for an answer tomorrow.”
“So soon for such a big decision,” Nonna says reprovingly, clicking her tongue and eyeing me.
“I guess the entertainment industry moves fast.” I add raisins and candied citrus peel to the creamy mixture and stir them in by hand.
There is a sliver of citrus peel on the table and I pop it in my mouth.
The sugary bite is tangy and bitter on my tongue.
“If the show gets picked up, I could help you out financially. You could do the repairs this place needs,” I tell her.
“What this place needs is not something money alone can fix,” Nonna says shortly.
“It needs a new caretaker, someone who loves it and will care for it for this generation and see it into the future. Without that…we will be forced to sell. Already it is heading that way. That is the harsh truth. We assumed it would be your father, but…” She sighs.
“After Tony passed, our hopes turned to you.”
I look down at the bowl of airy Cassata Gardesana, feeling put on the spot, feeling the sharp squeeze of anxiety as I contemplate trying to fix something when I have no idea how.
I know I’m the only one left who can do it.
And yet, what do I know about running an olive farm?
The thought of saying yes, of taking on the risk and responsibility, makes me panic every time I even entertain it for a moment.
I never intended to take over caring for this property.
What if I fail? What if I am the one who ruins it or lets our family legacy die?
That’s an appalling thought. “I don’t know if that’s me, Nonna,” I murmur finally, reluctantly. “I don’t think I can. I’m sorry.”
At this, Alex huffs loudly and springs up from the table, grabbing her phone and glaring at me. “This is bullshit. I can’t believe you,” she spits out as she brushes past me and heads out the door. I stare after her in dismay. What was that all about?
Nonna looks as mystified as I feel. She watches Alex leave, then turns to me and presses her lips together firmly. “What is it you truly want, Juliana?” she asks abruptly. The use of my full name takes me aback. She sounds so weary and a touch exasperated.
“I…” I stop. What do I truly want? I think for a long moment. “I want to feel safe again,” I say finally, simply. It is the truest thing I know how to say.
Nonna glances up sharply at that, her gaze probing as she scans my face slowly. “And do you think that being on this TV show will make you feel safe?” Her tone is soft.
“I don’t know if it will,” I admit, “But it would take care of a lot of things. I’d have money, and good potential for job growth.
I’d be hosting with Drew. We’ve been friends for a long time, which is appealing.
I think I’d enjoy hosting a show. I know how to do it and I’m good at it. Those are not small things.”
“But are they the most important things?” Nonna asks, her gaze sharp on me.
I hesitate. “It seems like a smart choice.”
I felt so fundamentally unsafe after the death of my father, after being yanked so abruptly from Italy and having to spend the last of my teenage years under Lisa’s roof.
Ever since they pulled my dad’s lifeless body from the water, I’ve been looking for that sense of safety again.
It always seems just out of reach. If I could have more job security.
If I could increase the number of followers on the show.
If I could land a TV deal…Now it feels like it might be within my grasp.
I can finally reach out and touch it. But at what cost?
Nonna pulls out a stack of dessert molds and lines them up on the prep table.
“Ah Nipotina, life isn’t safe,” she says sensibly.
“Sometimes life is good and beautiful. Sometimes it is cruel and seemingly senseless. But we are never guaranteed safety. We are promised many things in this life, and chief among them is suffering and grief and loss. We are not promised a life free of pain. Anyone who tells you this is lying to you.”
“Am I wrong to want to feel safe?” I protest, feeling instantly a little defensive. I take a spoon and start filling the molds with the fluffy dessert.
Nonna considers this for a moment, then shakes her head.
“No, of course not. Safety is important. We all want to live in a world that feels safe for us and those we love, but safety is not the most important thing. Ask yourself this, Juliana. What if the most important thing in life is not feeling safe? What if it’s to love something or someone enough that they’re worth risking for? ”
I freeze, full spoon poised over a half-filled mold. The thought scares me. Nonna watches me, waiting for an answer. Apparently, her question was not purely rhetorical.
“I…I don’t know…” I stammer, feeling caught out.
A brief look of disappointment flashes across her face.
“If we constantly look only for safety, then our fear controls us,” she says quietly.
“You think your fear protects you, but it holds you back from living a full life. You used to be brimming with curiosity and adventure, Juliana. You were always a quiet one, but so eager to take all of the world in your hands and taste each bite. Where is that girl now?”
“I…” I don’t know what to say. I consider her words. Is she right? In trying to feel safe, am I focusing on the wrong thing? Have I lost myself in the process?
“That girl is gone,” I say finally. “I think she disappeared at the bottom of the lake the day Dad died.”
Nonna nods, her expression sympathetic. “You can find her again. It isn’t too late.
I know how much you miss him, mia cara. I do too.
But it would break Tony’s heart if he knew what his death did to you.
He did not want this for you, Juliana. He wanted more than anything for you to have a life full of light, full of joy, full of love. ”
I glance down at the spoon in my hand, feeling ashamed, knowing she is right.
My big, loving, heart-on-his-sleeve dad would have been heartbroken to see how careful I’ve become, how afraid of anything that might hurt me.
But how can I possibly risk that pain again?
I know how much it hurts to lose everything most precious to you.
I felt my entire world fall apart from the inside out.
I never want to feel that way again. I’ll do anything to avoid it.
“I don’t know how to not be afraid,” I confess in a small voice. “I have no idea how to get the girl I was back. I feel like it might be too late.”
Nonna shakes her head emphatically. “It is never too late,” she states firmly. “Don’t let fear win. Be brave enough to let what you truly love guide your choices. Then you will make the right decision from the heart.” She surveys me.
“I have put too much of a burden on you,” she announces abruptly.
“You must be free to make your own choice. Listen to me, Juliana.” She looks me in the eye, her gaze boring into mine.
She reaches across the prep table and takes my chin firmly in her hand, a little too tightly, wince slightly at the pressure.
She does not let go. “I release you from my hopes for your life, Nipotina, from any burden or expectation you feel. I release you to do what your heart is telling you to do, and I pray to the Blessed Virgin that when you do, you will find what your heart is truly seeking.” Then she releases my chin and steps back.
I look down swiftly, blinking back sudden tears. “Thank you,” I manage to squeeze out. Nonna nods but says nothing more. I fill the molds and stash them in the freezer, then head outside. I need some air, to clear my head and think.