Chapter 13
The bell chimes above the door, and I see Nico swivel around on his stool to watch us walking into Belpagna.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s here already—I stayed out longer with Anita than I normally would.
He’s already drained one espresso and a plate is empty in front of him, except for a dusting of sugar.
He smiles when his eyes land on me, but I see the hesitancy when he spots Anita. I wince, thinking of how he probably also had no idea she was showing up today.
“Anita! Ciao!” Emilia comes out from behind the counter and wraps her up in a big hug.
Emilia’s bandana today has pumpkins on it, which seems hilariously unseasonable for her.
She must’ve gotten dressed in a hurry. But whatever razzed her morning is nowhere to be seen now as she excitedly starts chatting rapidly in Italian to Anita.
I take the opportunity to sidle up next to Nico and drop onto the stool next to him.
“So, Anita came early,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Are you a person who likes surprises?” he asks, in a tone that indicates he knows the answer already.
“I am not,” I chuckle. “But it’s Anita, so I’m glad she’s here.” He smiles gently and nods, looking into his empty cup. “Is it weird for you?” I ask.
He shrugs and fiddles with a napkin. His demeanor is always so easy that I usually forget he’s a little stuck in some places too.
“Anita and Lorena, my ex-wife . . . they weren’t particularly close, especially because it’s been so long since Anita even lived here.
But . . . I feel like everyone else in town has moved past it at this point; or at least they don’t openly pity me anymore the way they did a few years ago.
” His small laugh is hollow, and I want to grab another pastry from behind the counter just to add some sunshine and sugar back into his life.
But he carries on. “Every time someone related to Lorena comes back, it’s like the entire town then gets a fresh excuse to start a new dance around how I’m doing .
. . then to ask how Lorena’s doing, even though I obviously don’t know anymore.
It’s like I have to be in that fishbowl again. ”
I surreptitiously glance around the room, and he’s right—it’s hilarious how much everyone is casually watching this scene. Eyes dart from Anita to Nico to see when that little piece of gossip will begin.
“Do you want us to grab something and go?” I ask, searching my mind for any solution to his discomfort. But he shakes his head.
“That’s ridiculous, Kit. Other people’s boredom isn’t a reason to mess with our morning.”
I give his shoulder a squeeze in solidarity, hoping to convey my understanding.
His head tilts down, his hair brushing my fingers, like an involuntary nuzzle.
I can’t help but lean into it, which makes me immediately regret touching him.
I have to stop doing this to myself. Any friendly contact between us instantly lures me in, making me powerless against lingering longer than I should.
It’s embarrassing how much even his smallest gestures affect me.
I make myself move my hand away. I’ve got to get a grip.
“I can’t believe she was able to pull one over on you,” Emilia says gleefully from behind the counter, nodding toward a beaming Anita, who sits on the stool next to me.
“Yeah, if you have to be awoken by interminable pounding on your door, at least let it be your long-lost friend,” I quip.
Nico snorts next to me, and both Emilia and Anita turn to look at him.
“Good to see you, Nico,” Anita says, reaching out to shake his hand. “How’ve you been?”
I’m grateful she’s being so innocuous. I actually am kind of curious about what she thinks of the whole situation. But considering that would make me just as bad of a gossip as everyone else in this town, I definitely file that thought away.
Nico seems relieved as well, and they start chatting about this year’s harvest. Anita is obviously well versed in the olive oil process, and they get deep enough in that I finally switch seats with her and look at Emilia.
“I think it’s a bombolone kind of day,” I say, and before I can even finish the sentence, Emilia has whipped out a plate and shoved a pastry on top of it. She turns around to make my tea and then swiftly places it in front of me.
“I think,” she says with that sly look of hers, “the cats outside are protesting your hatred of them, because now I have three on my hands.”
I look out the window and see a calico trio pressing their faces to the glass.
“Or maybe,” I reply pointedly, “the rest of them got the memo that you’re a sucker.”
Emilia scrunches her nose with a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
And then without another word, she walks outside with scraps for the cats.
“I’m going to head out too,” Nico says, taking the opportunity to stand. “Anita, it’s lovely to see you. Welcome back.”
“Glad to see you’re well, Nico,” she replies.
I catch a little bit of what Nico was talking about earlier in Anita’s expression.
There’s a tinge of pity to it, laced with the discomfort of knowing there’s an undercurrent to whatever she says.
I can understand why he’d be hesitant to have any reminder of a past he’s desperately trying to move on from.
But if Nico’s registered Anita’s countenance, he doesn’t show it. He puts a hand on my shoulder, mirroring my gesture from before, and it takes everything in me not to copy his earlier movement and lean my head into him.
“If you want to skip our stakeouts this weekend to hang with Anita, don’t worry about it,” he says. “I can handle it on my own.”
“No!” I rush, maybe a little too forcefully.
I know I shouldn’t anticipate our evenings as much as I do—and certainly my back doesn’t appreciate my enthusiasm for an activity that includes sleeping on the ground—but I’ve started looking forward to our weekend surveillance overnights.
I try to convince myself that it’s because I like being outside; or that I really do want to help Gia; or that I love the cows (?).
But you can’t hide untruths from your gut, and my gut covets those unhurried conversations with Nico in the dark.
My whole life has been whirlwinds and pushing and edges. There’s a softness I get to have in those evenings that I’ve never had before. And I want it.
“Okay then,” he replies without pushing. Maybe he wants our evenings, too, even if neither of us would ever say so out loud. He lifts his hand off my shoulder and gives all three of us an awkward little wave. “See you guys later.”
I watch him walk out the door. When I look back at Anita, there’s skepticism lining her face.
“What in the actual fuck was that?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
“What?” I genuinely have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You and Nico were . . . looking at each other.”
“I look at most people I talk to.” I take a long sip of my tea and stare right back at her.
“The vibes were weird.”
“I cannot help you if you’re asking me about vibes.”
She lifts one of her fingers into my face. “What are you and Nico staking out? And why do I get the impression you want to be staking each other out?”
I scoff, like a kid whose hand is in the candy jar and wants to protest a bit too much.
And apparently, my salvation will be in babbling.
“We’re doing a favor for Gia. She’s in some feud with the boar hunters, and they killed one of her cows last year—they say by accident; she doesn’t agree—and so she tried to get them booted off her land, but she lost so now she thinks they’re going to retaliate, so on weekends when they’re here, Nico and I sleep with the cows to keep anyone from hurting them. ”
I think maybe I’ve bamboozled Anita with such a ridiculous story that it’s hard to parse out what the hell I’m even talking about. “That’s abnormal,” she finally says.
“I’ll say.”
“Even for Gia,” she clarifies.
“Eh, I’d guess Gia gets herself into more abnormal situations than most,” I counter.
Anita laughs and pats my hand. “You’re probably right about that. But it’s nice of you to want to take care of her.”
I can see I’m off the hook because she’s happy I’m protecting her nonna. And Anita knows I’m the kind of person who sets a stake in the ground when it comes to loyalty, especially for another chef, regardless of whether it was for her grandmother or not.
Although I know we just talked about how we can be close without dwelling on details, I still feel an unfamiliar twinge of guilt over not completely letting Anita in.
It makes me think of all the other ways I’ve kept my supposed best friend at arm’s length.
I wish it wasn’t Nico’s voice that was echoing through my head right now, but I can’t help it.
Man, you and Anita really don’t talk about family things, do you?
His words have been sitting with me ever since he said them, in part because it’s so strange that I never even considered the idea myself. I’ve always been able to handle my shit on my own—I’m proud of that—but I wonder if I could talk things through a bit more.
Anita’s voice shakes me out of the thought. “I’m glad Nico seems well,” she says, as much to herself as to me.
And at that, I can’t help but take the opening.
“Yeah, I never knew anything about your cousin Lorena,” I venture. “I always assumed if one person was expected to stay and take over for Gia, it would’ve been you.”
But Anita doesn’t have a second to respond before Emilia comes back to her perch at the counter and cuts in.
“Oh, with Lorena that was always going to end badly,” she says, inserting herself seamlessly back into the conversation as though she never left.
“That girl had no idea what she wanted, so she latched onto Gia and then onto Nico. She never knew herself well enough to build her whole life around two good people. It was bound to snap.”
“I think Gia sort of underestimated Lorena,” Anita adds.
“She never pressured me to take over because she always saw my wings were wider; I wasn’t ever going to stay in Manciano.
I think Lorena seemed like she was content here.
And Gia wanted to see that, because she wanted someone in the family to take over for her.
But her life became so small at such a young age.
She got married, she had her role at the restaurant.
Her whole life was laid out, and I think she just freaked. ”
“Pshh,” Emilia says, clearly not on Team Lorena in whatever this story is. “She made her choices and then changed her mind. And didn’t care about taking down two of my favorite people along with her destruction.”
Anita obviously has a softer spot for her cousin because she tilts her head back and forth in thought.
“If it’s not right, it’s not right,” she finally says.
“Gia’s okay. And it seems like Nico’s okay now.
No one would’ve been better off with her staying around when she’d already realized she didn’t want to. ”
“It’s still sad, though,” I say quietly, biting my nails aimlessly and thinking of Nico’s melancholy acceptance. It wasn’t her fault.
“It is sad,” Anita agrees. “But people heal. When you’re dealing with the entire trajectory of your life, you have to be honest. Ends are also beginnings. So, it’s the way it was supposed to be.”
“Yeah, that’s fair,” Emilia finally agrees. “Some Band-Aids are harder to rip off, but it doesn’t mean we should leave them on forever.”
“What about my addiction to the Belpagna gelato?” Anita asks with a smirk. “Can that be healed in some way at the moment?”
And with a roll of her eyes, Emilia takes the cue and goes to get us all scoops of Italian perfection.