Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
The next day, I left my grandparents’ table dangerously stuffed, but I was beginning to get used to it. After several courses, I’d tried to say no to the zucca in agrodolce . I shook my head politely but caught my grandfather’s disapproving look. He stared at me in warning, as if rejecting any part of my grandmother’s cooking would be a personal insult. After the debacle at the fish market, I smiled weakly and accepted the food on my plate.
It was delicious. The thinly sliced pumpkin was seasoned in a sauce that had a sweet-and-sour element, sprinkled with mint. I caught my grandfather’s nod and relaxed. I was becoming more adventurous in my palate and was writing about my new experiences in my journal. Quint teased me that he was going to take me on a food quest where he showed me every local specialty I’d been missing.
I laughed but I was a bit scared. I’d learned Sicilians really liked to cook with organs. It was a taste I wanted to avoid.
I watched Carmella and Quint be enfolded easily into my family’s arms and marveled at the power dynamics of connection. People might not have a lot of money here, but they were rich in ways I never imagined. There was always someone to welcome them, to touch and hug and listen. Even the fights were part of communication, as I became more familiar with the shouting and frantic hand gestures that only faded minutes later with a gruff humph, eye roll, or frown. Then the argument was officially over, and I waited for the next explosion.
My family was comfortable with their feelings, including outbursts. I’d never felt as if I had to hide my true self from my parents, but in my work, I’d valued what the world saw on the surface. Here, I’d begun to question whether any of my reservations had mattered. Who cared if there were cracks in my armor? Who cared if thousands of random people followed me if they didn’t know the real messy stuff I never shared? I’d believed I was helping, but now I knew it was a ruse—something I told myself, to feel good about fame and wanting more of it.
My ego had been fed. Not my soul.
Yet I’d begun to find hidden pieces of myself here I hadn’t known existed. By sharing a meal. Taking a walk. Writing what interested me rather than to make a point. Sitting in the sun and daydreaming.
How did doing nothing make me feel more productive than I had in ages?
Quint appeared by my side. I’d been drying dishes but evidently had stopped to stare off into the distance, lost in my thoughts. “What takes you away from here?” he asked, gaze curious. “You have a look on your face I’ve never seen.”
Surprised he studied me that deeply, I smiled. “Comparing this life to the one back home. I’m figuring stuff out. What I want and what I don’t.”
“Me, too.”
I loved the creases around his eyes when he grinned. I tried not to look at his mouth but kept replaying the silky feel of his beard against my cheeks when he’d kissed me. “Oh. Quint—”
I didn’t know what I was about to say—his name alone was a harmony on my tongue—but suddenly my grandfather stormed up behind us and gave us his very familiar dark look. He said something in Italian to Quint, then turned to me. “Let us walk.”
I blinked. Quint took the dish I’d been drying. “Go ahead. I’ll finish up.”
I felt the heavy gaze of my grandmother on us as we walked outside together.
We’d definitely gotten closer in the past week, but it was still a tentative dance between us as we tried to figure each other out. He still intimidated me, and I obviously still irritated him with my behavior. Now he seemed mad at Quint, which was distressing. Had I done something wrong by flirting with him? Was my grandfather pissed that his new granddaughter was trying to date a local? Or did he think I was like a…harlot?
God, I was such an idiot. I didn’t think anyone used the word harlot anymore, even my grandfather.
As usual, he didn’t speak for a while. I slowed my pace, and we headed toward the town square. The streets were quiet. After lunch, many stayed indoors, closed businesses, and relaxed or napped. The town would pick up again in an hour or two for the second half of their day, buzzing with activity.
I decided to break the silence since I had no idea what he wanted to talk about. “I found a dress for the wedding. I went shopping with Catena and Teresa.”
A pause. “What does it look like?”
“It’s lace and a really pretty rose color. We had fun. They helped me pick out jewelry, too.”
He nodded. His shoes scraped against the pavement. The sun was hot, but he still wore a formal button-down shirt with long pants and loafers. His derby-type cap was perched low on his head. We passed another gentleman sitting on the steps, smoking a cigar. He called out a greeting, which we both responded to. “That is good. I am glad you are spending time with i tuoi cugini .”
“Me, too. I went to the fish market yesterday to help out. I wanted to surprise them by buying the seafood for Bar Sciacca.”
“How is Antonio? Did he take care of you?”
I winced. “I had a problem.” I launched into the story, surprised when I saw the little grin spread across his face.
“You did not know. It is good Antonio forgave. Catena and Theo would have been banned.”
I relaxed and began to chat more. I told him about my walks in the morning and writing in my journal. He asked about my book, and I shared that my publisher had delayed publication and that I was relieved. I had no idea if I bored him, but he seemed to listen intently, nodding. Warmth washed through me at his full attention.
We got to the square and sat down on the bench. A few kids ran around us, playing. Some men, also smoking, sat in small groups, acknowledging us with a nod. Buildings encircled the space, a display of peeling paint and architectural beauty in fading colors. A fountain spurted out water, the sculpture cracked at the top. Flowers burst from balconies. The echo of Italian drifted in the air from houses with doors flung wide open.
“What else did you do this week?”
“Quint took me to the beach.” I launched into the details of our day but left out the kiss. “I was happy to meet Carmella. He said they usually join you for dinner, but he wanted me to have time alone with all of you until I was comfortable.”
“Quint is a good man. He treats you well, no?”
“ Sì. Very well.”
“And you like him.”
Holy crap, was my grandfather asking about my intentions? Immediately, my skin prickled and I gave a quick scratch. Did he think Quint was too good for me? Did he want me to leave him alone? I bit my lip and considered my answer. “ Sì? He is—he is only being nice. To take me places. To make me feel comfortable.” When my grandfather didn’t answer, I struggled to translate in Italian so he would understand. I didn’t want to upset him if I’d done another thing he disapproved of.
His rough hand patted mine. “ Bene, bene. I am glad. He took care of Carmella when his mamma died. He helps Catena and Teodoro. Quint is a good man,” he repeated.
I waited. Squirmed in my seat. “Would you be mad if I wanted to…date him? I mean—I’m sure you heard I broke up with Jason. My last boyfriend. I didn’t love him.” I gave a nervous laugh. “I thought I could love him, but didn’t, and I’m not sad about it like I thought I’d be. I’m actually happy. But Quint is very…nice.”
Oh Lord, I couldn’t stop babbling!
He stared at me. I peered into his eyes, which delved deep and assessed my comment. Gray brows lowered. If he said no, how could I disappoint him? After my mother ran off for a man and broke his heart, I had no right to get my grandfather upset. My breath seized in my chest and I scratched the back of my neck again.
“No.”
I stilled. “No?”
“No. I would not be mad. Quint is a good man.” Since he’d said it three times, I imagined Quint had his full approval and respect. And if I was okay to date him, maybe my grandfather held the same emotions for me.
“ Grazie. ”
“Did you like the zucca in agrodolce ?”
I was grateful for the swift change of subject and relaxed. “Yes, I’ve never had pumpkin like that before.”
“You will try pani ca meusa next. It is a Palermo food you will like.”
“Oh, that sounds good. Is it meat?”
“ Sì. Spleen and lungs.”
Horror washed through me. I swallowed hard. “Um, I don’t think I like organs. Maybe I will skip that one.”
In seconds, his face transformed into that of an angry old man. “You will like if you try. Va bene? ”
I wanted to challenge him, but I couldn’t. “ Sì. ”
“We go now.”
I followed him back to the house with one Italian word replaying in my mind.
Merda.