“Woman?” I spoke for the first time, putting the knife down as I met the hairy and rough-looking man in torn jeans, hoodie and slippers, despite being at least forty.
Calliope stood up taller, shooting me a glance as she reached for another fork.
“Gigi, why don’t you help her to her table. This cake might be too big for two people,” she said, placing the third fork in the cake.
Gigi looked up to her like she was crazy. “Share?”
“Yes, share,” Calliope said back to her.
“But you said we only share with family.”
“We are with family, silly.” Calliope pinched her cheeks. “Everyone here comes from where we came from. You can speak Italian with them, too.”
Gigi still looked at her unsure but didn’t argue. She looked at the girl. “Come on.”
But she just stared at her, not understanding, for a moment before having to look to Calliope.
“This is my daughter, Gigi. She wants to eat with you and your brother. Can she?” Calliope signed.
The girl nodded. She looked around and put her cake down quickly before signing back. “I’m Luna.”
“Hi Luna, that’s such a pretty name. Gigi, this is Luna, you two be friends,” she directed.
Gigi frowned. “But I don’t know how to talk to her.”
“You will learn.” Calliope nodded. “I will teach you, too. But first, I have to help Papa. You see, all these people here, they don’t know how to talk to him. So, I have to teach them.”
Gigi looked at Luna and then back to her mom, who nodded once more.
“Luna.” She pointed to the table.
Luna nodded, and they walked through the crowd of the tables, carefully holding their food until they got to the table, where Spider Brows was still sulking.
“Now,” Calliope clasped her hands and turned to the table. “Mr. Bianchi, I apologize. I was ignoring you. What were you saying?”
He folded his hands, glancing around at everyone else, now looking at me. “I said, she don’t want cake.”
“Ridiculous,” Calliope walked over to his table, pulling out a chair. “She was in line. Also, all little girls want cake. I knew a little girl in Sorrento who was allergic to cake and still wanted a small bite.”
“Oh, you’ve sat down. Does my lesson start now? You gonna teach me something, huh? Before you start, let me say this, we aren’t poor. We don’t need charity or y’all to come here to pass out cakes,” he snapped.
From the moment she had sat down, I had already removed my gloves and dropped the knife. I could see the dark circles around the man’s eyes as I came to stand behind her.
“Ah, the big man himself. Ladies and gents, if I end up in a ditch tomorrow, know this is why. Not liking how I’m talking to your new woman? Props to you, this one is cuter—”
“You—”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Calliope cut me off before I could butt in.
He stiffened, looking back at her. “What?”
“Your father passed, recently, correct?”
He swallowed hard. His jaw cracked to the side. “What, y’all keep tabs on us little folks now, too?”
Calliope smiled and looked up to me, her face wholly innocent and polite. “Mr. Marco Bianchi was the plumber and electrician that worked in my neighborhood when I was a kid. I remember we got hit with this nasty blizzard one winter when I was little. And early on Christmas morning, like around 3 a.m. or so, all the power was knocked out. No one could come because of the roads. It was horrible. But the lights came back on by the time people woke up. No one knew Mr. Bianchi had spent hours that night working on it by himself.”
“How…how did you know that?” the man stammered, shock clearly on his face.