The Woman from the Past (Grassi Framily)

“Of course. Work is important,” Giulia said, giving her a soft smile. “Stop by later. I will save you a plate.”

“Love you, Gigi,” Lettie said, pressing a kiss to Massimo’s mother’s cheek before rushing off.

“Ma, don’t,” Valley said as soon as Lettie was gone.

“She works too hard,” Giulia said, getting an exasperated sigh from Valley as she tossed some lettuce into the biggest salad bowl I’d ever seen in my life.

“She loves her work,” Valley insisted.

“Yes, that is good. Having a reason to get up and get going each day is important. But she could have a husband and children to get up for too, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I don’t have a husband and children,” Valley reminded her.

“You have time. He has to be right. And you always choose wrong.”

It was just like that over the next hour as more women filed in and out, picking up tasks without being asked or told to, with the comfort that came with familiarity, and I found myself watching it with a strange tightening sensation in my chest.

“You okay?” Massimo asked, coming up behind me to hand me a glass of wine.

“Yes. They’re lovely. Everyone is lovely.”

“Then why do you sound so sad?” he asked, his hands moving to my shoulders, rubbing gently.

“I’m not sad. I mean… I’m not sad now. I’m sad that I didn’t get to grow up in a family like this. And that Nicky didn’t get to grow up in a family like this.”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Giulia said, making me realize that their conversation had ground to a halt, and they’d been listening to us instead. “We’re here for you now. And that brother of yours. I told Massimo to invite him. We want to meet him too.”

“You will,” Massimo said, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Nicky just needed some time to decompress. I’m gonna borrow Cammie for a minute,” he said, wrapping an arm around me, and leading me out onto the wrap-around porch. “You looked like you needed some air.”

“I didn’t. Really,” I insisted. “They’ve all been so nice. I just couldn’t help but think how nice it must have been to grow up around all that love.”

“It was. I’m sorry you didn’t get that. You deserved it too.”

“I know it’s a little early to say this, but it would be nice if my kids could get that.”

“Our,” he corrected. “Our kids.”

Yes, our kids.

“I hate to say it,” I told him, leaning my head into his shoulder. “But I’m starting to think your mom was right about your kitchen.”

Massimo - 6 months

“Absolutely not,” I said, shaking my head at Nicky as we walked around the store.

“Because of my sister?” he asked, just barely resisting the urge to sigh.

“Partly, yes,” I admitted. “But I also don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Because I’m not Italian?” he asked.

“Because you don’t have to do it,” I told him. “I get that it is what is most comfortable because it was the first real job you ever had, but you don’t have to do it.”

“What if I want to?”

“Listen, you’re young, and—“

“Close to August’s age.”