“Yes, I’m fine. Just missed talking to you, that’s all.” I rest my head on the headrest. “How are your olive trees?” I’m teasing, and his deep chuckle is exactly what I expected as a response.
“They are growing. I think we have a good crop this year.”
“As good as the year you met me?” I smile as his answering laugh is even louder this time.
“That was the best year, piccola mia. Never to be beat. The year I met you was the year the heavens shined down. Wine was never sweeter, olives were never richer. And I was never happier.”
My eyes start to feel damp at the love in his voice. “Not everyone would have been as quick to welcome a surprise adult child as you were.”
“They would be idiots not to,” he replies sharply. “You are a gift, Isabelle. The biggest surprise and the biggest blessing. We missed many years together, but we have many more to come.”
“I love you, Dad.” I sniff, swiping away a tear.
“Oh my beautiful girl, why you sad?” he croons, and I let out a shaky laugh.
“I’m not sad. Just…” God, how do I explain it? The guilt over not seeing Mom as often as I want to is always a struggle when we visit. But this trip it seems to be hitting even harder.
Perhaps because it’s not only Mom that I’ll miss when I go back this time.
“Just missing you,” I finish lamely. It’s half of an answer, but Dad doesn’t seem to pick up on that. “But you can tell Nonna that Mom and I found a local trattoria that makes tiramisu almost as good as hers.”
“Ah, she will not like that,” he says fondly. “I will tell her you find good food. But not the tiramisu. She is very secret of that recipe, you know.”
“That’s true. Okay, don’t tell her that part. But I should go, I’m actually at the restaurant now, the chef Gianni and I are going to cook together.”
“Bene, bene. You need the kitchen. It is your soul.”
I nod, even though I know he can’t see me.
“You call me again if you need to talk, yes? I can tell your heart is not completely happy, piccola mia.”
“I will,” I half whisper, swiping away another dang tear. “But I promise, I’m fine. A little homesick is all.”
“Okay. Ti amo, Isabelle.”
“Ti amo, Dad.”
We end the call, and after pulling myself together for a minute, I pocket my phone and climb out of my car, grabbing the bag of ingredients from the back seat as I try to shake off my melancholic thoughts. It does no good to wish my family didn’t live on opposite sides of the world.
The back door to Piatti’s swings open, and Paul gestures at me with a wide smile.
“Hey Isabelle, good to see you. Maybe now Gianni will stop ranting about his missing cheese.”
“You are asking me to substitute Asiago for pecorino and they are not the same, Paul!” Gianni’s voice booms from the depths of the kitchen.
I giggle as Paul rolls his eyes, ushering me in as he shouts back a response. “I offered to go to the store, you said no!”
Gianni appears, his black apron already dusted with flour. “Because you do not understand the nuances of a good cheese,mi amor. No, we will adapt.” He turns to me, pressing a kiss to each of my cheeks in turn. “Bella. You’re here. I hope you’re hungry.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the kitchen where one surface is already filled with an array of dishes.
“Gianni, what is this?” I say. “I thought we were cooking for each other.”
He waves me off. “Yes, we are. I am very excited to try your risotto. But I wanted to test some other recipes, and your visit was the perfect excuse. Even Paul could not argue it was a good reason to spend the day in the kitchen.”
Paul wraps his arms around Gianni’s waist, pressing a kiss to the other man’s cheek. “And that’s different from every other day how, exactly? Now, why don’t you write down exactly what kind of cheese you want and where I should go. I promise to send you a photo before I buy it so you can confirm.”
I see Gianni’s smile as he turns in Paul’s arms and kisses his lips softly. And my heart pangs. Their love is what romance books are written about.
“Thank you,mi amor. You are an angel. Even if you have terrible taste in cheese.”
