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“She says you were like a brother to him,” I tell Jude quietly.
Jude swallows, his eyes still on Nonna.
“I know,” he says.
And somehow, I think she understands him anyway.
She pats his cheek one last time before releasing him, and then, apparently satisfied that we've all been properly claimed, she turns around and begins what ends up being the longest round of introductions of my entire life.
There are Damiano's aunts and uncles, cousins, second cousins, his cousins' children, and several people whose exact connection to the family I lose somewhere around introduction number twelve.
Everyone is related to him.
Somehow.
Every single one of them hugs me. Most tell me how sorry they are. A few hold on a little longer, and I find myself looking into eyes that remind me of Damiano's, hearing familiar expressions and gestures that make my chest tighten unexpectedly.
By the time we reach the last person, I'm not entirely sure I could repeat anyone's name.
He's a young man, maybe thirty, with Damiano's eyes and nose, although his hair is lighter and his smile is different.
For a second, the resemblance catches me off guard.
Then I notice he's barely looking at me.
He's staring at Chiara.
And Chiara, who usually has something sarcastic to say about absolutely everything, is smiling at him like she's forgotten the rest of us exist.
“Chiara, this is Matteo,” I say, hoping I've remembered his name correctly.
“Piacere,” she says.
He answers in Italian, and whatever he says makes her laugh.
Not her polite laugh.
Her actual laugh.
Oh.
Well, then.
Within minutes they're talking so quickly I can barely keep up. Matteo gestures toward something beyond the house, Chiara asks a question, and he grins as though she's just made his entire week.
A little while later, I look up to find my sister following him toward a Vespa parked near the end of the street.
“Chiara?”
She turns around.
“We're just going for a ride!”
“Are we pretending you know this man?”
“He's family!” she calls back.
Apparently that's enough.
