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"Go on," Nonna points in the direction of the other doorway, "fetch us the coffee, please."
He sniffs, seems like he’s going to refuse, then turns and marches away.
"Don’t forget my brioche," she calls after him, "and my cannoli."
He raises his fist with the index and little finger extended and makes a jabbing motion with it over his shoulder as he marches away. What the— Did he just do what I think he did? I turn to Nonna, who beckons me over.
I walk over to stand in front of her. "Is that your..."
"Butler, companion, friend, servant." Nonna raises a shoulder. "Gino has been with me for more than fifty years. His father served my father, and Gino joined my household when I was ten-years-old. He came with me to my husband’s house after I got married and helped raise my son. He even came with me to LA when I moved there with my grandsons."
"So, you’ve known each other for a long time then."
"Maybe too long." Nonna blows out a breath. "He’s getting cranky in his old age, and clearly, he doesn’t have the patience he once had. But," she shrugs, "he’s part of my past, and it seems cruel to let go of him when we’re both nearing the ends of our journeys."
"You’re hardly nearing the end, Nonna," I murmur. "From what I can see, you are very much in charge of your destiny."
"But appearances can be deceptive, can they not?" She tilts her head.
I frown, open my mouth to ask a question, but she nods toward the armchair in front of her. "Sit down, you’re giving me a crick in the neck," she commands.
I walk over and sink into the armchair, and place my bag by my side.
"So, you wanted to see me about the Christmas getaway?"
I glance up at her. "Uh, how did you guess?"
"Why else would my future granddaughter-in-law want to see me?"
"Maybe I just wanted to spend time with you?" I blink rapidly.
She snorts. "Not even Gino, here, would want to spend time with me of his own volition. And I count him among my closest friends… Or enemies, as the case may be. There is only a small line dividing friendship from enmity after all, don’t you agree?"
"Um…" How the hell do I react to that statement, anyway? Before I can speak, Gino enters with a tray bearing an espresso maker and two tiny espresso cups in their saucers. Whew! Saved by the coffee, as it were. Gino places the tray on the coffee table. On it, there are also two tiny shot glasses filled with a cloudy liquid, a bowl of sugar, a plate of brioches, another of cannoli, and a third filled with what looks like biscotti. "Don’t expect me to pour it for you," he snaps.
I gape. Did he just say that? Surely, Nonna will put him in his place now? But she simply points at the doorway. "You may leave now, old man."
"You’re no spring chicken yourself." He snorts as he heads out of the room.
"Wow," I breathe, "the two of you sure do keep each other entertained."
She arches an eyebrow at me. "We’re both of an age where our shared past outweighs the fact that we actually cannot stand the sight of each other. Overfamiliarity," she thrusts out her chin in a very Italian gesture, "it’s the bane of most families, and not even I have been spared from it."
"He’s more than just a servant?"
"He’s family, I suppose ... but not really. There’s still a line that separates us, for he does come from a background that has been devoted to serving the Sovranos for generations. After his wife and my husband died, we became reluctant companions to each other. Now. I tolerate him because, well, it’s hard to find good hired help these days."
"So, he’s a servant?"
"Sometimes, and sometimes he’s my companion, but you’re not here to talk about that, are you?"
Nonna pours the espresso.
I reach for my cup and sip from it. "I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming Christmas getaway," I remind her.
"Hmm…" She reaches for her own cup of espresso and takes a sip.
The silence stretches for a minute, then another.
