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Timeo comes up and extends his hand as well. "Nice to meet you," he says.
I giggle but Sergio smacks him on the shoulder with a force that would make a lesser man stumble. Timeo only laughs.
"You know her, asshole."
"I know, I know,” Timeo says. "I'm just trying to be polite, okay?"
They talk about the North End, and a barbershop run by guys they call “the three Tonies.” They talk about Tuscany and France and Sergio tells them about a recent trip to Paris.
An adorably plump, much older woman dressed completely in black stands up. Unlike the rest of the people here, she's under five feet tall fully standing. That doesn't mean that she doesn't have an imposing presence. The notorious Nonna.
I watch Sergio's mother take in the whole scene with a pinched look. I know that a woman who's buried both her husband and a son has battle scars, but it doesn't make me any more eager to get close to her. "Time to sit down to dinner."
I imagine the future… with Sergio.
I imagine myself holding a baby.
But then I see this woman sitting to the side and imagine what she’d be like as a mother-in-law.
I shiver.
Would she ever accept someone like me?
Her makeup is impeccable, her short hair styled nicely. She's fit and well dressed and wears more jewelry than I’ve ever seen anyone wear before. When she walks past me, I'm hit with a wave of her perfume that smells expensive and elegant.
We all sit and eat the delicious meal, but I’m still feeling out of place when Sergio’s mother announces it’s time for dessert.
Before I can stew any further, Nonna returns with a large platter piled high with pastries and cake.
Timeo gives a hoot. "Tell me that’s your tiramisu."
“Mmmm. Mangia!” she says triumphantly.
We don’t need to be told twice. We feast on delicate, creamy tiramisu and fresh cannoli dusted in powdered sugar, golden cookies bedecked with slivered almonds, and layered pastry so tender it melts in your mouth.
Sergio declines when offered a platter of cookies, shaking his head.
Timeo snorts and takes two. “Sergio doesn’t eat sugar. Says it messes with his girlish figure.”
I watch them tease and joke with each other. I listen to them share memories. There's a longing in my heart, and even though I know his family is far from perfect, it’s… family. Flaws and warts and all. There's a camaraderie here I haven't experienced. Even this home speaks of it—the pictures of the boys when they were younger and a girl that I can only assume is their sister Vivia, all lined up in frames on the mantle. In the distance I see pictures of them on the wall at the end of the room, dressed in satiny graduation caps and gowns, and a picture of an older man who must've been their father.
There's comfort here. Belonging.
When Sergio gets a call that means we have to go, I don’t want to leave but stand anyway, ready to follow him.
And then Tosca is giving me a hug, and Nonna kisses my cheek, Marialena squeezing me so hard I can't breathe. Even Timeo gives me a little wave and smile.
Sergio’s mother is nowhere to be found.
But as we’re leaving, I see her standing in the doorway. She has what must be her sixth glass of wine in her hand. Her eyes are watery and unfocused as she watches us leave.
She’d be pretty if she smiled.
Holding my gaze, she mutters, "Tosca, I hear there's a wedding we need to plan." Turning on her heel, she leaves.
Sergio grits his teeth and looks like he wants to smash something.
What on earth is that all about?
