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“A blue dessert for Blue… right, right, the chef hates you and expresses it with this delicious bowl of yum-yums.” She sing-songs the words, conducting her gleeful melody with the spoon before she digs it into the creamy texture and tastes it.
I stare at the bowl. The presentation is beautiful. But it’s all the memories that panna cotta represents. He remembers my favorite dessert. One that he perfected for me.
My brain and heart both forget what their vital functions are and the world around me disappears for a moment. From the corner of my eye, I see the numbers blinking on my screen, still timing the bill delivery. I tap the red button to stop the countdown and pick up the spoon with trepidation.
I’m afraid to have a taste. Not that I think it’s poisoned for real, but figuratively it might as well be. If seeing the dessert circumvented my brain and heart, leaving me vulnerable, what would the actual flavor do to me? Am I willing to go down that road? There is a good reason I haven’t had panna cotta for seventeen years.
“Oh my God, have a taste. This is divine. Not too sweet, perfectly creamy. Your Massi is a genius.” Mila can’t be more annoying right now.
“He’s notmyMassi,” I bark.
“Sure, keep telling yourself that. Eat the freaking dessert. Give him a chance—”
I glare at her.
“I mean, give it a chance.” She shrugs, the queen of innocence.
I take a spoonful and all the worries materialize. I have no right to feel longing, but I have missed Massi since the day I left all those years ago. The creamy texture carries my mind right into his arms.
All those moments when he made me feel beautiful, worshiped, the most important person in the world. All those moments I loved and was loved. Until I wasn’t.
I wipe at a stupid tear.
“And while we’re on the topic of him hating you, he gave me this a few weeks back. He said you may want to loosen up a bit.” She pushes a card across the table.
Ballroom dancing in Chelsea.
The dam breaks, and I stand up and rush outside. The evening air hits my lungs but there isn’t enough oxygen. I lean forward, supporting myself with my hands on my knees, and I pant, sobbing.
With a gentle touch on my shoulder, Mila helps me stand up. “Not here, darling. Let’s take a walk.” She rushes us away from the entrance to Casa Cassi, holding me, supporting, guiding us among the people while I’m blinded by long-overdue tears.
We find an empty, small kebab joint and she buys two waters, leaving them a twenty to let us sit in the back of the narrow space.
I bawl, the years of pent-up denial resurfacing in bursts of loud hiccups. Mila massages my back and keeps the space safe for my breakdown, staring down any poor passer-by who approaches.
When I have no tears left, I blow my nose and I tell her the story of my first marriage. It takes me what seems like the entire night, but probably it is just minutes. The story of love, pain, regret and guilt, all wrapped up in bouts of tears in the middle of Manhattan in an anonymous bistro with plastic chairs.
When I finish, we sit in silence. Traffic blinks and honks outside, reflecting a kaleidoscope of red, blue and yellow on the linoleum floor. A few people come for takeout, mostly ignoring us.
Telling her the story for the first time in my life, admitting my regrets, renders my limbs weak. I might need to sit here for days before I can move.
I tell her almost all of it, not yet ready to share the biggest secret, but I sense she might have picked up on that one already. If she has she doesn’t push it, and I’m grateful.
“Maybe this is your second chance.” Mila breaks the silence and my heart stops and restarts.
“It’s too late for that.” I sob again, the finality of the situation stabbing through me.
“I disagree, but it’s not a decision for tonight. We left our things at the restaurant. Let me get you a taxi and I’ll go back. Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” She strokes my head and kisses my temple.
“No, I’ll be okay. Thank you for listening.”
“Anytime, darling. Let’s get going.”
She hails me a cab and hugs me, holding me longer than usual. Before I get in, she whispers, “I say this with all my love—you shouldn’t keep him in the dark, Gina.”
* * *
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Mom.” I take a sip of my wine.
