Page 50 of I Think Olive You

“And then what happened?”

She hands me the photo, turning away to pull a few potatoes out of a now-cooling pot with a pair of tongs. It feels so strange to me that we’re doing this here. My past is being unfurled before me in a cozy Italian kitchen. Chiara’s little ears are probably nearby and about to be my undoing.

“Where’s Chiara?”

Isabella laughs, a harsh sound. “She is helping Patrizia with a litter of kittens they found near the farmhouse. Don’t worry. Your secrets stay in this room.”

“I know I don’t deserve that, but thank you anyway.”

Isabella shrugs as if to say it’s a stupid choice but it’s mine to make.

“What happened to them?” I repeat.

Isabella points at the photograph, to the woman’s face.

“Young love. Stupidity.” The words are filled with venom and I take a closer look at her face. I find none of Giuliana in her.

“Not their mother?”

“No, thank God.” She says it with such vehemence I wonder if there’s more to it. What did the unraveling of these friendships and relationships look like on this side of the world?

“So, she came between them?”

Isabella nods and opens her mouth, no doubt to spew some more angry words, but the front door slams shut in the distance. Isabella’s words are a low rush when she speaks.

“Now you know. No good looking too long at the past. My concern is now. With my granddaughter. What is going on with you and Giuliana?” Isabella hits me with that stare—the one I know she’s perfected over years of being a mom and grandmother.

“She wants to keep things professional, and it’s for the best.”

“But?”

I suck in the aromatic air, my heart constricting in my chest.

“She’s… devastating. There’s no way I’m going to walk out of here and be okay.” It feels good to be able to talk about it—to say the words out loud. I’m not going to go so far as to drop the BIG word, but this is accurate enough.

“Then fix it. Make it work.” Clipped, brokering no argument.

“I can’t, not while I hold the grove hostage. I need to find a lawyer so I can sign it over officially.”

Isabella nods, tapping her finger to her chest as if she’s ready to hook me up with someone, when we hear a voice break through our conversation.

“Sono tornata!” Giuliana shouts from down the hall and my stomach drops. I grab the papers, gathering them into a pile again and clutching them to my chest.

“Give them to me.” Isabella hisses under her breath, hand outstretched. I hesitate for a second but if she’s going to out me it’ll happen with or without these papers. “I’ll bring them to you later, with some more information. For now, you stay. Fix.”

“Isabella, please don’t leave me with her. I don’t know what to do with all this mess inside me,” I plead, dumbly.

She ignores me. The papers are tucked under her arm as she walks toward her granddaughter, and I wait for my world to collapse. No arguing with her, and my respect for her only grows. She’s raised these girls and kept everything together despite loss and grief beyond my comprehension.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have grown up with someone like her around to care?

It’s not as mean as usual, more like a longing that we both share and I can’t help but agree. A grandmother would have been nice; a sister and a stable home where you could rely on everyone, even nicer.

Giuliana enters the kitchen, blinking when she sees me standing there near the ingredients.

“Nonna said…” she trails off, confused at my presence before she collects herself. “Nonna asked me to finish making the focaccia.”

I look down at the counter, at the flour and potato and various other ingredients and my confusion grows. “As far as I know focaccia is a bread, so where does the potato come in?”

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