Page 88 of Say It Isn't So

“Good.”

* * *

Knox

Bianca and I fell into an easy conversation as we waited for our order to be taken and then again when we waited for the lobster from our multi-course tasting menu to be served. And I was happy to report that we did not talk about either of those people we were trying not to talk about.

We did, however, talk about lobster. And at the very mention of it, Bianca smiled and placed a hand over her mouth, clearly amused by something.

It wasn’t long before she broke out into a full laugh, but she quickly waved a hand in front of her face to try to get serious. “Okay, so when I was little, my nonna was taking care of me. I don’t remember why. I think I was sick or something and had to stay home from school and she was the only one who could watch me. Anyway, she was cooking lobsters for my nonno and some of their neighbors.” By way of explanation, she spoke with her hands as she told the story—“They always made an abundance of food and gave the leftovers to their neighbors. Meatballs, lasagna, cookies, the list goes on.”

She took a second, closed her eyes and groaned, placing her thumb to her index finger and holding them over her lips as she blew a kiss. “Her Italian butter cookies were mouthwatering.”

“Butter cookies? I’ve never heard of them.”

She held a hand to her chest and gasped. “What? You must have. The stores all over the city sell them premade in boxes at the holiday time. They have nothing on my nonna’s, but that’s besides the point. She used to make an assortment of them. Some were topped with candied cherries, others she dipped in melted chocolate and before the chocolate set she’d add colored sprinkles. Let me tell you, they were to die for.” Moaning now, she continued, grabbing my hand with both of her hands, her eyes going wide. “But my absolute favorite version of her butter cookies were the ones she’d dusted in powdered sugar. They were everything.”

I smiled, loving how her whole face lit up when she talked about her family. It was so obvious that family really meant something to Bianca and the Morellis. It wasn’t just for show, they really were close and loved each other, something I think we all could’ve used more of in our lives. My family, on the other hand, was very different. But I didn’t want to get swept up in all that. “So butter cookies are your favorite?” I asked. I’d have to keep that in mind.

She pulled her hands back to her, placing them in her lap. “Oh, goodness no!”Never mind then.“Butter cookies are Maria’s favorite. No, no, no, really my favorite are rainbow cookies. Each cookie looks like a little slice of cake with equal parts red, white, and green almond-flavored layers. In the middle of each layer is a tart raspberry jam and then it’s finished off with a chocolate coating. The colors are the result of food coloring, of course, but it’s beautiful and delicious and moist,” she said, closing her eyes and rolling her lips.

God, she just said moist and closed her eyes. What’s she trying to do to me? Focus, Knox. This is important to Bianca and thus important to me.

“Fun fact: the recipe was actually made by an Italian immigrant in New York. I think they dyed it for the colors of their country’s flag. Anyway, we have them every year around Easter and that’s it. It’s like a novelty for us.”

“Why Easter?”

She furrowed her brows and looked upward for a moment before answering, “I’m honestly not sure.”

We both chuckled as the waiter arrived with our lobster and her eyes grew wide like saucers again, a smile crossing her face.

“All right, I have to hear that lobster story,” I said finally as the waiter walked away.

Beaming, she leaned forward, like she was prepared to let me in on some big secret.

I didn’t think I would ever stop loving her expressions, especially the look of pure joy on her face. And I realized, in that moment, I wanted to make sure Bianca always looked as happy as this. That the sparkle in her eyes never went away. If it meant listening to thousands of stories about her family memories, then I’d sit back and listen.

* * *

Bianca

When I was done telling the story of the lobster and my nonna, Knox’s eyes looked like they were going to bulge out of his head. “That sounds frightening.”

I laughed, taking a bite of my lobster. I swallowed before replying, “Honestly, I’ve told the story so many times, I’ll never get sick of seeing the look on people’s faces when I do.” My sisters probably hated it, though, because they could recite it, too, for how many times I had repeated it.

Knox’s eyes grew wide again. “The look is warranted. You just told me that the lobsters were alive and they were trying to crawl out of the pot, but your nonna, who was obviously as tough as nails, hit them with a wooden spoon and cursed at them in Italian. Did I miss anything?”

I held up a hand for affect, mimicking my memory of her with the wooden spoon and kept my voice low as I chanted, “Scendere! Scendere! Scendere!” hoping I wasn’t drawing the attention of other diners around us.

He leaned back in his chair, straightening his back. “Yeah, I got that the first time.” Then he asked, “What does that mean, though?”

“Get down.”

He laughed. “Fitting.” Then he nodded slowly, taking it all in. “All right, so it’s safe to say we know where you get your spitfire nature from.”

“That’s one of the nicest things you could’ve ever said to me. Honestly, I looked up to her and probably always will. Even though she’s gone, it’s like she’s still here with me sometimes. When she lost my nonno she was different, less sociable, though. So toward the end, I missed her before she was even really gone.”

Without hesitation, he said what he’d said once before, “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

---