Page 168 of Ruin Me Gently

There wasn’t enough. There never was.

Gigi bounced on her heels behind me, already reaching toward the bread rolls.

“Gigi, siediti,” I muttered, stirring the thin sauce, willing it to stretch just one more night.

She groaned but didn’t listen, her dark curls bouncing as she leaned toward the counter again.

Vita smacked her hand away before she could steal a roll. “Aspetta, Gigi!” she snapped.

The kitchen was too small, too hot, too loud. The radio hummed in the background, playing some old song Mamma loved, but it barely cut through the noise of their bickering.

Gigi pouted, rubbing her hand.

Vita rolled her eyes. “We wait for Lassi, stupida.”

I reached for the bag of pasta and dumped in more than I should have.

More starch. More filler. It’d help. Even if it meant I’d have to pick through my own plate later, make sure they had enough before I took my share.

I grabbed three chipped plates from the cupboard and Gigi whined again, kicking the back of my chair like I wasn’t already moving fast enough.

“Finito?” she asked hopefully.

I looked down at the thin sauce, the too-pale pasta, the stale bread.

It would have to be.

“È finito.” It’s done.

I scooped up the first plate, setting it down in front of Gigi without a word.

She beamed, shoving a roll in her mouth.

Vita crossed her arms, eyeing me up. “You’re eating too, right?”

I glanced back at the pot, calculating whether there’d be enough if I took my usual half-portion.

She narrowed her eyes. “Lassi.”

I sighed, grabbing a fork and twirling some spaghetti onto my plate.

It was more than I should’ve taken, but less than I wanted.

“Mangia,” I muttered, flicking her ear as I passed. Eat.

She huffed but took her plate anyway, muttering something under her breath.

By the time Mamma got home, her uniform was wrinkled, her face drawn, exhaustion weighing on her shoulders. She barely made it to the table before she slumped into a chair, taking in the plates, the half-gone bread, the mostly empty pot.

She reached out, brushing a hand over my hair, like she didn’t have the energy for more.

“Grazie per aver tenuto tutto insieme oggi.”

Thanks for holding it all together today.

I just nodded, stabbing at my food, already thinking about how I’d make it stretch tomorrow. Because if I didn’t, who would?

“Ti voglio bene, Lassi.”

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