Page 66 of Better Than Gelato
“Right this way, madame.” I say, leading her to a chair in the kitchen. I’m trying for a French accent, but it’s hard in Italian.
“Do I have to?” she asks in a whiny voice.
“Yes.” I wrap a towel around her shoulders and roll up her pant legs. When I move her feet into a pot of hot water she yelps, “That’s our spaghetti pot!”
“Well, tonight the spaghetti pot is the feet pot.” Another tiny smile graces her face. I squirt some body wash in so it’s bubbly and smells nice.
“Now, tell me, Madame Isa, would you rather have smashed avocado on your face or mayonnaise in your hair?”
She lets out a surprised sound. “Avocado on my face?” she asks.
“Excellent choice.” Before she can argue, I start spreading on a thick layer of mashed up avocado. I make a big show of licking my fingers, which makes her giggle.
“You look gorgeously green. Now it’s time for mayonnaise.” She looks like she’s about to resist, so I move fast, spooning out generous globs of mayonnaise and slathering it into her hair. I work from the roots all the way down to the tips.
“Now, Madame Isa, which color would you like for your fingers and toes?” I hold up a bottle of red nail polish and a bottle of pink.
“Pink,” she says quickly. And then adds in a pouting tone, “I guess.”
I paint her tiny fingernails bubblegum pink.
“Now for this next part it’s very important that you close your eyes,” I say.
“Why?”
“So you can relax. Relaxing is very important.”
Isa closes her eyes. I dash into my room and get my camera then dash back.
“Now if you hear a clicking sound, that’s just the sound of your foot bath bubbling. Not the sound of a camera. Your sweet nanny would never take a picture of you with a green face like an exotic lizard.”
Her eyes fly open just as I snap the picture. “No,” she yells, reaching for the camera. I snap two more.
Her mortified face suddenly turns calm.
“You should take a picture of both of us, so we can remember this special night.”
“Great idea,” I set the timer and place the camera on the counter across from us. Then I squeeze in next to Isa and crouch so our faces are level.
On the second beep, Isa darts in fast as lightning and smushes her messy face all over mine. The camera flashes and captures my open mouth and surprised eyes and green face.
“You tricked me!” I holler.
Isa cackles with delight.
I turn her chair around so her back is to the kitchen sink. I use a washcloth to clean the avocado from her face and then tip her head back and pour cups of warm water over her hair. It feels thick and slimy, but as I rinse, it gets softer and softer. By the time it’s all clean, it runs over my fingers like silk.
While Isa watches a TV show about kids who can travel through space, I whip us up a delicious pasta with fresh tomatoes and mozzarella.
“I’m not that hungry,” she says when we’re seated at the table.
“That’s okay,” I reply. “Just eat what you feel like. It’s not as good as your dad’s, but I did my best.”
Isa’s eyes fill with tears and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Hey. Am I still pretending nothing is wrong?” I ask. “That I don’t notice those tears?”
She nods. “You definitely don’t notice those.”
