Page 9 of Better Than Gelato
“The pizza here is fine,” Paolo says. “But if you want the best, you have to go down south. Sicilia has the greatest food you will ever eat.”
“Oh really? What is the best dish?” I ask.
Paolo waves his hands around as if that’s a supremely stupid question because there are so many delicious dishes it would be impossible to decide.
“My grandmother’s lasagna,” he finally says. “It’s a recipe handed down for five generations. When my great-grandparents had to leave their village during World War II, they saved a family photo album and that recipe.”
When I ask him to describe it, there are less words and more hand movements. And facial expressions that border on indecent.
I want to wrap Paolo up and send him to California so Maggie can see him. The way he dresses, the way he talks, the way he moves his hands and eyebrows and shoulders, it’s like the country of Italy perfectly embodied in one person.
“How did all of you meet?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s been so long, who can say?” Paolo says.
“I can,” Diego says. “The first time you met me you told me that my scarf was tied incorrectly.”
“Indeed it was,” Paolo says. “No thanks needed for helping you out with that issue.”
“What you call help, I call public ridicule,” Diego says, and I can see that it’s still a tender point.
“But look how much better you wear scarves now!” Paolo retorts. “It’s what a true friend does.”
“It’s a true friend when you’ve known them for more than an hour. It’s a pretentious snob when you’ve known them for less than an hour.”
“Hmm, that hour makes a big difference. What if your scarf had been bothering me for more than an hour, but I only mentioned it less than an hour after introducing myself?”
“We met at church,” Carmen interjects before Diego’s head can explode. “This little church started a program to get young adults into community service. It only lasted two years, but we all kept hanging out together on Mondays and Wednesdays. Before Christie went back home—that was the nanny before you—she made us promise that we would call the new nanny and invite her to hang out with us.”
“Did Christie ever mention Isabella, the little girl I’m nannying?” I ask.
Carmen’s eyebrows go up, and she flashes Valentina a look. There’s an awkward pause.
“Christie said she could be challenging sometimes,” Valentina says.
“That child is a monster,” Paolo says matter-of-factly. “The last two nannies made that crystal clear.”
Well. That is unfortunate news.
“Jake, how did you meet up with this group?” I ask. He looks at me and shakes his head.
“We watched him get robbed,” Diego says.
My mouth falls open.
“Our whole group was hanging out on the steps,” Carmen says, “and we saw these two little girls distract Jake while a little boy grabbed his wallet from his back pocket.”
“Oh no! They took all your money?”
Jake opens his mouth to respond, but Paolo doesn’t give him the chance.
“That’s the best part!” Paolo says. “Apparently, our man Jake had seen the little hooligans at the edge of the piazza, figured he’d be the most likely target, and stashed his money, ID and credit cards in his backpack before he ever crossed the piazza.”
“So, they didn’t take your money?” I ask.
Paolo jumps in before Jake can respond. “This guyleft money in his walletfor those thieving hooligans!”
Jake shrugs. “Kids gotta eat.”
