Page 31 of Wish I Were Here
“I’ve only been there a month—” I do my best to ignore the pang in my chest when I remember that I might not make it another month. “But so far it’s been good.” I pause, hesitant to mention the broken elevator or bikes in the mail room in front of Luca’s mother. Aside from his hair in his face and too-infrequent visits, I get the feeling she thinks he can do no wrong. “I’ve met some lovely people.”
“You can’t be referring to my little brother,” Ginny says. “So I assume you mean the older people.”
“Yes. They’re all very…” I remember Mrs. Goodwin’s dance in the lobby and Sal hiking up the stairs. “Colorful.” I lift a shoulder. “Although, the doorman is nice, too.”
“Interesting,” Ginny murmurs again.
Lorraine waves us into the room. “Come in. Sit.”
We settle at the table, and she plunks a plate of cookies in front of us. My stomach growls, but I just gulped down an entire chocolate peanut butter smoothie, and I’m not sure a thumbprint cookie should be my next meal.
“So, have you rented out Grandpa’s apartment yet?” Ginny calls over her shoulder as she gives the pot on the stove another stir.
“I did,” Luca says. “A while ago.”
There’s something clipped about his tone that has my gaze swinging in his direction. A few weeks ago, he told me that the Lincoln Town Car belonged to his grandpa. I remember the affection in his voice when he mentioned it and how I hoped that his grandpa had just upgraded to a new car. But now he’s rented out the older man’s apartment, too. Is it too much to hope that it’s because his grandpa found a nice condo in Florida? “I didn’t know your grandpa used to live in the DeGreco.”
“Yeah.” Luca lifts a cookie from the plate and then sets it down again. “Until he died last year.”
“I’m so sorry.” I look around the room. “For all of you.”
“Thank you. He was a good man. Luca had a hard time renting out his place after…” Lorraine waves a hand. “They were close, and it’s hard to move on.”
My gaze settles on Luca. His usually animated eyes have gone dark. I find myself wanting to do or say something to bring that light back. But when I look up, both Lorraine and Ginny are watching me watch him.
After a beat, Lorraine turns back to Luca. “So, you got someone nice in the apartment?”
“Very nice,” Luca says in that same clipped tone.
“Anyway… that’s enough about that.” He pushes the plate of cookies in my direction. “We’re here because Catherine needs to eat something.”
“That’s not why—” But I stop talking when my stomachgrowls again. It’s late afternoon, and that smoothie is starting to slosh around. Whatever is on the stove smells delicious. I grab a cookie and stuff it in my mouth.
“Of course you’ll eat something,” Lorraine says, swinging open a dark wood cabinet near the sink and taking down two vintage white bowls with a blue flower print. She hands them to Ginny, who ladles in whatever is in the pot. Then Lorraine carries them to the table and sets them in front of Luca and me. A heavenly garlic and herb scent wafts toward me. I look down to find white beans and small bits of pasta floating in tomato broth.
“This looks amazing.” I’m already reaching for the spoon.
“It’s just a little pasta fazool,” Lorraine says, placing a hunk of crusty white bread next to each of our bowls.
“Pasta—what?”
Luca’s lips curve. “Pasta fazool.”
I take a bite and my eyes involuntarily close as I savor it. “Well, whatever you call it—it’s delicious.”
Lorraine pats me on the arm in approval.
“What do you do for work, Catherine?” Ginny sits across from us with her own bowl, pushing a pile of mail, a baseball glove, and a coffee mug off to one side. Normally, this kind of clutter stresses me out, but it doesn’t really bother me now. Knowing Luca, it wouldn’t feel right if his childhood home were perfectly organized.
“I’m a—” I take a deep breath. “A mathematics professor.” At least I hope that’s what I am.
“God.” Ginny shakes her head. “Good for you. I hate math.”
At that moment a kid wanders into the kitchen. The owner of the baseball glove, I’m assuming. He’s about thirteen by the thin line of awkward hair that’s popped up on his upper lip and the way his hands and feet look too big for his body. “I hate math, too,” the kid agrees, snatching a cookie from the plate on the table.
“No, you don’t,” Ginny says, swatting at his hand. “Go do your homework.”
“I don’t have any homework; it’s summer vacation.” The kid grabs another cookie and makes a break for the door.
