Page 123 of Before We're More Than Friends
A minute later, Arielle strolled into the kitchen. Her eyes widened once she took us in. “Are youbothcooking?”
I nodded, stirring everything into the pasta. “Just finishing up.”
She frowned. “How come I wasn’t invited?”
“I just joined in a few minutes ago,” Mom said. “You can still set up the drinks for us.”
“Okay.” Arielle skipped over to the cabinet and took out a box of Italian tea mix.
Mom turned on the music from her phone, and the three of us sang together as we finished up our perfect dinner. When we were done, we set the table and sat down. As always, Mom said a short prayer in Italian before jumping in.
I took a bite of my pasta, happy it didn’t taste terrible. No, it wasn’t as seasoned and sauced up as Mom made it, but it was good for a start and went well with Mom’s garlic bread and Arielle’s tea.
“You did a good job, Raina,” Mom said with a smile. “I’m very proud of you.”
My cheeks warmed as pride welled in my chest. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, I thought it would taste like rubber,” Arielle said.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”
“You know,” Mom said, “I’ve always loved sharing a little bit of Italian culture with you guys, even if it’s Americanized.” She sighed, her eyes drifting off to space. “It reminds me of when I was little.”
“You never taught us how to speak Italian like Nonno taught you,” Arielle said as she sipped her tea. “I kind of want to learn it.”
“Didn’t we take that Italian class in eighth grade?” I asked.
“And it sucked. I don’t want to be graded based on learning a language.” Arielle played with her straw. “I want to have fun with it and pass it on to my kids. Keep the tradition going.”
“I’ve thought about that a few times,” Mom said. “How I haven’t passed on the stuff my parents passed down to me.” Both Nonno and Nonna moved from Italy to America when they were teenagers.
“Why haven’t you?” I asked.
“Well.” Mom sighed. “You know how I was before I metyour dad. Drinking and sleeping around while my parents had their financial issues.”
“You mean sleeping as in going to bed, right?” Arielle asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Um.” Mom’s cheeks turned bright red as she bit her lip.
Arielle gasped. “Mom!”
I failed to hold back a snort.
“I thought you already knew I was a wildcard,” Mom said with a giggle. “But your dad came along and changed so many things. I didn’t have to drink myself sick to numb the pain. He helped me become the woman I wanted to be.” She wiped her glossy eyes. “I wanted to stay in the new version of my life forever. My roots only reminded me of the pain of the past. So when things fell apart with my parents and my own marriage started getting rocky, I went back to numbing myself sick.”
“Mom,” Arielle said, reaching across the table to squeeze Mom’s hands.
“I know.” Mom stared at the table. “And I feel disappointed in myself. I’ve let the people I loved the most down.” She swallowed. “But I’m going to change that. I’m going to embrace the good part of my roots and be there for my family. Though I’m nervous about tomorrow.”
“Me too,” I said, reaching for her hand as well.
She looked up at me, her eyes widening. “So you’re going?”
I nodded, looking down at her hand. Despite being in her mid-forties, Mom’s body had barely aged. Her hands were soft and warm, not a wrinkle in sight.
“Have fun,” Arielle muttered, picking at her pasta like it was made of rubber. “But I still know where I stand.”
Late Sunday morning, I spent longer than I usually did getting ready. Gosh, it was like I was going on a date or something. But what else did I do when I was about to see my dad after the longest we’d ever been apart from each other? Sure, it had only been short of a month since he’d gotten arrested, but so much had changed since then.
