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Mama! I told you I was cooking tonight.” Mari cocked her head to the side and motioned toward the plate filled with caprese salad. “Cooking? This isn’t cooking. This is slicing and stacking. No oven or stove was involved.” She picked up the platter with both hands and headed up the stairs toward the voices of her family. Luca, her oldest son, clicked his tongue and followed her. The scent of his baked ziti lofted from his hands. One step onto the balcony, and Dante relieved her of the platter, winked, and turned toward the long table that already overflowed with food. “Gio,” Luca called over to his brother. “Give Mama a glass of wine to keep her hands busy.” Mari lifted both of her hands in the air in full Italian animation and said, “What?” Gio slid to her side and placed a glass of something red in her palm. “Mari. Let our children do the work. We deserve to rest.” Rosa, her closest friend, patted the seat beside her on the outdoor couch and scooted to the side. Mari smiled and conceded. This was her favorite day of the month. 2 Sundays, as a rule, had always been a family day. Now with her family completely filled out, she needed to share those Sundays more often than not. But this first Sunday of the month was hers. Luca and his wife, Brooke, lived on the floor above hers. Franny and Leo, her precious grandchildren, were the constant joy in Mari’s daily life. Giovanni, or Gio as they all called him, poured the wine and helped his older brother, Luca, with the food on the table. Gio’s wife, Emma, sat across from Mari with her feet up and five months’ worth of growing babies weighing her down. Mari took the first sip of her wine and imagined what the twins would look like when they were born. According to the doctors, a perfectly matched set of boys would join their family in four months. “How are my grandsons treating you?” Mari asked Emma. She patted her stomach with a grin. “My bladder is a trampoline and sleep is something I did in my twenties.” Mari placed a hand to her chest. “I wish I could do something.” “They will be worth it.” “You’ll have lots of help when they’re born,” Gio said from across the patio. “I will remind you of that,” Emma retorted. Chloe, Mari’s daughter, held Leo on her hip and danced around to the music playing in the background. Rosa leaned closer to Mari. “Anything from them yet?” Chloe and Dante had been married for nearly two years, and as far as Mari and Rosa were concerned, that was too long to wait for a grandchild. Mari, at least, had others to occupy her time and sate her thirst for grandbabies. Rosa, on the other hand, had none. Mari shook her head, and Rosa grumbled. The rapid footfalls tumbling toward her could come from only one source . . . 3 Franny. At ten years old and rapidly reaching eleven, Franny had yet to completely slow down when family was close by. Luca caught his daughter and whispered something in her ear. Franny turned back toward the stairs and disappeared. Brooke passed Luca, only to be caught in his arm, and they shared a brief kiss. A touch to the cheek and a smile. Mari’s heart was full. “Everything is on autopilot at the restaurant,” Salena announced when she walked through the door. Salena was Mari’s honorary daughter, and family by default. She also worked as a part-time manager of the family restaurant on the bottom floor of the building. “Where is my brother?” Emma asked. Salena had married Ryan, Emma’s brother, the previous year. “There’s traffic getting off the Point. He’ll be here.” Salena turned to Gio. “Where’s my wine?” Gio laughed but was quick to take care of her request. “Is this yours?” she asked. “Yes.” Gio and Emma had a vineyard in Temecula and had completed their third harvest the previous fall. The lifelong dream of Mari’s sommelier son was to own his own label, have a wife and a dozen children. Though from the looks of poor Emma pregnant with twins, Gio might have to settle for half a dozen. “Not bad,” Salena teased. Gio wagged a finger in Salena’s direction, but smiled. “Better than ‘not bad,’” he said. Salena nudged her shoulder against his with a grin. Brooke took a seat across from Emma. Mari felt a hand against hers and looked away from her children. “Seems like only yesterday that was us,” Rosa said. “What do you mean?” 4 “Young, in love . . . just starting our lives.” Mari sighed. “We’re not so old.” “Easy for you to say.” “You’re two years older than me.” Brooke began laughing. “You’re both younger than you act,” she said. Mari and Rosa both scoffed at the same time. “Seriously,” Brooke said. “My friend Carmen’s mom just turned fifty-five. She and a group of friends take two trips a year, one cruise and one random trip abroad. About half the women are single, the others happily married . . . or unhappily married, it’s hard to tell. Carmen and I joined them on a five-day trip, and let me tell you . . . these ladies partied like women in college.” “That sounds exhausting,” Mari said. “It might not if you took a little more time for yourself,” Emma suggested. “I have a restaurant to run.” Brooke pinned her with a stare. “Chloe . . . help me out here.” Chloe tore her gaze away from her nephew and glanced at Mari. “I’m with Brooke. You turn fifty-five next month, Mama. You’re not old. And the restaurant runs without you.” “Why does it feel as if you’re turning me out to pasture at the same time you’re telling me I’m not old?” “That’s not what I’m saying, Mama, and you know it. When was the last time you left San Diego?” Chloe asked. “It was before Papa passed.” Just the mention of her late husband put a soft smile to Mari’s face. Her life with Paulo felt like a lifetime ago. “I had a family to take care of. Frivolous time away wasn’t possible.” “Mama, I was seventeen. Gio was just twenty and Luca twenty-three. We weren’t exactly children.” “It’s been almost ten years, right?” Brooke asked. “Since Paulo passed?” “Ten years next month,” Mari said without missing a beat. “He held on until my birthday.” She felt a familiar ache that always accompanied 5his memory. But time had done what time does and softened the pain until it was nothing more than a passing memory. “A forty-five-year-old widow. So young,” Emma said. Mari met her daughter-in-law’s eyes. “We lived a lifetime. We were children when we met. Nineteen when we married. I had twenty-five wonderful years with Paulo. I’m thankful every day we met when we did or we would have missed out on so much.” Chloe handed Leo to Brooke and moved to sit on the arm of the outdoor couch by Mari. Leo took that moment to mumble “Nonna” as his little arms reached toward her. Mari sat her wineglass down and lifted her arms toward her grandson. Brooke reached across the table and handed him over. Leo instantly placed his hand on Mari’s face, his tiny fingers slipping into her mouth. “Papa would have wanted you to go out and live a little,” Chloe told her. “I live every day.” Mari smiled at Leo and bounced her knee. “Don’t I?” “I think your daughter has a point,” Rosa said. “Maybe we should find a group of women our age to travel with.” “And go where?” Mari asked, somewhat tired of the conversation. “Anywhere. We’ve raised our children, sacrificed for them.” Rosa sipped her wine and looked off as if already on a vacation. “Dinner is ready,” Luca called from the table. Mari placed a finger on Leo’s nose. “Saved by your papa.” They migrated to the table, where Mari took her place at one end while Luca took the other. Before she knew it, plates were passed, and everyone seemed to be talking at once. God, she loved her family. Every loud one of them.
