I was just… Mom.
And I was upset that my only daughter maybe didn’t think that was enough of something to be.
“Hey, she likes making pasta,” Massimo said, giving me a squeeze. “She’s always right there in the thick of it when you are cooking.
“She just wants some adventure. And, whether you’d signed up for it or not, you had your adventure back when you were her age,” he reminded me. “All that crazy was what made you appreciate the simpler things in life. She needs the chance to come to those conclusions too.”
That was a pretty fair argument, I guess.
“I’m going to worry about her all the time.”
“Baby, you do that already now,” he told me, giving me a warm smile that never failed to melt my heart a bit, even after all this time.
“That’s true,” I agreed.
“It’s good, though, isn’t it?” he asked. “Says we created something worth worrying about.”
He was right.
It was good.
It was everything I never could have seen coming.
And everything I had ever wanted.
“Yeah,” I agreed, resting my head on his chest. “It’s good.”