CHAPTER TWENTY
I eat dinner in thekitchen with Maria. She doesn’t ask about my quick honeymoon or why Stone came home three days before me. She doesn’t comment on my sour mood as I push around the asparagus and salmon on my plate.
“Is there anything special I can make for you this week, Gia?” she asks as she kneads dough.
I watch the steady rhythm of her pressing the heels of her palms into the dough, turning it over, and doing it again. She’s so efficient in the kitchen. We had a live-in cook growing up as well, and Mama used to help her until Lorenzo banned her from consorting with the staff.
I've learned to cook a few things over the years, but with a limited budget and hectic work schedule, my repertoire is limited.
“Will you teach me how to make bread?”
Maria pauses and looks at me with surprise. “You want to learn to make bread?”
I nod. “And manicotti. Maybe some seafood dishes as well.”
She smiles. “I’d love to. If you’re done poking at your dinner, you might as well start now.”
I push my plate aside and go to the sink to wash my hands. I join her in front of the white marble counter.
“Hold on.” She leaves the kitchen and returns shortly with an apron. “We can’t have you mussing up your clothes.”
I want to tell her my ten-dollar shirt and twelve-dollar shorts can weather the storm of a little flour. I don’t say anything and let her tie the apron, liking too much how she mothers me. She can never replace my mother, but she’s a nice stand-in while we’re apart.
“You want to put your weight into it, not that you have much.”
I watch as she goes through the motions, then gives me the mound of dough to work with. I find it therapeutic as I work the dough with my hands. “How do you know when you’ve kneaded it enough?”
Maria taps her temple. “A good baker just knows.”
“Holding those secrets tight, are you?” I tease, bumping her with my hip. “You know what’s missing?”
She furrows her brow as if I’ve insulted her.
“Music. There’s gotta be a state-of-the-art audio system hooked up in this house.”
“Not in here. I have a small portable radio in my room that I can get.”
“Yes. You do that. I’ll talk to Stone about installing something in here.”
She leaves to retrieve her radio and I scan the kitchen. It’s something out of a magazine with its expansive island and stunning cabinetry. The window overlooks the vineyard, and on the other end of the room is a set of glass doors that lead to a patio.
The outdoor built-in grilling system is state of the art, and I wonder how often Stone uses it. He isn’t the type to have backyard barbecues, but the outside is set up to host one.
Maria returns with the radio and plugs it in behind me. Soft, classic Italian music flows from it.
“I respect our heritage, Maria, I really do, but if we’re going to have fun in here, we need something a little more upbeat.” I brush my hands on my apron and turn the dial until I find an American station playing pop music. “It’s good for dancing.”
“I thought we were cooking, not dancing.” Maria laughs.
“I’m an excellent multi-tasker.” I dance in front of her, making her laugh, then return to the dough. “Knead to the music. It’s fun.” I over-exaggerate my moves and sing along to Fall Out Boy.
She isn’t familiar with the music but bops around to the beat. Time passes and we’ve made three loaves of bread before she shows me how to make cinnamon rolls.
“I can’t wait for breakfast tomorrow. We haven’t even put them in the oven yet and they already smell heavenly.”
I give her a hug and thank her for the lessons, then retreat to my room. I haven’t seen Stone since we returned home earlier this afternoon. He’s good at hiding, and I’m not about to go hunt for him. Once in my room, I call up Mama on my tablet, and we talk until she yawns and says she needs a nap.
I toss and turn all night, unable to sleep.