“I’ll get us all drinks,” Giada says, snapping me back to the present. “We have Coke Zero and water.”
“Water, please,” I say, writing the word teacher in my journal.
“With or without gas?” she asks.
I frown. “Gas? Why would I want gas? What does that mean?”
“Bubbles,” Giada says, her eyes lighting.
“Ohhhhh,” I say, laughing. “You mean sparkling water. For Americans, gas means you ate something that doesn’t agree with you. I guess I’ve just had my first language lesson. No bubbles for me.”
“Gas for me,” Marabella declares, and we all start giggling.
Then Giada joins Marabella, saying something to her in Italian before hugging her.
Marabella’s eyes meet mine and we share a look of hope. Giada isn’t completely lost, and it is then that even without my memories full recovered, a sense of family and belonging comes over me, which I’m certain I haven’t felt in a very long time. Giada releases Marabella and walks toward the kitchen.
Marabella seems to decide to stay for lunch, claiming the chair next to me and softly murmuring, “You’re good for her, Ella. For all of us.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I assure her.
“You’re good for Kayden.”
If only I knew that without any question, I think, fighting the urge to grab my journal and start reading through the notes I can’t explain to her or Giada.
“Knives, forks, napkins, and drinks for three,” Giada announces, returning and sitting down next to me before handing me a small box. “Four cheese. I hope that works. It seemed the most American.”
“Any cheese is wonderful,” I say, eagerly opening the box to find a delicious-looking concoction. Then I look at Marabella. “They didn’t cut my pizza.”
“We Italians don’t pick up our pizza.” She holds up a fork and knife and then hands them to me. “Our way is this way.”
“You’re making me work for my meal,” I say, accepting the utensils. “I can live with that,” and boy, do I. In one bite I’m moaning with the delicious, rich taste of the white sauce under the cheese, and as silly as it might be, I wish that I were experiencing this with Kayden for the first time. But I’m not and I’m eating it now, and eating it all, with a bonus of Marabella and Giada giving me a language lesson. And before long, the food is gone, and with Marabella and Giada’s prodding, I’m repeating English words and their Italian equivalents, writing them down in the back of my journal, and I’ve lost track of time.
We’re just talking about coffee when the buzzer at the door goes off again, and Marabella glances at her watch. “I bet that’s your clothes for tonight,” she says, having obviously spoken to Kayden. She heads toward the door.
“What’s tonight?” Giada asks.
“Some political function Kayden and I are attending,” I say, standing, my body stiff from sitting so long. “I’d better go help Marabella.”
“I’ll clean up our mess,” Giada says, while I head toward the front of the store.
Rounding the corner, I come face-to-face with Adriel as he enters the living area. “It’s football time, and since it’s still my store, and my TV, I’m taking over this room.”
“Never let it be said that I stood between a man and his football,” I proclaim, “but your sister might be another story.”
He grumbles something Italian that tells me I’ve hit a sore spot, and I laugh, stepping around him with a fond memory of my father and his pals sitting around the TV, yelling at football, carrying me to the front of the store. I find Marabella setting a collection of bags next to another collection of bags.
“What the heck is all of this?” I ask, noting several garment bags on top of the counter, as well. “Please tell me this isn’t all for me? It’s one party. I need one dress.”
Marabella holds up her hands. “I didn’t do it. It was Kayden.” She offers me a black shopping bag with silk handles. “This came by way of a special, separate delivery, which seems to justify special attention.”
“You don’t know what it is?” I ask, accepting the bag, tons of black and white tissue paper sticking out from the top.
“No idea at all,” she confirms. “But there’s a card poking out of the top.”
Locating it, I remove it from the paper, and silently read the handwritten words Open this package alone printed on the front of it. As silly as it might be, what affects me is not the idea of a private gift, it’s the fact that it’s Kayden’s script on the note.
“Something good?” Marabella asks.