“First, they would have to spend time in the dungeon.” Turning, Gregorio gave a little wiggle of his brows.
I waved a warning finger. “I could flunk you on your first test for that.”
His face drained. The boy was so sensitive. “Kidding, just kidding.”
We were still new to each other. And our differences involved more than personalities. Here, cultures were involved.
We followed him down a row of shiny windows. The smell of baking blanketed the street beneath the lighter scent of flowers. Petunias and foreign blooms I didn’t recognize spilled from earthen pots. Up above, flowers draped from balconies and what looked like rooftop patios. While Lexi and I tried to take it all in, the townspeople smiled.
“Gregorio, I have a question.”
He turned and dipped his head as if he were listening.
“What country do you belong to? Italy, Greece or perhaps Spain?” Those all seemed like possibilities from the sound of the language.
He gave me a solemn headshake. “Oh, no, Profesora. We are an independent principality. Think of Monaco. Everyone would want us for our tax revenue, but my family would never agree.”
Thinking of the history of this area, I could understand that and turned my attention back to the shops.
Wherever we walked, people dipped and curtsied to “Your Royal Highness.” I fell behind him to watch the interplay between Gregorio and the people who would one day call him King. The whole scene was fascinating.
At one point, Lexi turned to Gregorio. “Should I also be curtsying to you?”
“If you like,” Gregorio responded. But at the end his smile cracked and so did his voice. “Just kidding. No. Please.”
To my horror, she elbowed him in the ribs, as if they were cruising the halls between classes. “I wasn’t going to do it anyway.”
I heard the market before I actually saw it. Voices tunneled down the narrow street, while laundry flapped overhead. We broke out into the open. At the end of the street stretched lines of stalls covered by colorful canopies. The royal red and green seemed to be the colors here, but what I now recognized as the official logo marking the tables was dwarfed by the abundant produce. Eggplant, beans and tomatoes were heaped on the tables, along with figs and citrus fruit. Their scent tingled in the air.
As he strolled along the stalls, Gregorio chose avocados, tomatoes, dark green spinach and thick heads of broccoli. The shopkeepers seemed to know him, and Gregorio called them by name. “Lorenzo, how is your mother doing?”
“Better, Your Royal Highness,” the man said, looking pleased. “I will tell her you asked about her.”
“Please do.”
Where had this comfort level come from?
“Rosa Maria, where is your baby today, eh?” Gregorio playfully peeked around one stall.
The woman put a finger to her lips and lifted a terry cloth covering to reveal a sleeping baby in a carrying seat.
Lexi looked as amazed as I felt by Gregorio’s transformation. The teenager held a natural comfort with the people, and he remembered all their names. Perhaps they appreciated the respect he had for their merchandise.
“How do you know when those are ripe?” Lexi asked, pointing to the avocados. Taking one in his hand, Gregorio squeezed it ever so slightly with his thumb, returning the first two to the pile. On the third avocado, he nodded. “Perfect. Feel.” And he handed her the avocado. “It gives a little bit.”
I loved seeing the pleased smile lighten Lexi’s features. At home, the only thing she cooked was frozen pizza. Maybe this market visit would inspire her.
“You like food, Gregorio,” I said as we continued down the aisle.
“Yes, I do.” And he patted his stomach. Although he tried to laugh it off, I felt terrible. Boys were so sensitive at this age.
“No, I meant you know a lot about produce. You're growing,” I told him, trying to offer hope. “You'll see. Why, Lexi grew like a weed last year.”
“Mother, please.” My daughter tossed back her purple hair, which had been attracting quite a bit of attention.
“I spend some time in the kitchen,” Gregorio said, as if he were admitting that he’d gone out carousing at night. “My grandmother likes to cook.”
Now, that was a surprise and hard to picture. “Your grandmother is very fond of you.”
