Rolling her eyes, Lexi went back to stabbing at her phone. “Mom, really. He’s a friend. I’m glad to have one here or I’d be alone.”
“But, Lexi, you have me.”
“I know. But that’s different. I need friends my own age.”
“Of course. He’s two years older than you.” And Gregorio was changing fast.
Another eyeroll. “Mom, really. He’s a child. A fun guy but immature, like most boys.”
I decided to leave it there.
When I located the pretests Mary Carmichael had mentioned, Gregorio seemed ready. To my relief, he did well with them. I had to play them down to Marco or he would have been packing Gregorio’s suitcases or sending out announcements. We had time.
In the afternoons, Lexi and I cooled off in the pool and sometimes Gregorio joined us. But Marco did not.Well, why would he, Christina?My employer had made a mistake. A kiss born of a night that was oh, so romantic. I should be relieved that it hadn’t gone beyond kisses. Anything more reckless was unthinkable.
One afternoon, Lexi had a summer cold and I was not brave enough to go to the pool alone with my books. That day I’d skipped lunch, so I trotted down to wheedle something from Constanza. The tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen told me the cook was working her magic. Lost in my own thoughts, I heard the voices just as I turned the corner into the kitchen. And the voices were not Constanza talking to staff. My sandals skidded on the tiles as I tried to stop before I was seen.
Gregorio and his grandmother were hunched over a pot of boiling water. He held a slotted spoon. “Take them out of the water when they have just turned,” Ama told him, making a scooping motion. “They should not be brown like sausages.”
What was this? The two of them chuckled together. On the long stove top in back of them, a pan simmered. Whatever was in the pan smelled heavenly.
When the two looked up, Gregorio almost dropped his spoon.
“You are cooking? How nice.”
Surprise faded fast from Ama’s eyes. Her long apron was a new look for the Queen Mother. “What? You have never seen two people cook?”
“Well yes. But not you!”
Gregorio’s face flushed red.
Ama took the spoon from his hand. “I’ll finish the gnocchi, Gregor. Don’t let the chicken burn.”
Gregor?I’d never heard her use that nickname with her grandson.
“I like to cook, Profesora,” Gregorio told me with an apologetic look at his grandmother.
“And he’s very good at it,” she spoke up defensively, her delicate chin coming out.
Gregorio glowed under Ama’s praise. “Nonna is an excellent cook,” he told me. And he pointed to his grandmother, who could not meet my eyes.
I was speechless.
“Sit.” Ama pointed to one of the stools. Grabbing a small plate, she scooped up some of the gnocchi and then spooned the chicken with mushrooms on top.
Ama handed me a fork. Under their watchful eyes, I tasted. The gnocchi and chicken yielded under my teeth and sang a love song in my mouth. Was that me groaning with delight? “How delicious. The seasoning is perfect.”
“A family secret.” Ama cut me off as if she were afraid I would ask for the recipe.
“Nonna often makes the main meal for us.” Gregorio might be revealing more than Ama would have allowed.
My, the surprises just kept coming. Glad that I was sitting down, I couldn’t stop eating. Nothing had prepared me for this revelation. Of course, I’d noticed that all three of them loved food. But this was gastronomically special––tastier than anything I’d ever had in a restaurant. “It’s delicious, Gregorio.”
“Tell her,” Ama prodded him after I’d finished. The sampling had made me eager for dinner.
“Tell me what?” I noticed how lovingly Gregorio covered the large iron skillet.
“It is n-nothing,” he finally stammered.
