“Dai, tritate! Sbrigatevi!” she says, waving at us both. “Per favore.”
“Chop, chop,” says Leo, laughing at us being bossed around by his grumpy aunt.
“I’m chopping. Trito, trito,” I say, as I pull off a stem of celery and cut it in long lengths, then spin it to cut squares the same size as the onion.
Chiara orders us about, chopping, peeling, crushing, and in Leo’s case, butchering the ingredients for the stew. Leo can do no wrong with his prep, whereas I am constantly being told to go più veloce, più lentamente... Meglio! Meglio! Meglio! It’s clear shereallyhas something to say to me.
When Chiara heads to the toilet, the two of us catch each other’s eye.
“I prefer when it’s just us in the kitchen,” I say.
“I can be bossy too,” he says, laughing.
“Can you, now?” I say with a wicked grin.
“Very bossy...” Leo claps a wooden spoon in his hand, slowly.Playfully. “I’m glad to hear you like working with me, though.”
Leo straightens up, and I turn to see Chiara, fists on hips, blood down her apron, looking terrifying.
“Youliketo work with Leo?” she says.
“Yes,” I say, smiling, unsure what’s coming. I put down the knife and wipe my hands on a tea towel. “What is it, Chiara?”
“And yet you sell the restaurant,” she continues, throwing her hands in the air.
“Oh. Okay. Now I get it,” I murmur, feeling my heart sink into the pit of my stomach as I glance over at Leo, unsurprised he’s told her.
Chiara frowns at me, rubs her hands down her front, and then stomps out of the kitchen again, leaving us alone in silence. I stop cutting and stare at Leo, exhausted.
“Sorry,” he says, eyes to the ceiling. “I didn’t think she’d react this way. I thought she was being short with you because...” His voice trails off, and he looks sheepish.
“How many reasons have you given her?” I ask.
“I didn’t know you,” he says.
“Can you talk to her?” I say to him, raising my shoulders questioningly.
“Of course,” he says quietly. Then he joins Chiara in the hall and in very fast Italian they argue with each other. I hear snippets ofit should have been yours. And then,where has she been all these years?, various versions ofmamma mia, followed byI can’t believe she doesn’t even want it, from an indignant Chiara, and then from Leo:she had a rough time with Nicky.
“Chiara,” I say, joining them in the hallway.
“And here she is,” she says, raising her chin. Her eyes tell me she isn’t angry, but upset for Leo.
“I understand why you’re upset, you feel that Leo deserved the restaurant, but I didn’t ask for it. It isn’t my fault.”
“Such a gift, and you don’t even want it?” She turns to Leo. “And everything you did for him.”
Chiara’s face slackens into a look of such sadness,suchheartbreak for Leo.
“I can get another job, Zia. I probably should go out and spread my wings a little,” he says, starting to look humiliated by this whole exchange. “It’s her right to sell it if she doesn’t want it.”
“It’s been hard. Of course I feel torn,” I say, and Leo’s brow descends in a split second of confusion.
“Then you’re unsure?” Chiara jumps on it, her eyes rounding in hope.
“No. Not exactly...” I put my hands to my face and shake my head vigorously. It shouldn’t have come out like this.
Chiara puts a hand on my shoulder, and I want to backpedal, explain myself. To dampen this beacon of hope that has arrived to complicate things further.
