“Don’t be silly. Let them hash it out. It’ll be fine. Now come with me.”
Without waiting for a response, she walked away, and I had no choice but to follow her downstairs to the kitchen. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the beautiful space.
“This is incredible.”
A huge island with bowls of fruit and some plants took up the central part of the kitchen, which couldn’t have been less than thirty feet long. Pale wood cabinets ran the length of the room, with white quartz countertops that matched the island. Pots steaming with delicious smells sat on top of a huge professional gas stove. A giant stainless-steel refrigerator was built into the wall.
“We’re a family that loves to cook, so the kitchen has always been the most important part of my house. It’s what makes a home.” She took a large tray out from one of the cabinets under the island. “I know Torre brought you as a guest, but I was wondering if you could help me. I heard such wonderful things about your cooking, I hoped by sneaking you into the kitchen, I could get some tips.”
Now I might not have had experience with mothers, but even I could spot a fishing expedition, and there was no way I could refuse. Plus, I was itching to do something. Having a kitchen like this in front of me was like an artist’s blank canvas.
“Of course. What would you like?”
“I was thinking some meatballs? A little sweet with some heat behind it?”
“I have just the thing.”
Without further discussion, I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and washed my hands. Maureen gave me an apron, and I tied it around my waist, then went to the refrigerator and got out a bowl filled with chopped meat.
“There’re equal portions of beef, pork, and veal.”
“Good. Let me at your spices.”
I stripped off some fresh oregano and chopped it up, along with onions I sautéed in a small pan. I added fresh garlic and salt, pepper, crushed red pepper, and bread crumbs to the meat, then egg and grated parmesan, and mixed it all together. “Could you heat the large skillet there with olive oil, please?”
Within a few minutes, I had meatballs formed and sizzling in the pan.
“You’re really good.” Maureen nodded with approval. “Where did you learn to do this? Did your mother teach you?”
“No. I don’t recall ever seeing my mother in the kitchen.” With a slotted wooden spoon, I turned the meatballs. “She wasn’t interested. I loved to eat and thought it would be fun to cook. Then, when my French babysitter started showing me how to make simple things, like eggs and crepes, I discovered I loved it.”
“I brought the boys into the kitchen from when they were babies, but I guess it was easier for me since I was a stay-at-home mother.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Concentrating on the meatballs kept me from shaking. “She never was much of a parent. My mother was an artist and model and spent most of her time in the studio or at galleries, hence the babysitters.”
“And your father?”
“He was also an artist and taught art in Italy, so he wasn’t home much. I only saw him summertimes. They met when my mother modeled for him, and then she got pregnant.” Why did I say that? I bit my cheek, determined to say nothing more.
“I see.” She sighed. “And so they got married?”
I nodded.
“Can I assume she was younger than him?”
“Yes,” I said, my lips pressed together. “Much. And none of it matters anymore.”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course it matters. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t be holding yourself together so tightly, you’re afraid to let go. I won’t ask anymore. But if my son thinks you’re special enough to bring here, then you’re special to me. And I don’t like people I care about to be in pain.”
“The meatballs are done and can be put in the sauce.” My hands trembled slightly, and I hoped I wouldn’t drop them.
“It smells delicious in here.” Torre put a hand on my back, and astonishingly, my racing heart settled. “I had a feeling my mother would corral you into the kitchen.”
“We had a nice talk.” Maureen rested her hand on mine for a moment, a gesture so tender, I almost lost it right there. This stranger had shown me more compassion in the five minutes I’d known her than my parents ever had, and it left me stripped raw and naked even from the little I’d revealed to her.
“Are you okay?” Torre murmured in my ear. “I had a talk with Mike, and we cleared the air. But we don’t have to stay.”
What the hell was I doing here? I didn’t belong in cute family settings with sports on the TV, chatting about recipes and family history. Especially that last. I’d created a life I’d been perfectly satisfied with before Edward forced me out of my comfort zone, and I didn’t like it. I wanted out.
