Carlo made a fuss as he pulled out a chair for me, then took a seat next to me. Ben sat across from me.
“Oh, Zia, did you make agnolotti del plin?” he asked.
“Sì,” she nodded.
“It’s my favorite. She makes her own pasta, by hand,” he explained. “It’s like a miniature ravioli stuffed with braised beef, sautéed spinach, and parmesan, with a butter and sage sauce.” He paused. “Shit. Is that okay for you to eat, or...”
“Are youkiddingme? There is no way I’m turning down handmade pasta. In Italy.”
Ben rattled off something to Matilde and she started scooping pasta into bowls.
“She serves everyone. It’s going to be way more than you can handle,” he said under his breath.
“We’ll see about that,” I said as I eyeballed the feast headed my way.
“Uffa,” Carlo said, jumping to his feet. “Un bicchiere di Nizza!”
“He’s getting the red wine,” Ben explained. “Made with grapes from this vineyard.”
Carlo placed a tulip-shaped glass in front of each of us.
“Un po’ for me,” Ben said, holding his thumb and pointer finger an inch apart.
Carlo nodded and tipped the bottle to my glass. I laughed when he went well beyond the appropriate fill line.
“He’s giving you my share,” Ben said. “I’m only having a couple of sips.”
I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “Is that... okay for you?”
“Oh, I still drink on special occasions like this one. But it’s rare. Honestly, it would be a bigger deal if Ididn’thave some. It’s our family legacy.”
“Alla nostra,” Carlo said, raising his glass to us and kicking off a wonderful meal.
Somehow, the evening seemed to exist in a space out of time. The only thing that mattered wasthisfood,thisjoyfully shouty Italian-English conversation,thiscozy room with a roaring fire. For the first time in ages I was able to detach from my striver self and not worry about what I was eating or how it would impact me the following day. I gave myself permission to be fully in the moment, because there would never be another one like it.
We finished our meal and we all seemed to exhale in unison.
“Fare una passeggiata.” Matilde swept her hand toward the door.
“Good idea,” Ben answered. “I’ll show Quinn the vineyard before it gets too dark.” He stood up and fixed his eyes on me. “We’ll stroll a bit then head back.”
“Grazie for, uh...” I turned to Ben. “How do you say ‘dinner’?”
“Cena,” he answered.
“Grazie for cena,” I said to his aunt and uncle.
They oohed and clapped in unison at my sad attempt at Italian. I pulled on my jacket and followed Ben into the cold twilight.
“Are you okay to stay for a little bit longer or should we head back now?” he asked.
I shook my head as I surveyed the landscape spilling out in front of me. We were in a fortress on a hill, surrounded by similar looking houses dotting hills on the horizon. The vineyard stretched down in front of us, with rows of grape vines so symmetrically planted that they looked like lines on a legal pad. The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, leaving a highlighter trail of pink and orange along the edge of distant hills.
“No way I’m ready to go. It’s beautiful here,” I sighed. “This is the kind of place where you can forget everything.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“In this moment, yeah,” I said quietly. “I could use a little meditation in the now instead of worrying about what comes next.”
