“Be right out,” I told him.
I buttoned my pants and slipped on my slippers. There in my room, my clothes were now in the closet. The bed looked different with the new sheets and cushions I’d purchased, and the wall was less cold with the printed kerchief I had hung over it like a flag. It felt like my space now, and that comforted me.
When I opened the door, I found Lucas there waiting for me, carrying all the drinks we had bought for that evening.
“Let me help you with that,” I said.
“No, you carry the cake.”
The box from the pastry shop was sitting on the sideboard. I felt my stomach growl. I realized I would never look at a chocolate cake the same way again, without thinking of the time Lucas had whispered in my ear how badly he wanted to taste it.
We walked down the stairs together, and when we reached the vestibule, we found the door that led to the backyard wide open. I could hear voices, music, and the crackling of a bonfire.
“I’m nervous,” I told him.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I only know a couple of phrases in Italian. How will I talk with anyone?”
“Everyone here speaks Spanish. Don’t sweat it.”
I was speechless when we reached the garden. Beneath my feet was pea gravel that stretched out toward the huge stone flowerpots of stone and terra-cotta at the other end of the patio. Wreaths with tiny light bulbs hung from the trees, shining brighter as the sun went down. In the center of it all was a huge table with seating for twenty covered in plates, glasses, and silverware.
It was homey, welcoming, with white wicker chairs and orange and blue cushions all around.
To my left, by the wall that enclosed the property, a grill was giving off smoke as the flames burned into the firewood. Giulio was there tending it. I could feel my throat closing up.
“You’re here.”
I turned and saw the origin of that voice, Catalina, standing up from her chair and coming toward us. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing a pink caftan so long that all I could see was her bare feet. She looked wonderful.
“Lucas, there’s a tub with ice over there on that chair. Put the drinks inside.” As he obeyed, she looked at the box in my hands and asked, “Did you bring dessert?”
“Chocolate cake,” I responded.
“Oh, the children will lose their minds!” she exclaimed.
“They’re not what you’d really call children, though,” said a man I hadn’t met before, who introduced himself with the words, “Ciao, I’m Marco, Angela’s husband.”
“Hi, I’m Maya,” I said, and we exchanged kisses on the cheek as well as we could with the pastry box between us. “You speak Spanish!” I added.
“With this family, you have to!”
“Who’s Angela?” I asked him.
“Angela’s my daughter,” Catalina interrupted us. “Come on, set that down on the table and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Trying to remain calm, I followed her to the edge of the patio. Like a person about to give a speech, she shouted, “All right, everybody pay attention. I want to introduce you to Maya.” I felt my cheeks flush as she took me by the arm and introduced me to a brown-eyed woman who was cutting bread into slices. “This is Angela,” she said.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, but soon her smile turned to panic as she shouted, “Gianni, get those scissors away from your sister’s hair right now!”
I turned to see a boy of around eleven chasing a little girl with a pair of blunt-tipped scissors.
“Mamma, he says I’m a plant and it’s time to trim me. I don’t want to be trimmed,” the girl shouted in Italian, trying to protect her curly hair with her hands.
“Chiara, your brother’s just playing. He’s not going to cut anything.”
“Will, too. That way she’ll grow better.”
