“That’s none of your business either,” she replies, sticking out her tongue. “If you must know, Charles has it. He’s leaving tomorrow, and I’d like him to remember me.”
“What a refined souvenir . . .”
“We were just saying a second ago how judgmental you are.”
“I’m sorry, but you don’t find it strange that she and Elmo got together?” I ask, returning to the main topic.
“Believe it or not, they seem like a pretty balanced couple to me: She’s patient, sweet, maternal, and introverted, and Elmo needs someone like that. And he’s old-fashioned and over the top, which makes her feel safe and appreciated. His fake compliments may disgust you, but evidently that’s what she needs. I’m not a psychologist, but that’s how I see it.” My sister flops down on the bed, her legs propped up against the headboard to “reverse the circulation,” as she always says, and fight cellulite.
“I’ll try to be less judgmental,” I sigh.
“And maybe less touchy,” she adds. “By the way ... why was your lipstick all smeared when we arrived?” she asks me with a sly smile. “Confess.”
I narrow my eyes and clench my fists as if what I’m about to say could hurt me. “Michael and I kissed.”
“What!” she exclaims, jumping up. “And this is how I find out?!”
“And it wasn’t the first time,” I add.
She grabs a pillow and throws it at my face. “You’re such a coward. You couldn’t even tell your own sister!”
“I have no idea what the hell we’re doing.”
Giada raises her hand like a telephone receiver to her ear.
“Hello? I’d like to talk to Elisa’s libido. Can you pass the phone? I have to explain what two healthy and robust adults do when they’re attracted to each other.”
“Not funny.”
“When was the first time?”
“Thursday afternoon,” I sigh. “In the cellar. I dropped the flashlight, the darkness and the wine did the rest ...” I trip on the words, thinking back to that moment.
“The rest, what?” Giada urges me. “This is no time for suspense.”
“If the broken glasses hadn’t brought me to my senses, I’m pretty sure we would have gone far beyond a kiss.”
Giada looks at me with a mischievous expression. “More than a kiss, huh? Then I guess it wasn’t such an innocent little thing.”
“Innocentis the last word I’d use to describe him.”
“And then what happened?” she urges.
“Nothing. I ran away.”
“Very mature,” she observes.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen again.”
“Until tonight.”
“I never thought making pici could be such an erotic experience. At a certain point he slammed me onto the floured cutting board and ... and then nothing, then you arrived.”
“How did you leave it?” she asks, gripped by curiosity.
“How did we leave it? Halfway through, Giada. Halfway through.”
“Once is a mistake, twice, on the other hand ... you know what they say: Things come in threes.”
