I looked over at Giorgio, but he just laughed.
She led me inside the house, which was small but incredibly cozy. There were dozens of photographs on the walls; many showed Giorgio at various ages. I loved seeing him at five years old, then ten, then 17.
A woman even younger than me sat in a chair holding a baby in her arms.
“Emilia,” Giorgio’s mom said, “this is Cinzia and Mirabella!”
“Ciao,”I said.
“Ciao!”Cinzia said cheerfully. “Say‘ciao,’Mirabella!”
The baby looked up at me with the cutest look of bewilderment you’ve ever seen.
A middle-aged man came out of the kitchen. He looked very much like Giorgio, just with a lot of extra weight and grayer hair.
“Fulvio,” Giorgio’s mom said, “this is Emilia, Giorgio’s friend.”
“Ciao,”he said gruffly, nodding rather than air-kissing my cheeks.
Uh-oh.
“Ciao, signore,”I said politely. “I’m very happy to meet you.”
He just nodded and stayed silent.
Everyone else was far more effusive, though. I met all of them –allthe brothers and sisters and brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law. They were gathered out back around a table filled with bowls of food. A four-year-old boy ran through the grass, chasing one of the dogs.
Everyone was kind to me, greeting me with hugs and kisses on the cheek.
Serafina, the youngest daughter, exclaimed, “FINALLY – Giorgio got a girlfriend!”
Everyone laughed, including me.
It struck me that Giorgio was exactly like his family: kind, happy, and positive.
Except for his father, who seemed darker.
A little more… dangerous.
But I’d seenthatside of Giorgio, too…
So I guess he reallywaslike everyone here.
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Giorgio
Istared out the kitchen window as Giancarlo, Benito, Palmira, and Serafina all talked with Emilia. Their husbands and wives were a bit more reserved, but most of my siblings were effusive – just like me.
My little brother Rolando was more standoffish, but he was like that. He liked to think he was way cooler than everybody else. He’d tried to pretend he wasn’t impressed when I went to work for the Rosolinis, but he was the one who’d asked me the most questions.
I wasn’t so sure about his girlfriend, Silvia. She seemed a little too ‘cool for school’ for my tastes. But then, that probably made her a good match for Rolando.
“How are you, baby?” Mama asked me as she pulled a hot dish from the oven. It was just the two of us in the kitchen; everybody else was outside on the patio.
“I’m good, Mama.”
“That Emilia’s a beautiful girl,” she said slyly.
