He wants to meet the day my parents want to take the family photos. Since we are already planning on catching dinner at Rue’s after, I will just wait for Gabriel to get there so we can talk. Maybe the familiarity of family will make this harder or easier. I guess I’ll find out.
As I prepare for dinner, I suddenly have the urge to make maritozzi—the sweet Italian buns Gabriel’s mom taught me how to make when we were there. I haven’t made them since, but just the thought of that warm kitchen and the way her hands moved so confidently through the dough makes me smile.
I start gathering the ingredients, the smell of orange zest and yeast pulling the memory into sharper focus.
“Millie,” she had said, patting the wooden counter with both hands. “You’re going to learn something very important today.”
I laughed, brushing my hands on a towel. “Is this a family recipe?”
“It’s the kind of recipe that brings people together. Always,” she said, setting down the ingredients with practiced grace.
We moved together in the kitchen, her hands showing me how to knead gently, how to let the dough rise slowly, and how to fill the buns with just enough whipped cream—not too little, not too much. She told stories about Gabriel as a child, his sweet tooth, how he’dsneak maritozzi off the cooling rack when he thought no one was watching.
“You make these with love,” she told me, nudging my hands when I got impatient with the dough. “Or they don’t turn out right.”
By the end of the afternoon, we were covered in flour, laughing, and I had a small tray of imperfect but beautiful buns cooling by the window.
Back in my kitchen now, I shape the dough just as she showed me, letting memory guide my hands. The house smells warm and sweet—like citrus, vanilla, and comfort.
When I take the finished maritozzi out of the oven and pipe in the cream, I snap a photo and send it to Mamma Sirolli with a quick message.
Me
“I tried my hand at your maritozzi again. Not as perfect as yours, but made with love.”
Even in text, she exudes this maternal warmth, the kind that wraps around you like a soft blanket. I miss that feeling more than I care to admit.
Mamma S
Oh, my dear! They look perfect! Gabriel is going to be ecstatic to finally have these at his disposal.
Me
Thank you, Mamma S.
I haven’t told her about Gabriel and me yet. I don’t want to speak too soon. But I can’t help but think that I’m walking a fine line between love and heartache.
Sleep hasn’t come easy for me since I left Gabriel. More than once, I have almost texted him, wanting to ask if I could come over. I feel hypocritical that I still feel all this love for him when I am the one who walked away. I decide to text him anyway.
Me
You up?
Gabby
I’m up, Bumper. Is everything okay?
Me
Yeah! Everything is perfect. Just feeling lonely, missing our time in Lake Como.
Gabby
I can come over. If you want me to.
Me
What about Aura?
