Maya paired a rich sweater in hues that remind me of the ancient Speyer wine bottle with a cream skirt and boots. When I mention that, she gives me a caustic appraisal. “I think there’s a compliment in there.”
Whipping out my cell phone, I pull up the shots I took of the artifact and hand it to her. “It’s displayed at the Pfalz Historical Museum in Germany.”
Her eyes flick back and forth before she hands me my phone back. My heart skips a beat when the corners of her lips curve upward briefly. “You’re right. I do match it.”
Gesturing her forward, I point out a few of our own treasures as we make our way to the kitchen—a stone chalice, an ancient pouring decanter, an almost perfect bottle. She pauses at each one, reading the description before her stomach muscles groan in protest.
She flushes. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“Then let’s get dinner underway.” I guide her into the kitchen, where a charcuterie and vegetable platter has been laid out on the counter. I’m amused when Maya falls on it like a bear coming out of hibernation. As she curbs her hunger, I walk up behind the woman at the stove and press an exuberant kiss on the side of her cheek. “Thanks for cooking,ZiaVinnie.”
She swats at me with a spoon before handing her instrument of torture to me and declaring, “You’re going to ruin dinner if you don’t stop with these shenanigans and stir.”
Knowing how serious my aunt is about herTajarin al tartufo, I stir and introduce her to Maya with my back to them both, not out of disrespect. “Maya, my mother’s sister, Vincenza.ZiaVinnie, Maya Cox. My parents are away for a bit. Otherwise they’d be joining us,” I explain.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs…” Maya starts.
“Just Vinnie, Maya. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Maya’s small, “Oh,” has me turning away from the sauce to witness her fists clenching at her side.
Vinnie notices the same. She reaches up and pats Maya on the shoulder. “Even beforestupidoBryce and his internet crimes, this one didn’t have any problem talking about you. Often.”
Maya’s eyes lift to mine. Her brow quirks even as she questions, “Really? That’s interesting. How often?”
I turn my back on them both without answering. Gritting my teeth, I likely overwork the sauce as my aunt blathers away about how I follow Maya’s public Instagram and admire the photos she’s taken. “Did you really jump out of a perfectly good plane for that shot,mia cara?”
Maya laughs before admitting, “My best friends asked me the same question.”
“Why would you do such a thing?”
I plate three portions of egg-rich pasta topped with a butter sauce and shavings of white truffle before serving first my aunt, then Maya. Finally, I bring over a plate for myself before offering, “Buon appetito.”
I wait until Maya lifts her fork, twirls her pasta expertly, and slips it past her lush lips. Then that’s when I hear a tiny “Ohh,” escape her lips. Immediately, she lifts another bite to her mouth.
Vinnie takes a bite and nods her approval. For a while, the only sounds are the scraping of forks and the satisfaction of hunger. The two women keep up an easy chatter that makes up for my silence. Instead, I study Maya intently with an ease I haven’t had the opportunity to before. That is until she turns on me like I’m fresh prosciutto and she’s famished.
“So, your last name is Walsh.”
“It is.”
“You’re half Italian?”
I lean back and lift the glass of our 2021 Chardonnay to my lips. “Closer to three-quarters.”
She leans forward, chin resting on her fist. “Yet, your name is singularly Irish.”
“Blame my father. Apparently, he named me while my mother was still out of it from a C-section.”
Maya’s jaw falls open. “He did not.”
Vinnie confirms, “He did. Troy is named after his paternal grandfather. I was certain my sister—Trish, Patrizia—was going to smother him in his sleep.”
“Troy or his father?” Maya jokes.
“Hey, I didn’t name myself. Why should I take the rap?”
“Because I’m certain you were just as frustrating to your poor mother, keeping her awake at all hours,” she defends.
