I laugh and start plating the lasagna.
The bathroom door opens and my mother appears, smoothing down her blouse. Her eyes sweep over the food spread across the counter and her lips thin almost imperceptibly.
"That's quite a lot of food."
"They sent it home with me." I keep my voice light. "Want to stay for dinner? There's plenty."
"I can't." She's already reaching for her purse on the kitchen chair. "I have things to do at home."
Things being her nightly glass of wine and whatever true crime show she's currently binging. But I don't say that. I never say that.
"How was the first day?" She asks the question while checking her phone, not quite looking at me.
"Good, actually." The words come out before I can overthink them. "Really good."
Now she looks up. Studies my face like she's searching for the lie. "Good?"
"Yeah." I shrug, turning back to plate Lily's portion. "The family's nice. The work is straightforward. I think I'm going to like it there."
I don't mention the singing incident.
"Well." Mom hoists her purse onto her shoulder. "That's something, at least."
High praise from her.
She kisses Lily's head on her way out, murmuring something about being good for Mommy. The door clicks shut behind her, and the apartment feels both emptier and lighter at the same time.
"Come on, baby girl." I carry our plates to the tiny table by the window. "Let's eat this fancy food."
Lily scrambles into her chair, bouncing with excitement. "It smells SO good, Mommy."
It does. The lasagna is still warm, layers of pasta and meat and cheese. I take my first bite and have to stop myself from moaning.
This is what rich people eat every day. No wonder they all look so smug.
"Mommy, this is the best pasta EVER."
"It really is." I wipe a spot of sauce from her chin. "A nice lady named Giulia made it."
Giulia, who spent most of today showing me the ropes while dropping little pieces of information about the family. Who sleeps where. Who likes their coffee how. Which rooms to avoid and when.
And other things too. Things that made the Sartoris seem almost... human.
"Signora Aria and Miss Vittoria," Giulia had said while we inventoried the pantry, "they cannot stand to see someone go hungry. It's like a sickness with them. Every person who works in this house eats. No exceptions."
I'd nodded, still feeling awkward about the whole food situation.
"Once a week, we cook for the shelter downtown. Big pots of soup, fresh bread, whatever we can make." Giulia had paused then, giving me a sharp look. "But you don't mention this. Not to anyone. Especially not to Miss Vittoria."
"Why not?"
"She has ideas about charity. She says when rich people make big show of helping poor people, it's not really helping. It's... what's the word... performance. She doesn't want to perform. She just wants to feed people."
That had stuck with me. The whole drive home, I kept turning it over in my head.
Vittoria Sartori, with her designer clothes and casual wealth, sneaking off to cook for homeless people. Not posting about it. Not telling anyone. Just... doing it.
I think about the women I knew in Jack's circle. The charity events where everyone wore their best jewelry and wrote checks while being photographed. The Instagram posts about "giving back" that were really just excuses to show off expensive outfits.
