She answers with a grateful smile.
When we finish our drinks, we walk along the shore hand in hand, the afternoon sun beating down on our skin, the sea crashing beside us. Neither of us feels ready to let go of this moment.
“I think this is the first time the house has been empty since we arrived in Pisa,” Cecilia murmurs as we walk down the hallway in search of Nonna.
Most of the family has gone ahead to the village celebration, and we’ll be joining them shortly. I only want to check on Nonna before we leave.
We find her settled into her armchair in the living room, knitting what looks like a scarf.
“Can you see those stitches clearly, Signora Carmela?” I tease.
Nonna looks up and grins. “I see better than any of you young ones. My generation was built to last.”
I translate it for Cecilia, and her laughter fills the room. It’s the first real laugh I’ve heard from her all day. And it stops me in my tracks. I do nothing but watch her.
“Vieni qui, ragazza mia,”Nonna says, her gaze locking onto Cecilia with affection.
“She’s asking me to come closer, right?” Cecilia murmurs, glancing at me. “And ragazza means girl?”
I nod, smiling. She’s picking up my language more every day, and it grows harder not to lean into every sound she makes. Especially when she says my name.
“Your eyes have shadow today,” Nonna says in her broken English the moment Cecilia sits on the couch.
Cecilia glances at me, and I only shrug. “She sees even what we don’t say out loud.”
Turning back to my grandmother, Cecilia gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing serious. I was a little worried about my son, but we talked and everything is fine now.”
“Sì...” Nonna murmurs, nodding knowingly. “A mamma’s heart always knows.” Then her eyes brighten. “Hai foto dei tuoi bambini, eh?[LIII]On your phone?”
Cecilia smiles, reaching into her bag and pulling her phone out. “This is Ethan, my oldest. He’s eighteen now.”
“Etan?” Nonna repeats, testing the sound on her tongue. “Etan?”
Cecilia doesn’t correct her. She only nods.
“Bel ragazzo,”[LIV]Nonna declares. “Strong eyes. Same color your eyes.”
“Yes, he looks like his father, but he has my eyes.”
I watch her swipe across the screen and show her another picture.
“And this is Alicia. She’s thirteen.”
“Alicia has your hair, your smile,” Nonna says, leaning closer.“Una bella ragazza[LV]. You havebambinivery beautiful... and seembuona gente.”
Cecilia glances at me, uncertain. I lean closer and translate. “She says you have beautiful children, and they seem like such good people.”
I look at her with a gentle smile.
Cecilia’s expression melts, and she turns back to my grandmother. “Thank you, Signora Carmela.”
“Ah, Cecilia,” Nonna exclaims. “How many times have I told you to call me Nonna, eh? They call me Signora Carmela only to tease me!”
She fires it off in rapid Italian, her hands flying through the air for emphasis. I translate, and Cecilia laughs.
“Okay, Nonna,” she says, smiling.
Nonna gives Cecilia’s hand two little pats, then asks with a grin, “Cookie?”
