“I’m good,” Matt tells me with an amused grin. I shrug and slide the remaining two into my bag. “You don’t have to steal them,” he goes on to say. “We can come back and get more whenever we want.”
The New Yorker in me isn’t buying it. “It’s too good to be true,” I reply. “I’m sure you have to start paying after a certain point.”
Matt just looks at me. “You have serious trust issues.”
“I do, but I’m going to be a well-hydrated person with trust issues.”
I move on to the pasta table next, picking up one of the glass plates and serving myself a portion of mini-bowtie pasta with pesto sauce. Matt sits at one of the small bistro tables and I walk over to join him, scooping up a roll along the way and hot damn if it isn’t toasty and fresh out of the oven.
I’m still in denial about this whole situation, trying my best to pace myself and not stuff my face with the pesto pasta as I sit down across from Matt.
“Was this what life was like for you growing up?” I venture. “Staying in opulent hotels and beautiful penthouse apartments day after day?”
Matt runs his hand along the edge of the table, looking down slightly. “Is it possible for me to say yes without sounding awful?”
“I think you asking that question proves you’re not entirely awful.”
Matt smiles and moves his hand from the table to drop down beside him. “My father’s parents were very generous with us, and my parents were also successful individually.”
“What did your dad’s family do?” I ask, turning my attention to my baked-to-perfection roll. A tiny cloud of steam puffs up as I cut it in half and I swear I get goose bumps.
“My grandparents were involved in shipping. My dad worked with them for most of his life until he became an economics professor at Sapienza—the Sapienza University of Rome.”
“Very impressive,” I tell him. “And how did his parents feel about his career change?”
“They weren’t happy about it,” Matt answers. “They wanted him to take over the company and always thought he would since he worked there for so long. He didn’t end up leaving to pursue academia until he was in his early forties.”
“And was your mom supportive?”
Matt fidgets in his chair slightly. “She was, but she and my dad didn’t get together until after he had already left the company. They met at the university when my mom took his class.”
“Really?” I ask, intrigued.
“Yeah, they had a bit of an age difference.”
“How much of an age difference?”
He pauses. “About twenty years.”
“Oh, wow.”
“I know how that sounds,” Matt says, tucking his chair closer to the table. “You’re thinking my dad creeped on one of his students, but that wasn’t the case. My mom was twenty-one when they met and according to her, she fell in love with him the second she saw him. She said she wouldn’t leave him alone once she introduced herself and even when she did pursue him, my dad told her he wasn’t interested. They ended up being friends for years before they finally got together.”
“Scandalous,” I tell him, taking a sip of my soda.
“Yeah, I guess it kind of was at the time. My dad never stood a chance, though. Once my mom sets her mind to something, she can be tirelessly enthusiastic.”
“I can imagine,” I say with a smile. “Did your grandparents love her?”
“They actually hated her. At least at the beginning.”
“How can anyone hate your mom?” I ask defensively. “She’s a happy human unicorn.”
“Yeah, well, when their bachelor pride and joy came walking into dinner with his twentysomething girlfriend, of course they thought she was there for the wrong reasons.”
“But they must have changed their minds once they got to know her.”
“It was a long process,” he replies. “They didn’t love her like they should have until they saw how dedicated she was to my dad when he first got sick, though they did warm up to her once I was born, which makes sense.” He gestures toward his face. “Imagine this head of hair on a newborn baby. I was a nine-pound Italian bear cub, and there’s no block of ice I couldn’t melt.”
