I take my phone out and take a picture, but don’t send it to her, which feels wrong.
I feel like I’m stealing something, even though that’s pathetic.
I’m not stealing a photo I just took.
But you are stealing a moment of joy from her.
I press my forehead to the window, letting the rhythm of the road remove me from myself.
When the driver finally stops in front of her street, I almost don’t move.
Her house stands at the end, small, two stories, with chipped yellow paint and flower boxes overflowing with red geraniums.
A cat is sleeping on the front step like it owns the place.
It is perfect.
Exactly how I remember.
I take a deep breath and knock once. I don’t get to blink before the door flies open.
“Mio dolce Luca!”
Nonna’s voice can make mountains move. She’s barely five feet tall, but her hug could crush bones.
She throws her arms around me like I have been gone for decades.
“Ciao, Nonna,” I manage, grinning despite the weight in my chest. “I missed you.”
She pulls back, squinting up at me. “You look too skinny. You don’t eat? What do they feed you in Australia, sadness?”
I laugh softly. “Something like that.”
She smacks my arm gently and waves me inside. “Come, I made food. Real food. Not that frozen garbage you eat over there.”
The smell hits me the second I step in — garlic, tomatoes, and fresh fruit.
The kitchen looks like a cozy war zone. Pots bubbling, herbs hanging from the ceiling, flour dusting the counter.
Nonna’s version of love is cooking enough food for an army.
If you refuse seconds, it’s a personal insult punishable by guilt.
She brings out plate after plate — lasagna, fried zucchini, bread still warm from the oven, and focaccia.
I sit down, pretending to be starved just to make her happy.
In my family, it’s rude to refuse food. There is no such thing as politely refusing.
It’s eitheryou eat, or you hate me.
She watches me eat, arms crossed. “You look tired, Luca. Too tired. What’s wrong, huh? You fight with your coach again?”
I freeze with a fork halfway to my mouth. “No, Nonna. Not that.”
She tilts her head. “Then what? You lose a game?”
I smile weakly. “Yeah. Something like that.”
