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Her black lace shawl smelled of bergamot and cloves. She might be barely five feet, but her presence was that of a mountain lion.
“Yeah, I’m pooped,” I sighed, melting into her embrace.
She scoffed. “Watch your mouth, ragazza.”
I smiled into her salt and pepper mane. If she thought pooped was bad, she was in for a treat. But as I looked over her shoulder, as I saw the twin pairs of boots lined neatly on the rubber mat, I couldn’t help but feel that our rough and tumble lives were exactly where they needed to be.
***
“Nonna, let me help you with that,” I protested.
She batted her hand at me to stay seated. “Pshaw! Drink your tea.”
Muted rumbles floated from the living room, but the boys seemed content. They’d fussed over not having Legos to play with, but there hadn’t been space to bring those. When my grandmother produced the set of wooden log toys, their curiosity got the better of them, and the Lincoln Logs had kept them busy for the last fifteen minutes.
I doubted it would last long, but I wasn’t going to break out the tablets. Not tonight. Screen time was going to be a battle with my grandmother, and I didn’t have the energy to explain that tablets were a modern parent’s saving grace.
“You’ve been shoveling all afternoon, please let me help make the meal,” I insisted, although my fingers probably wouldn’t be able to be peeled off the mug of steaming, spiced liquid. The warmth made them ache.
Nonna chuckled. “I did nothing except sweep my porch a few times.”
I frowned. “Who plowed you out?”
“One of the villagers. You should meet him. Such a nice young man.”
I winced, but she didn’t notice. She proceeded to scoop tagghiarini strands she’d made this afternoon from the pot of boiling water. She layered them on a bright red sugo made from simple, garden-grown ingredients.
My stomach growled.
Dinner was going to be so much better than the jarred stuff from a store shelf. I did know how to make noodles and red sauce myself, but the limited budget for groceries the last few months meant cutting corners.
Nonna didn’t have to know that.
“He didn’t want to stay for supper, though,” Nonna tutted.
“Who?” I balked, back in reality after salivating over home cooking. “Who didn’t want to stay for supper?”
“My friend!” Nonna lifted her hands, spoon held high like a saber. “The nice young man I want you to meet.”
“I’m not meeting anyone,” I pleaded. “It’s not a good time.”
“Good time,” she scoffed. “It’s never a good time with you young people. Everything needs to be just right. Well, that’s not how the world works. You seize the day. Carpe Diem!”
“Nonna, it’s only been a year.” I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to win this one. “I’m not much for socializing these days.”
“What socializing? He’s my friend. I want you to meet him,” she insisted.
“Nonna.” I sighed and twisted my empty ring finger. The wedding set had paid for rent, and truth be told, I didn’t miss the weight of it as much as I should have. “I don’t want to meet any young men.”
“Yes, you do,” she smirked. “I’ll find a way for you two to meet.”
That promise sounded ominous. Leave it to an Italian granny to play matchmaker.
“Maybe later. Let us get settled here first. It’s a big move coming to a small town.”
There was a crash from the living room, followed by a roar of protest. I jumped to my feet, ready to intervene. I couldn’t have them fighting in front of my grandmother.
“Those boys need a man,” Nonna muttered from her post near the stove.
