Our Italian Summer

by Jennifer Probst

  “Of course—we’ve only been in a thousand churches,” Frannie said.

  “But not this one,” I retorted. “Each church is unique. It’s been the highlight of my trip.”

  “Hmm, I think my favorite was Venice,” Allegra said. “Something about a city on water made it magical.”

  “I loved Venice too,” Frannie said. “But I’m going with Capri. The Blue Grotto, and the views were spectacular.”

  We reached the town, and I was surprised at the well-maintained look of the houses and buildings—impeccable and bright with colors in mustard, rust, and burgundy. The shops were filled with local delights of all kinds. We crammed bags with hunks of pecorino cheese and crusty bread; ripened tomatoes and pasta; chestnuts, olives, earthy mushrooms, and fresh trout caught right in the nearby lake.

  The shopkeepers spoke English and chatted with us, pointing out various places to visit and giving hints to Allegra on good ways to cook the fish. Arms full, we poked around and steeped ourselves in the local atmosphere, then stopped at a café and drank chilled Pellegrino, soda, and iced coffee while we nibbled on the hard edges of the bread.

  “These mushrooms are sick,” Allegra moaned. “I think we can probably pick them ourselves right outside our villa!”

  Frannie choked on her coffee. “Please don’t. I can’t handle a mistake where I eat a fungus and get sick for the rest of the trip. Also, I think that’s a way to get high.”

  Allegra laughed. “Mom, you know about magic mushrooms? I’m impressed. Did you do any when you were young?”

  “No! I didn’t do any drugs when I was younger,” she said with a huff. “I was too afraid of what the stuff would make me do. Also, I didn’t want to get hooked. That’s why I freaked out on you.”

  Allegra looked at her mother with surprise. Sure, she’d yelled and accused and punished, but she’d never spoken from her heart about why Allegra’s decision to smoke weed had terrified her. Kids kept many secrets, so I figured Frannie had done her share of experimentation with drugs and alcohol, even though I kept a close eye. Hearing that, though, made me realize she’d always needed control in her life. She’d rarely gotten drunk or done anything that affected her ability to make her own decisions. It must’ve been hard to always follow such a straight, narrow course without exploring any side roads.

  Like Jack. My beloved husband had been content to follow the path ahead without distraction. For me, there’d been no time or opportunity to figure out whether I liked adventure or not. I’d been told exactly what my life was going to be like, and I had accepted it with grace. I’d wanted more for Frannie, yet she’d picked the same exact straightforward lifestyle. How odd that a mother’s dream for her daughter can end up taking a detour and leading right back to what you always dreaded.

  Her becoming just like you.

  “What about smoking a cigarette?” Allegra asked in surprise.

  “I think I did a puff once, but I didn’t like it.”

  “Damn, Mom, that’s kind of lame. Didn’t you ever want to do something really bad?”

  Frannie propped her chin in her cupped hands and seemed to think about it. “Yeah. I always wanted to try skinny-dipping.”

  Allegra and I shared a glance and burst into laughter. “Did you ever try?” she asked curiously.

  Frannie shook her head. “Never got an opportunity. I mean, I wouldn’t do it with a crowd of people at a pool or anything. But a secluded watering hole or lake, on a beautiful summer night? I could do that.”

  “Well, I have no desire to swim naked with icky bugs or fish,” Allegra announced. “I’m keeping my clothes on.”

  “Good, let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

  Allegra stuck out her tongue.

  We finished our drinks, took our bags, and headed back home. The sun was beginning to slowly sink in the sky, and the light warmed all the colors of the hillside, blurring them into a misty glow. By the time I got home, my pelvis and feet ached, and I needed desperately to go to the bathroom. My skin had browned from the long days in the sun. My age surprised me sometimes. In my mind, I was forever young and able-bodied, but as I climbed the steps, I realized how easily a deteriorating body can become a prison.

  “I’m going to take a bit of a rest,” I said cheerfully. “Then we’ll make a wonderful dinner and eat it outside on the terrace.”

  “Okay, Nonni, let me know if you need me.”

  I smiled at my sweet granddaughter, whom I was so blessed to have fuss over me. She’d eased my loneliness over the years and given my heart a new lease on life. One day, I’d express in words what she means to me. Perhaps a letter she could hold close after I left this earth, and be reminded how she is loved.

  I slept for an hour, enjoying the firm mattress and the soft, hand-stitched white blanket. A gentle breeze blew in from the open windows, and the sound of birds floated to my ears. My sleep was disturbed so often, and I’d gotten used to snatching a few hours here and there, so this one short, dreamless slumber was everything.

  When I came out of my room, Frannie and Allegra were already on the terrace. “I made lemonade, Nonni. Have some.”

  She poured from a hand-painted floral pitcher, and I sipped the cool, tart liquid. “Delicious,” I praised. “Are you ready to start dinner?”

  “Yes, I’m starving.”

  While we cooked, I watched with pride as she made her own dough. She rolled and pinched it like an expert, sliced plump, juicy tomatoes, and perfected the balance of herbs to highlight the natural flavors. We sautéed the mushrooms first to take out some of the earthiness, and used a combination of pecorino and mozzarella. There was a bottle of red wine on the shelf, so I grabbed that and poured Frannie and myself a glass. We whipped up some wilted greens and sliced the bread, adding garlic and more herbs for a dipping oil, then laid the platters out on the table. The dishes were a heavy ceramic, and I loved the pots and pans they’d left us: solid skillets that only needed oil to clean them, and hearty pans to hold the large trout.

  “I’ve never deboned a fish, Nonni. Can you teach me?”

  “Of course. My mother taught me very young, and it’s a delicate process. Come here. This is a fillet knife, and you must be patient. If you begin hacking or get sloppy, you can ruin the integrity of the fish. We start by removing the head.”

  Frannie groaned. “I think I’m going to be a vegetarian. I don’t like to stare my food in the eye.”

  “Which is why we are beheading it. If you become a vegetarian, you’ll break my heart. Think of all the food you’ll miss out on in your life.”

  “Which is why I prefer restaurants. I don’t get a behind-the-scenes documentary on where my food comes from.”

  Allegra laughed. “Mom, it’s important to know the origins of your food. Many places pack in preservatives and hormones or abuse the animals. Sustainable sources, freshwater fish, cruelty-free eggs, grass-fed beef, all of it is important to make a difference in the world. I’d like to work with a restaurant that incorporates humane techniques and uses simple, fresh ingredients.”

  I tilted my head, intrigued. She’d never mentioned those specific passions before. “I think you’d make a great chef one day, sweetheart. And I bet there are many who share your views. You just need to find them.”

  She nodded, obviously deep in thought as she mulled over my words. “Yeah, you’re right. When we get home, I’m going to start researching.”

  “Good for you,” Frannie said. “Now can you dismember the fish? I’m starving.”

  We laughed, and I took Allegra through the deboning process, until the trout was laid out in the pan. I added lemons, garlic, herbs, and some broth to keep it juicy. Within half an hour, all the food was laid out on the table.

  I breathed in the wafting scents of garlic mixed with wildflowers, herbs, and lemon and appreciated the rolling hills and the vines surrounding the villa, listene
d to the complete silence other than the lazy buzz of a bee or the occasional birdsong. I was in paradise, with my family, and I seized the moment with the ferocity of a woman who knew how fleeting life really was.

  “Let’s say grace,” I announced. We linked hands and bowed our heads. I recited the traditional grace, emotion lumped thick in my throat. “Thank you. I know it took a leap of faith to leave everything behind for a month, but I’ll never forget this trip. I love you both.”

  “Love you too, Nonni,” Allegra said, squeezing my hand.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  I blinked back tears and got hold of myself. “Let’s do justice to this beautiful food.”

  We did. I watched with pride as my two girls stuffed themselves like true Italians, appreciating every flavorful morsel. Darkness fell and crickets serenaded us. The wine bottle emptied, and Allegra yawned, stretching at the table. “I’m so tired,” she moaned.

  “Go to bed,” Frannie ordered. “You cooked; I’ll do the dishes.”

  Being the bright young woman she was, Allegra jumped up from the table. “Thanks, Mom! Night, Nonni!”

  She disappeared.

  I looked at Frannie and we both laughed. “Hmm, that went well. There wasn’t even a hesitation,” she said.

  I raised my brow. “Like mother, like daughter. You hated cleaning. And dishes. And dusting. And making your bed. And—”

  “I get it. I was never the domestic type. But I didn’t have to be—you always took care of everything.”

  I nodded, thinking back over the years to the number of hours I spent cooking and tending the house and the garden. I’d made Frannie and Jack my life. I’d prepared for so much more, and it took me a long time to accept I wasn’t meant to have it. “Chores were part of my identity,” I said simply. “I had nothing else.”

  My daughter shifted in her chair and leaned over the table. Her gaze locked on mine, those golden brown eyes filled with questions. “Mom, do you have any regrets? Things you wish you could do over?”

  I was tempted to wave my hand and say nothing, but it was a night to share truths. “I promised your great-grandmother I’d give your father a big family and take care of him.” My voice drifted away, chased by the wind. “I failed everyone, though. I accepted it but will always regret not being able to have more children.”

  “How could you say that?” Outrage shimmered from her figure. “That’s not your fault! No one can blame you for not being able to have a child.”

  “Childless women get looked at with pity. It was always our fault, and rarely the men’s. When I birthed you, I knew my prayers had finally given me a miracle. I threw myself into being a mother and it gave me the greatest joy I’d ever known.” The memories still soothed my soul and helped me sleep at night. My perfect daughter, from her first pull at my breast to her first steps. Her joy and her stubbornness to make something out of her life. Her adoration of her father and her focused ambition to garner the highest grades in the school. I soon became a noose around her neck, chaining her to me and restricting her precious freedom. No wonder we’d battled so hard and so often. I couldn’t let her go because she was all I had.

  Not her fault. I saw that now. But I was just a woman who made my own mistakes.

  “My second regret was the mistakes I made raising you. I know I clung too hard. Tried to direct you in the ways I wanted. I didn’t want to lose you, Frannie. It was like you were born to be free, and the time you depended on me was so fleeting. I just kept wanting . . . more.”

  Suddenly, she got up from her chair and came around to sit beside me, laying her head on my shoulder. I treasured her closeness and stroked back her hair, studying the angles and shadows of her strong, beautiful face.

  “There was so much I didn’t know about you and Daddy, because I never asked. I was wrapped up in my own world.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s how it always is with a child and parent. It’s part of the cycle. We swear we’ll never be like our mothers, but after enough time and experience pass, you realize we’re all the same. Doing our best. Making mistakes. Pushing forward. Right now, Allegra’s struggling to be her own person and force you to listen, but it’s difficult to step back and allow her those awful mistakes. Because in the end, you just want her to be like you.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Or not.”

  She sucked in a breath as if my words stunned her. “I just want to be a good mom,” she said softly. “Allegra doesn’t have to be like me. But I realized I made a big mistake, Mom. All those years growing up, I thought Daddy was the one really in charge. He made the money and had this big career. He had interesting friends and travel and seemed like this big-time celebrity to me, ready to play and have fun. You seemed boring. Always fussing and getting in my way. Your world was us, and I swore I’d never be that. I wanted so much more.”

  God, the words shredded like razors, bringing raw pain, but I appreciated that it was the first time she’d told me the truth. All my suspicions had been right. But I despised what my daughter believed of me, when I knew inside I was different. I’d just kept to myself, believing she would never want to know who I really was. What my dreams or fears were. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “It was another reason I didn’t want to have a traditional marriage. I was terrified if I had a child with a man, I’d be the one to give up my career. I’d be the one left behind and end up like you. So I created and controlled my own world, where I was a single mom with all the power and I’d bow to no one. It seemed perfect.”

  “Was it?”

  She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I ended up doing the same thing as Daddy. I let you raise Allegra while I mocked what you were. Meanwhile, you both have this amazing relationship and I have to start over. Because I chose wrong. I failed.”

  I refused to let her believe she wasn’t a good mother, because it wasn’t true. “Don’t put that on yourself, Francesca,” I said firmly. “There’s enough maternal guilt in the world to swallow you whole. You’ll never win that game because there are only losers. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. You doted on Allegra. She was your life and I was the witness. I may have babysat her during the day, but you were up for every late-night feeding and every nightmare. You grew your business while you juggled sports and teacher meetings and supervised sleepovers with her friends. Don’t you dare tell me you failed. You raised a strong, beautiful young woman with dreams. She’s not afraid to think big and go after what she wants. That wasn’t me, sweetheart. That was all you. It was only when she got older that you believed it was better to pull back, because that’s what you always needed from me. But you’re brave enough to admit when you’re wrong and to try to change. That’s what you’re doing on this trip and I see it—the trust building between the two of you more every day. It’s not about how many times we fail, Frannie. It’s how many times we recognize it and change. It’s how many times we try to do better.”

  My body loosened, and it was as if my breath settled deeper into my lungs; a lightness flowed within my muscles and bones that had never been there before. To finally share my inner soul with my daughter was a priceless gift. I’d forgotten how freeing it felt to have the person you loved finally see who you are and accept you truly. Flaws and all.

  That was the true power of family. Of love.

  “I know I never told you this before, but I realize now, as much as I loved Daddy, he wasn’t my rock. It was you, Mom.”

  My heart stitched and healed as I sat at the table in Tuscany and held my daughter for a long, long time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Francesca

  The moment Enzo climbed out of the car and walked over, my entire body hummed with sweet anticipation.

  The last two days we’d fallen into an easy rhythm. We all slept late, had a light breakfast, and went for a walk. Exploring the ma
ssive grounds had become like a treasure hunt—we discovered something new down each path: a hidden shed filled with dusty bottles of wine, ripened lemon trees heavy with fruit, and a small lake with one lone rowboat floating on the surface. When we came across a small family of bunnies living in the brush, Allegra insisted on leaving carrots for them every afternoon like they’d sprung from a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

  Then we went into town for lunch and picked a new sight to see. We’d lingered at the small museum Mom had wanted to check out, and spoke with the locals who knew we were here for the week. Then we’d head back to the villa, take a nap, and spend the evening hours cooking, drinking, and talking late into the night.

  But I’d been looking forward to seeing Enzo, who’d agreed to wait till midweek so we could both settle in first. He was dressed in mustard-colored shorts, a cream button-down shirt, and a straw hat tipped low over his brow. His olive skin was dark and tanned, and he walked over with a purposeful male grace that made all my girly parts wake up and sing.

  When he reached me, he pressed a full kiss to my lips. “I missed you,” he murmured, his lilting voice caressing my ears.

  “I missed you too.”

  “I’m glad your mama and Allegra are okay with me staying.”

  I gave a small laugh. “They actually seemed thrilled. I think they both realized it had been way too long since I was interested in a man. Plus, they like you already, so we’re past the awkward meet-and-greet stage.”

  His slow grin made my belly flip-flop. “My sisters would love you,” he said. “They’d adore your honesty and feistiness.”

  “I’d love to meet them one day.” I meant it. To see Enzo with his family, in his element, created a longing that I couldn’t deny. But this week was for me, Allegra, and Mom, and it was important that I keep my focus. “Why do I think our mothers would love each other?”

  “Oh, they would. They’d probably arrange our wedding right away.” I jerked back a little, but he laughed, running a finger down my cheek. “Just kidding. Well, kind of. You haven’t met my mama.”