Beautiful in Jada

14: Chiavare

The mutters of curses in the kitchen broke my thought process. I quickly got up and went into the kitchen to check on Jada. I found her running her finger under the sink water. The stove was still on, so I turned it off in order to stop the burning oil and removed it from the burner. It was so smokey in here, and considering this was a converted kitchen, it was walled off differently. She was sweating like crazy as the heat had trapped inside the room.

"My love, why are you hurting yourself?" I asked her.

She looked back at me, flustered and sweat collecting on her forehead.

"I'm not trying to. The oil just popped at me. I'm fine. I got this, " She said, still running her hand under the water. At times, she can be so stubborn. The rumors are true, that's for sure, but it was endearing for her to try.

"Here, why don't I just go upstairs for some leftovers?" I suggested. Jada sighed but nodded, her head not turning around. I rushed upstairs into the house was quiet, but the kitchen light was on, and the door to the backyard was open. Someone was in the pool, likely my parents doing their own thing. I heard a few loud beeps downstairs, knowing the smoke had finally reached the detector. I quickly opened the fridge to grab the leftover manicotti from the fidge. It was Nonna's reciepe, so it was absolutely delicious. I rushed back downstairs as quickly as I could. When I came back down, the back door was open as Jada fanned the fire alarm with a shirt. The alarm had stopped blaring after two beeps, and she looked even more paniced.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed. I placed the tray on the table.

"It's not a problem," I told her, grabbing a chair from the table behind the couch. I pulled the smoke detector from the ceiling and pulled the battery, hushing the machine as it started up its beeping tirade again. She looked a bit relieved, but the room was still smokey at the top. I stepped down from the chair and tucked it back into the table

"I'm a terrible cook, I'm sorry. I really thought I could handle this, " she said, her tone defeated and her shoulders hunched over. I kissed her forehead softly, pulling her into a hug.

"I told you I can handle it." I scolded her softly. I don't hold her for too long, as much as I wanted to pull her away into the room. I point over to the tray of leftovers.

"My momma made some manicotti. It's my nonna's receipie," I told her. She looked at me confused.

"Half the words coming out of your mouth are some italian, I don't understand," she admitted, shaking her head.

"Manicotti is like a sleeve of pasta stuffed with cheese and meat. My nonna is my grandma, a wonderful, sweet woman whose cooking will melt your soul."

I pulled out her chair, motioning for her to sit down. She gracefully sits in the chair before her as I get a wiff of her coconut shampoo. I loved her hair braided back as her face became the main focus of attention. I walked into the kitchen and quickly retrieved two plates, a serving spoon, 2 knives, and 2 forks. I set the table before her and served her 2 pieces of manicotti along with some zucchni separated in the pan. I served myself 3 before sitting down in the chair. We silently ate, as the manicotti reminded of my childhood. Grandma would always make dinner for the family, sunday dinner was always after Mass. She always made her fresh pasta before leaving and then started cooking when she came home. Her large feast fed the whole family and the neighbors. This only lasted a few years before we moved out of the small town to the big city so dad could help a former boss. I always missed her gentle touch and home cooking. My mom got close, but it was always different.

I wondered if my nonna would live to see my grandkids. She was already so old and seemed so frail, yet she always had so much fight left in her. What would it be like to have a child with Jada, a beautiful baby girl with her skin tone or a boy with a mixture of both of our features and maybe a third who looked more like me. The dreams of a family started to plauge my mind more and more.