Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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"Let's celebrate the beautiful life of Paolo D'Amico. A father, a friend, and a wonderful person many of us at this table miss dearly." Manu's celebratory speech fits in with the tone of the affair.
Boisterous and talkative, Mom's husband is the polar opposite of my soft-spoken, introverted father. The thing they have in common is their excellent sense of humor. Dad's funeral was a lonely ceremony, and this gathering is what it should've been—a party instead of a wake.
The glasses are drained and refilled. Mom stands in front of our small group and turns on the big screen TV she dragged into the dining room.
"This was a group effort. Over a hundred people contributed. Many colleagues and students sent in photos Amélie and I didn't know existed." She smiles and looks around the table.
"We might remember Paolo differently, but let's see what his life appeared like through the eyes of the people who he crossed paths with." She turns on the TV and starts the slide show.
Dad is on each of them.
Familiar faces and those I've never seen before are around him. Many of the photos have me next to Dad, ranging from a chubby baby to an awkward teenager with braces.
I find Angie's hand under the table and squeeze it. It's a photo of her at the piano next to my dad. He's explaining something to her with his Italian passion: mouth open, hands in mid-air. I miss him but I'm not unhappy anymore. I go to school, and I work as an English tutor and a research assistant at the university, but somehow, I have more time and more people to spend it with. And I keep cooking.
The food on today's table is a collection of Dad's favorite dishes Mom and I made together. The gathering isn't large, but they are a family.
Having Angie by my side after four months apart makes it complete. Mom, Manu, the boys, Manu's parents, Angie—I can imagine Dad looking at us together, laughing over aperitifs, and exchanging anecdotes about him. He wanted this for me. Not to be alone after he was gone but to belong. To be part of a family.
"Quite a night." Angie's unpacking her suitcase. She's here for a week, but it's so big it might've been for a month. She's stacking her clothes on the make-shift bed, I set up for her on the sofa. The cottage is a one-room with my bed in one corner and a kitchenette and a lounge area by the door.
"Dad would've liked it."
"Most definitely." She takes a canvas bag with the Taekwondo fighters out next. Goosebumps run down my arms and legs. "These are your grandmother's recipes and stuff I picked up from Ben, like you asked."
"Thanks." My mouth goes dry, and I set the bag by my desk. "No trouble getting it from him?"
"Easy-peasy. I got to see his apartment for the first time. That view is to die for!"
I remember the first time I saw the view. And the second. "It's pretty unforgettable."
Angie looks up at me and scrutinizes my face. "You don't mind that Ben and I are still friends, do you?"
"Why would I?" I fake nonchalance. "But I am glad you are my best friend. And to make the trip here worth it for you, tomorrow I'm taking you on the tour of the castles." I rub my hands together in anticipation. "Villandry and Chenonceau are a must. We'll see if we have time for anything else."
"We better get to bed then. The flight was not bad but I'm about to crash."
"We'll have so much fun." I hug her.
"Hey, I need a shower first." She gives me a quick hug back and disappears into the shower.
I grab the bag with Nonna's stuff and sift through the folders of menus, the journals, the box with recipes—they are all present and accounted for. But there's a two-inch thick notebook I don't remember ever seeing. I take it out and run my fingers over the spiral binding. The paper is new. This is not Nonna's. This isn't mine.
'A cuore aperto' in large block letters on top 'A heart-to-heart' in smaller cursive underneath. The name of my Nonna's restaurant is printed on top of the title page above the cover of her first menu. Nonna's signature phrase below it: 'Parlare a cuore aperto è meglio del buon piatto' in italian and then in English 'A heart-to-heart is best over good food.'
Nonna's recipes. I flip through the pages. Someone took the recipes I had scanned and typed them up, matching any photos or descriptions of the dishes to those on the menu and adding pictures of Nonna's notes and sayings between the recipes. A neatly folded square of paper is in the middle. I unfold it.
When as a teen I got frustrated and screamed, hit the wall or threatened to never touch the cello or set foot into the dojang again, Mom would tell me to not give up, because great things take time.
You are a great thing, Amélie, and you will do great things.
Keep cooking and discovering. Your dreams are counting on you to not give up.
My legs can't hold me, and I slide down to the floor, clutching the notebook to my chest. The unexpungable feeling of love I shoved into the furthest corner of my heart washes over me.
This present is so much more than a connection to my past with Nonna. The notebook is my way into the future. Nonna's food will forever bring images of Ben. I close my eyes and smile. My dreams of Ben have been a constant. Cooking Nonna's recipes will keep me connected to Ben even if we never see each other again. We might be an ocean apart, but I face my life armed with Ben's words: I'm not giving up on my dreams.
