Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I shrug my shoulders as if I didn’t know what I was doing. We both look at each other, each of us trying to find out what the next play will be and who will make it.
When Giuseppe comes back outside with bread and butter, he shocks me by adding a plate and putting a bit of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, moving it in the plate. “For you, bellissima.”
“Grazie.” I surprise both of them with my Italian word. “It’s the only word I know along with si and ciao.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Noah, this isa good one. Si?”
“We are only friends,” he tells him, the words making my heart flutter a bit, a pang coming.
“Aha, like me and my Maria?” He throws his hands up. “We go to a school together back in Italy.” He starts his story. “Then I comma to America and she writes me letters.”
I sit up, leaning and placing my elbows on the table as I take in his story.
“Then my mamma she calla me and tell me Maria is getting married. My heart it stopped.” He places his hand on his heart. “I went back and told her you come with me to America.” He ends the story on a smile.
“So she came with you to America?” I ask him, anxiously awaiting the rest of his story.
He shakes his head. “Ah, that Maria she never a do what I say.” He puts his hands together like he’s praying. “Dio mi, I fall in love with testa dure.” His head is making the knocking on motion.
“She tells me, Giuseppe, I wanta babies. I tella her I give you all the babies you want. She wants tre.” He shows us the number three. “I give her five.”
“So she came to America with you. She left Italy for you.” The thought of leaving everything that I know hurts my heart.
“She said no. I said yes. Then I go to her fadher and I say I want Maria to come with me to America. He said okay, so she comes. She notta happy.” His hands go to his head. “Madonna, was she arrabiata. She refused to talk to me for a week. Now I think best week of my life, because now she never shuts up.”
We both laugh out while we see this small little thing come outside with her hands on her hips, her dark brown hair tied at the nape of her neck in a bun, a white apron around her neck with what looks like tomato sauce all over it. “Giuseppe, come and get the plates,” she says loudly. All he does is nod and follow her back in.
“See,” Noah tells me. “You can be friends with the opposite sex.”
I shake my head at him. “He basically did whatever he wanted.”
“Same thing.” He shrugs. “He knew in the end that she was what he wanted and didn’t take no for an answer.”
I don’t say anything else because Giuseppe and Giovanni come back out with our food. They place the salad in front of me, a mix of greens, with onions, peppers, olives, celery, cucumbers, zucchinis, shredded carrots, and little pieces of broccoli. “This looks amazing, Giuseppe,” I say, but what hits me the most is the aroma from Noah’s dish. The pasta is tossed in what seems to be just a plain tomato sauce. My mouth waters, but what I don’t see is Giuseppe place a plate next to my salad.
“This Maria make for you. She checked da Google with Giovanni.”
I look down.
“It’s mellenzanie, eggplant. She cooked it in oil, no butter and then she put da sauce on top.” He brings his fingers to his mouth. “Deliscio.”
“Thank you so much for going to all this trouble,” I say, smiling at him, eager to taste it.
He bows and then walks away. I don’t watch Noah. I just pick up my fork, cutting the tender eggplant, grabbing a piece with my fork, and bringing it to my mouth. The flavors hit my tongue all at the same time, making me close my eyes and moan. The tanginess of the sauce, with the sweetness of the eggplant…I open my eyes, still chewing. Noah’s eyes are almost bulging out of his sockets, his hands gripping his fork and knife while his jaw clenches tight.
“You okay?” I ask him once I swallow.
“How about you never pull that sound again while we are eating? Or drinking, or ever.” All this is said between clenched teeth.
I laugh at him, cutting another piece. “I’ll try my best, but I make no promises. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, ever.” Even the salad, which is tossed with a lemon, balsamic dressing is light, fresh, and amazing. “How is your dish?” I ask, watching him swirl the pasta on his plate, taking a big bite of it.