by Holly Rayner
Gaby smiled. “Of course, Nonna. I’d be happy to.”
Gaby’s grandmother was a small, frail old woman. She was the exact opposite of all of her children; it was clear that Gaby’s grandfather had held the stronger genes there. He had been a beast of a man—tall and strong, with deep dark eyes and black hair. There were traces of him in the faces of nearly everyone in the room. Nonna’s hair was white, her skin dark and deeply etched with wrinkles. Still, her eyes glowed with intelligence, and while her body was growing weaker, that in no way had affected the sharpness of her mind.
The rest of Gaby’s family gathered around the table and took their seats. The atmosphere was boisterous as everyone gazed hungrily at the traditional Thanksgiving fare of turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce as well as the Italian additions of pasta with meatballs and a hearty marinara sauce.
Uncle Tony looked to Nonna. “Now, Mamma, will you say grace?”
Nonna lowered her head, and the rest of the table followed suit. “Dearest Lord, thank you for the blessings in our lives. Thank you for a strong, healthy family, and this glorious meal that we are now about to share together. Amen.”
A chorus of “Amen”s rang out as plates began filling up with food.
“Now this is a meal fit for royalty!” Uncle Tony joked, for the millionth time.
Nonna frowned. “We are royalty, Tony. You may tease, but our family line goes way back, back to the eldest noble families in Italy. It’s might be too old to have meaning now, but we deserve to be sitting in those palaces!”
Gaby’s mother looked at Tony reproachfully. “You always have to get her riled up,” she hissed.
Nonna didn’t seem to hear. She turned to Gaby. “You believe me, don’t you, mia amore?”
Gaby placed a gentle hand over her grandmother’s. “Of course I do, Nonna. Maybe someday we can find out about our past, and get those castles we deserve.”
Nonna stared at Gaby, her gaze penetrating. Gaby hated when her Nonna looked at her like that. It meant a line of questioning was about to follow.
“How is your love life, Gabriella?”
Ah, the inevitable question.
“It’s okay…” Gaby said, not wanting to lie to her grandmother—at least not completely.
Nonna’s frown deepened. “Okay? That doesn’t sound very good. Is there a boy you are dating? Is he Italian?”
Gaby hesitated. “No… There’s no one, really.”
“But why not? You are a beautiful girl, Gabriella, and you aren’t getting any younger, you know. Your siblings are all happily married with children. It is your turn to give me another grandbaby.”
Gaby looked pointedly at Luisa. “You already have another great-grandchild on the way! Are you getting greedy, Nonna?” she asked, her grin sly.
Nonna huffed. “I should think not. There is great joy in having a family to love, Gabriella. I simply want you to experience it. If I should get another grandbaby in the mix, that’s just a bonus.”
Gaby frowned. Family, men and dating. It was all she was asked about, like being single was some kind of disease that she wasn’t getting treatment for. She bit back her resentment by taking a bite of turkey and washing it down with more red wine. Her head was feeling light with the alcohol, but she didn’t care. A little liquid courage was necessary during family gatherings, was it not?
Once again, Gaby found herself forced to evaluate why she was single. The truth was, she was working all the time. Running a business took a lot of work, and there was no such thing as a weekend. She was devoted to her parents. Her sisters and brother had all opted to go off to college, and she had been left behind, watching the sadness creep into her parents’ eyes as each of their children left their home. The sadness had been replaced by joy as marriages and babies entered the picture, but still she had felt a sense of responsibility to stay. She didn’t want to be the reason that sadness entered their eyes again, and she had always been the one with the strongest ties to the restaurant. It was understood that someday she would be the one taking over the place, and that was why her parents worked as hard as they did. It was why they were so hard on Gabriella—more so than the others. They wanted to prepare her for the tough life of running a restaurant.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Gaby knew that. She knew that when her mother pushed her, it was out of love. It was out of a desire to prepare her for a tough world that she knew so very little about. She took another bite of stuffing, trying not to think about it anymore.
“Have you tried online dating?” Nonna asked, unwilling to drop her favorite subject just yet. “My friend Stella won’t stop raving about this guy she’s met; barely looks a day over seventy…”
Gaby was thinking about how to respond diplomatically when the phone rang loudly from the back kitchen.
“Gabriella, did you forget to turn off the phones?” her mother cried.
“Leave the poor girl alone, Gina! You’re too hard on her,” Uncle Tony chimed in.
Gina jabbed a fork in his direction. “Don’t you tell me how to raise my children, Tony. I’ve raised four healthy, successful kids. Clearly I’m doing something right!”
“I’m just saying…”
The table erupted in wild argument as the phone rang and rang from the back kitchen.
“Enough!” Gaby yelled, and the room went silent as her family looked at her, stunned.
Gaby stood and stared down every one of her family members, not blinking when her eyes met her mother’s. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, leaving the table as the chattering of voices started up once again.
If there was one thing that was nearly impossible to do, it was keep an Italian family from talking for more than a minute. Still, Gaby was relieved to have an excuse to leave the table. She had no idea what kind of answer she would have come up with for her grandmother.
The phone’s loud ring continued on, and Gaby considered simply unplugging it. Whoever it was should have known that it was a national holiday, and the place wasn’t to be disturbed.
Still, it could be a customer, and Gaby had had it burned into her mind that the customer always came first. With a sigh, she picked the phone up off the receiver.
“Thank you for calling Il Lupo. We are currently closed for the Thanksgiving holiday, but will be open tomorrow for lunch at noon. Our specials will be Italian wedding soup and lasagna.”
There was a pause.
“Thank you for this information, ma’am, but I am not actually looking to dine at your establishment.”
The voice on the other end of the line was male, and strongly accented. Italian accented.
“You’re not?” Gaby said, not knowing what else to say. Why else would anyone call a restaurant?
The man on the other end of the line chuckled softly. “No, signorina. I am actually looking to speak to someone by the name of Gabriella Galtieri. I’m sorry to be calling during a holiday, but I hope that she is there and that I might speak with her? It’s a matter of some urgency,” the man said.
Gaby hesitated for a moment. Who on earth would be calling for her?
“This is Gaby,” she said.
TWO
“Wonderful!” the man replied. “I’m Giorgio Catalli, representing the Italian government’s international relations branch. I’m calling you because we are working to bring a small group of individuals to Florence as part of an initiative to strengthen ties between the United States and Italy. I am happy to tell you that you have been selected as a candidate for this program!”
Gaby stared into space, her mouth hanging open. This couldn’t be real, could it?
“This is a scam, isn’t it?” she asked.
“It is anything but, signorina! I can send you a follow up email with all the relevant information, I promise. You are second generation Italian, no?”
“I am… How did you get that information?”
“Your grandmother has written to us on many occasions. I believe this is something she has long-hoped you
would experience.”
Gaby froze then. It did sound like something her grandmother would do, but this seemed simply too strange!
“How much do I have to pay?” she asked, searching for the catch.
“Nothing at all! All expenses will be covered by the government. We had an unfortunate mix up with the administration, and I was not able to find your contact information until now, which is why my call is so ill-timed, but if you can, we would like to fly you out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?!”
“I know, I know. Mi dispiace. I am sorry. It is short notice, but we would so appreciate your participation in the program, Signorina Galtieri. Please, will you help our two countries unite, culturally?”
Gaby paused, the silence stretching out across the line. This was just too weird. An Italian guy calling on Thanksgiving, offering her a free trip to Florence the very next day? It had to be a scam.
“I’m sorry sir, but this all seems too good to be true. Good day—”
“Wait!” the man cried, and, against her better judgment, Gaby didn’t hang up the phone.
“Would you be willing to give me your email address? I can send you the information, and you can consider its legitimacy at your leisure. If you’re still unconvinced after reading it, you can block my email and never hear from me again.”
Gaby mulled it over. There was a part of her that wanted to believe this could really be true, and that part of her won the small battle of sharing her email with a stranger. She spelled it out slowly and repeated it so he wouldn’t get it wrong.
“Thank you, Gabriella! I will send you a confirmation email as discussed. If you are willing to participate in the program, we will send a car for you tomorrow to pick you up for your flight. If you choose not to take the car, we will understand, but please do consider it a little longer!”
“When would the flight be?” Gaby asked, thinking about her shift the following day.
“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” Gaby said instantly.
She was used to canceling plans; she’d done it all her life. The restaurant always came first. Always.
“And at what time could you fly?” the man asked, his tone remaining polite.
“My shift ends at nine PM,” she said.
There was no way they’d change a flight just for her. She could end this here and now.
“In that case, we will send a car over at that time instead. It is no trouble, Gabriella. Please do consider this opportunity. I hope to see you in Florence in a few days’ time. Good evening to you. And Happy Thanksgiving.”
The man hung up before the Gaby could bid him farewell.
She hung up the phone, then, and stared into space. Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, indicating a new email had arrived in her inbox. Pulling it out, she opened her mail and read the message.
