by Melissa Hill
Once they settled back in, Isabella showed each student to their station. Olivia took her place at the one nearest the window. She donned her red apron and white chef’s hat as she shook the tension and nervousness from her hands. As a traveler without a constant base, she rarely prepared for anyone, let alone had a home-cooked meal. The thought of cooking for three other women, one a professional chef, scared her senseless. Yet, she powered through, following Isabella’s delicately written instructions word for word.
As she began to mix the sauce with the meat, Isabella appeared behind her shoulder, startling her. Previously, she had been keenly focused on Kate, who was struggling to find the right balance of lemon zest for her linguine. Now it was clearly Olivia’s turn to be in the pressure spot.
“You seem nervous, mio bambino. You shouldn’t be. Even if you ruin the recipe, the trick about hosting with a group of friends and loved ones is that we care enough to lie to you.” She smiled at her own joke as she placed her hands upon Olivia’s shoulders, squeezing the tension away. “But let’s try a taste anyway. Sampling is the best part of being a chef.” She grabbed a large fork from the metal utensil pot and tasted a bit of the meat.
“Slightly overcooked, but still delicious. Try a bit.”
Olivia took a bite herself as the tomato sauce she created burst into her mouth, the hearty beef texture following second, and the onion leaving a gentle kick.
“It’s good, but I still overcooked it. It should be more tender, right?”
“Yes, it should. But it is as I said in the market: sometimes, even the food with imperfections can taste as good. No point in searching constantly for ‘perfect’ or ‘best.’”
Olivia looked back down at her pan both messy, yet a work of art. Using her phone, she snapped a picture and debated who to send it to.
She could upload it on her social media pages where her followers could find it. But this felt like something so personal, something she wanted to share with those she cared for deeply. However, there was no one in Olivia’s life worth this intimate accomplishment, she realised sadly.
Instead, she tucked the phone back into her pocket, and began plating her food. Tonight, she wouldn’t think about what was truly on her mind.
Instead, she would join the rest of the class as they feasted on their dinner at the table overlooking the crystal, navy blue sea.
Chapter 7
The cell phone vibrated incessantly, shaking the antique bedside table until it rattled itself off the shelf and onto the wooden floor. It kept buzzing, the constant “zzz” “zzz” “zzz” echoing off the floorboards until Martha could take it no longer.
Rolling over, she grabbed in the dark for her pair of black reading glasses, knocking over a book in the process. She finally found the lamp switch and, the room now illuminated, found her phone still vibrating. Looking at the caller ID, she cursed mildly and answered the call.
“Kurt!” she hissed into the receiver, praying that the ruckus she was making in her room hadn’t woken anyone else in the villa. “Do you know what time it is here? It’s—” she held the phone away from her ear and checked the time “—four in the morning!”
“Mom.” The voice on the other end was flat and even, and Martha’s anger melted. Kurt, her youngest, always had a way of twisting her emotions around with just that pleading sound of his voice. “Something’s happened. I need help.”
She quickly sat up, brushing her hair wildly from her eyes. “What’s wrong? Talk to me. I’m awake now.” Her coddling voice was almost too eager.
“It’s school. I, uh, got caught…” he waited for her to catch on. Martha’s silence begged for more, “I was at this freshman party and there was beer …I didn’t know any better.”
Martha swallowed and attempted a tone that could be lecturing without coming off as angry. She only partly pulled it off.
“Kurt,” she said in a measured tone, “you knew that was against school policy. You’re still underage. I warned you about this.” She listened as he murmured incoherently into the phone. Obviously, the matter was much more urgent than she had previously thought. “So, what does the school want to do about it?”
“They’re suspending me!” he wailed, his usual emotional control failing. “What am I going to do? They want me to move out in three days. I can’t move out in three days! And what about my classes? What about my major? I’m not going to be able to graduate on time. I’m not going to be able to pledge this year, Mom. What if they don’t let me back?”
“Honey, slow down. Everything will work out. I will call later today when the school opens. I’ll get this sorted out for you. For right now, just hang tight and stick to your room. Okay?” Her motherly instincts had kicked into high gear.
“Yeah, okay. You promise you’ll call, Mom?” Her youngest sounded just like he did as a child: vulnerable and afraid.
“Yes. Now, I need to go back to sleep. The sun hasn’t even come up yet in Italy. I love you.” With that, Martha hung up the phone. A smile popped on her face.
For the first time in ages, she felt needed again.
* * *
Kate woke to birds singing outside her window. Early morning sunlight drenched her white room, giving it an almost ethereal appearance.
The entire scene looked as charming as she had envisioned it when she first decided to go on this trip. Stretching out her arms, she instinctively looked for her phone first.
No missed calls.
Getting up, she grabbed her robe, a towel, and her travel bag of toiletries. As she opened the door to head to the communal bathroom, she stopped short.
Outside her room sat a large floral bouquet full of large yellow sunflowers, not too dissimilar to the ones they’d brought Isabella yesterday. But as their host had arranged these in a vase in the hallway she knew these were different. Probably Isabella’s way of returning the gesture.
She grabbed the bouquet, unsure what to do with it, and glanced at Olivia’s and Martha’s doors. Not seeing any matching bouquets, she assumed they were up and about and had already collected theirs.
She placed the flowers on her bedside locker and inhaled their earthy, succulent scent. It had been years since she had got flowers.
She had always insisted to Ed that it was a cliched, overpriced gesture, but the truth was, she was slightly envious of other women whose husbands went out of their way to pick up flowers for birthdays or special occasions.
The dissatisfied thought caught her attention instantly, and she shook her head wildly as a way to remove her from the moment. Today was not about her disappointments.
Today was about her, her relaxation, and her quest to learn Italian cooking. With determination, Kate grabbed her towel, and went to get ready for the breakfast lesson.
Once showered and dressed, she joined Olivia and Martha in the kitchen. Isabella was already busy preparing the ingredients and mixing bowls. However, it seemed the foursome wasn’t alone this morning.
Kate was surprised to see Marco, their helpful stranger from yesterday, standing right in the kitchen alongside Isabella, chatting rapidly in Italian.
“Ah! Our traversina has arrived, and just in time.” Isabella’s attention whipped from Marco and onto a bashful Kate. “Come join us. And meet mio nipote, my grandson, Marco. We’re learning how to make briosce to go with our morning gelato.”
Grandson?
“Gelato?” Olivia chimed, seemingly more intrigued by the idea of dessert for breakfast than Marco turning out to be a relative of their host.
Marco looked at her pointedly. “Si, gelato. We sometimes have our pastries with shaved ice, but today, I brought gelato as a celebration of my triumphant return to Taormina.” He winked at her and smiled.
Martha laughed heartily, “Wait until I tell my Kurt about dessert for breakfast!”
The three women gathered around Isabella’s station as she began mixing flour, egg, milk, sugar, and butter into a giant jewel-colored mixing bowl. “Most chefs are lazy,” s
he sighed. “They buy their breakfast from shops or cafés. But the best breakfasts are the ones you make yourself.”
The women mimicked her actions as they formed balls of dough in their white powdered hands.
Marco joined in, more confidently than the women, placing himself shoulder to shoulder with Olivia.
“Keep your flour to yourself, please,” she said to him as he lightly tossed a handful of flour onto the top of her kneaded dough. Cupping her hands around some flour of her own, she blew the remains into his hair.
“I look like my grandmother now.” He turned and brushed it away, grinning over at Olivia as she continued to mold her briosce.
Two hours later, the briosce was taken out of the oven as the students gathered their own trays, each admiring their handiwork.
“In all my life, I’ve never made my own bread without a mixer.” Martha looked down at her golden brown pastries with newfound pride as they moved to the wooden communal dining table.
Marco followed the group with a large, clear plastic tub of glossy, creamy gelato. He served Isabella first as she cut lightly into the center of the pastry. Marco placed a dollop of the coffee-flavored cold treat in the center of the bun.
Kate and Martha seemed unsure of how to approach such a strange, rich breakfast. But Olivia, being the adventurer she was, jumped in headfirst, taking a large bite.
The sweet and eggy taste overwhelmed her senses, bringing back memories of childhood treats and simple, country meals. It was heavenly. The other two joined in, each having a similar reaction. All almost too overwhelmed to speak.
“The reward of a good meal is sometimes a quiet guest,” Isabella smiled as she stared at the girls. “When you are finished, leave your plates here. I will clean up and store the rest of your buns and gelato for tomorrow. This afternoon, you may explore Taormina. I’m sure Marco can guide you around if you wish. The beach, if that interests you, is only a short distance down the hill. I need you back here by four o’clock to start dinner.”
Marco turned towards the women, as Isabella excused herself.
“Would you like to join me in my shop? It is only a short distance from here. I can show you how to make glass just like my ancestors.”
“I’d be interested.” Olivia tried her best to sound unenthused, but genuinely cultural experiences had always excited her.
“I had actually planned on checking out one of the hotel spas. Do you have a recommendation?” Kate had looked forward to a spa day since she had stepped off the plane in Palermo. Pampering was exactly what she needed.
“I may stick around here actually, Isabella if that’s OK. I need to be near my phone in case my son calls. He needs my help with some school thing.” Martha was a bit timid with her news, but she couldn’t help but smile at the same time.
Chapter 8
A little later, Kate, Olivia, and Marco said their goodbyes to the others as they rushed out the door to begin their Taormina adventure.
Alone together, Isabella turned to her guest, “It’s a rare treat for me to have a friend around for the day. Most students want to escape on their vacation, not stay here. Is it an emergency?”
Martha considered her words. An emergency? It wasn’t something she needed to fly home over, but hearing Kurt yearn for his mother was so different and unique for her. The last time she could remember him needing her help was when he first started high school almost five years ago.
“No, not an emergency as such, but he needs my help. You know what it’s like to be a mom. You’re always on call!” Her chipper voice floated with her words.
“How old is your son?” Isabella asked, as she and Martha began clearing the table of the remaining breakfast dishes.
“Kurt’s nineteen. Just started college, but it sounds like he got in trouble with some of the rules, and needs my help getting out of a jam.”
“I see.” The older woman kept her head down, focusing on tidying up the table. “Before you go off to make your phone calls, would you like to help me set up some lunch?”
“I would love that.” Martha lied. She wanted to be on the phone with the school as soon as possible. Preparing lunch when they’d just finished breakfast couldn't be farthest from her mind.
Isabella went to her fridge, taking out a platter of uncut meats.
“When my sons were younger, all they wanted was meat, meat, meat. Lamb, pig, cow, goat… whatever they could get their hands on. I would say to them ‘one day, you will need to make your own meat.’ So I would have them go down to the butcher and watch him work. Now, my oldest owns a butcher shop in Agrigento that my youngest works at. Best in the town!” She began slicing the meat into thin circles using a large silver carving knife.
“My second son, though, he never wanted to go. He’d stay at home or sneak away from his brothers. He would watch the others and think that he would always be provided for. When he left home to work at the docks, he would write to me about how horrible the food was. Complain, complain, complain. I blame myself for that.” Her body shuddered for a second.
Martha looked at her curiously. “Why would you blame yourself?”
Isabella sighed as she finished up. “I always thought, maybe like a fool, that he could rely on his brothers or me if he needed. But I’m getting older; there’s no doubt about that! And his brothers are grown men with families of their own. They have their own children to teach their trade.”
Martha watched as Isabella spread the slices of meat she had cut onto a platter of thin brown crackers and golden-colored cheeses.
But instead of a celebrated Italian chef, she watched another mother twenty or so years older than herself, suffer just as she did.
The woes of motherhood crossed every generation and every border.
For both Martha and Isabella, the thought of releasing a child not fully prepared for the realities of life was immeasurably frightening.
Martha thought back to the satisfaction she felt this morning hearing Kurt plead the words “mom” and “help” because he knew - he knew that she would jump to his side, hold his hand once again.
But, as Isabella said, maybe he would have to learn to make his own mistakes? He could not always rely on her to help him.
And likewise, she realised, chastened, she should not wish for her children to remain as they once were: needy and helpless.
With sadness in her eyes, but fire in her belly, Martha understood what she had to do.
“Isabella, I think I am going to go down to the beach today. Can you tell me how to get there?”
Isabella smiled as she offered to pack Martha a small lunch for her day in the sun.
Chapter 9
The light in Taormina was almost overwhelming.
Between the white and dusty browns of the stone walls, and steps down to the gleaming blues of the ocean, the town itself had an opulent glow.
Olivia was almost too overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it to care about the tourists and the hawking vendors that spread themselves throughout the streets. Normally, this wouldn’t be her scene at all. But today, she was oblivious. Today, she was in love.
Marco had doted on her since leaving Kate at a nearby hotel spa. His tour of the city was fascinating as he pointed out the charming cathedrals and ancient ruins of the Greeks and Egyptians that still remained behind.
Taking a detour, he insisted emphatically that the two make a stop at his favorite place in the city, the Giardini della Villa Comunale.
“What is that? More ruins?” she quizzed him.
“No, not at all. It’s a park. The best park in the world.”
“Why do you say that? How many parks have you been to that you can declare it as the best?” She smugly reminded him of her international knowledge.
“You know, you do not need to go everywhere to know that some place is the best,” Marco replied easily. “Sometimes, you just know, in your heart, that you do not need to search any further than what is right in front of you.”
He stopped
walking and turned towards her, offering his hand. It was such an unexpectedly gentlemanly gesture that Olivia was a bit taken aback. Almost without thinking, she gingerly placed her small white palm into his, allowing him to squeeze a bit.
The two walked the rest of the way in a blissful silence, hand in hand, as they entered the park’s grounds. Marco guided her expertly through the greenery, pointing out the remains of the old city zoo, and the base of the stone of Lazarus pagodas that jutted out as almost as naturally as the trees and other flora.
“Can you see why I think that this is the best park?”
Olivia nodded eagerly as Marco spun her around towards the outside walls. She could instantly spot the reason as the trees disappeared and the Ionian Sea opened up before her.
The panoramic view allowed her to look down at red and brown brick roofs of the buildings of Taormina with widened eyes and a fuller heart.
She had seen some resplendent views on her travels, but this was truly one of the most impressive ones. As she spun again, she spotted the tip of Mt. Etna peaking at her from a distance.
After a moment of taking in the salty sea air and listening to the breeze drift in the Italian pine trees, she turned back to her companion.
“While I see why you love this place, I have to ask.. Why would you not want to go out and see if this truly is the best park in the world? Are you not curious?”
“Of course I am!” He laughed without mocking. “But Taormina will always be home. It may not be Central Park or have the Eiffel Tower in the background, but it will have my heart, and I want to be where my heart is.”
His words shot through her. Of course she had many times heard the saying Home is where the heart is, but she had always put little faith in it. Her heart had always been wherever her suitcase was. Sure, it was a little battered and beaten from the road, but she had managed to keep it from heartbreak and sorrow. It was full of experiences, not love, and she was fine with that. Or at least, she hoped she was.
