Our Italian Summer

by Jennifer Probst

  Patricia wore a matching apron and narrated while Maria began to make the mozzarella. “We will show you the most popular form of mozzarella that is sold to stores and local markets—the braided version, which is called the treccia.”

  Pots were set out already with boiling water. “The secret is in the milk, which makes the curds for the cheese. Our cows and sheep are the most important ingredients on our farm,” Patricia said. “To make curds, we add citric acid to milk, heat it, and add diluted rennet to complete the coagulation process. These curds will begin to separate, and then she will drain them of the extra liquid.”

  With expert, precise motions, Maria owned the kitchen like a queen, matching each action to Patricia’s narrative. She placed the curds in heated whey and strained the pieces multiple times. “The cheese must cool before we reach the next stage, but we have some over here at the perfect temperature.”

  “I wish I could take notes,” I whispered to Allegra.

  She patted my arm. “Nonni, I’m videoing it on my phone. We’ll try to duplicate it when we get home.”

  Wow. I hadn’t even noticed because she wasn’t holding the phone up in the air. It was just resting on her lap, tilted upward to catch the entire process. I remembered growing up with a color television and soap operas, and when my parents wanted me home for dinner, they’d open the window and scream my name down the block. I shook my head and refocused.

  The cheese seemed like a broken lump. I leaned forward with interest for the next step. “The whey will now be heated to one hundred eighty degrees and Maria will work her magic.” Maria bowed and we all laughed. With her gloves donned and a white hat on her head, she began to mix the steaming liquid with the cheese, her hands kneading and manipulating the cheese like da Vinci wielding his paintbrush. The lump slowly formed into a shiny, smooth mass. Maria pulled the cheese through her fingers, twisting with varied speeds, and a gorgeous braid emerged, the cheese fresh and glistening when finally laid upon the wooden table.

  We burst into applause. A tiny spurt of regret flickered inside me. This was a woman who knew her heritage and her place in life. The only thing I ever prided myself on was my family. I never wanted to work outside the home. Is that why I put my entire heart and soul into raising Frannie? And when she didn’t respond to my doting, I only increased it, trying to smother her with enough love so she’d always be mine.

  It hadn’t worked. She’d drowned under my devoted attention and navigated more naturally to her father. I wondered if Maria had children. I wondered if they’d made it harder for her to concentrate on creating a successful product or if she just naturally balanced making cheese and raising a bunch of children. I wondered if any woman had really figured out the art of balance, or were we all just as confused about what would make us happy? Even worse, I wondered if what made us truly happy was in direct contradiction to what made our family happy.

  I pushed away my spinning thoughts and watched as Maria demonstrated how to create the perfect knot, called nodini. Patricia came around the table and motioned toward us. “Now we are going to create pizzas with our fresh mozzarella. I need six volunteers to help me up here.”

  Excited, I raised my hand with a few others. Patricia pointed to me. “Yes, would you come join us? Who is with you?”

  “My daughter and granddaughter,” I said with pride.

  “Wonderful, bring them up!”

  I rose, but Allegra tugged at my arm. “Nonni, I don’t think I want to go up there.”

  I remember how unsure I was of myself when I turned eighteen, even though pictures showed a beautiful, confident young woman. Couldn’t she see how she lit up a room when she walked in? She radiated a strong presence like Frannie, a woman who was destined to do big things in the world. The tour members adored her, and I wanted her to feel safe to have some silly fun. I gently urged her up. “Sweetheart, we get to make pizza in Italy together! Come on, do this with me.”

  She bit her lip but followed me to the kitchen. Frannie joined us in the line. Patricia picked out Hana, Dan, and Kai. “How old are you?” she asked the boy.

  “Ten.”

  She nodded and shared a glance with Patricia. “Yes, I think you are old enough to cook. But first, we need to get ourselves in the mood. Cooking is a state of mind. You must be dressed for the part, so everyone will wear special aprons.”

  Patricia took a stack from Giovanni and went down the line one by one, placing the apron over each of our heads and tying it in the back. Laughter erupted in the crowd and I looked over to see what was going on.

  I gasped.

  Hana was wearing an apron of a naked woman’s body with fig leaves placed over the breasts. Dan cracked up, but then he was presented with a muscled man’s chest with a large penis protruding from the front. Fortunately, the penis was also covered by a leaf, but the impression it left urged a shocked humor.

  Maria shouted, “You like your aprons, no?”

  Dan looked at his wife and raised his brow. “Yes, I most certainly do.”

  Hana gave him a teasing swat. “Very funny. I’ll just call you Adam.”

  Kai’s eyes bulged out, but he glanced back and forth at his mom and dad and grinned. His apron was the body of a goat, which caused him to erupt into giggles. Frannie received a naked Venus with roses covering the private areas, and Allegra and I got two more matching Eves.

  One look at Allegra and her flaming cheeks told me she was upset. She was spending more time with Ian and seemed to have formed a connection. I was glad. He was a nice boy, and his parents were fun to speak with. Sure, he was a bit older, but in this case it was a good thing. Even though she denied they were anything more than casual friends, I caught the look in her eye when she stared at him. An undeniable affection and spark of more. It hadn’t been there before.

  It was there now.

  Ian seemed just as interested. He snuck glances at her constantly, seeming to try to come up with excuses to talk to her. A summer romance in Italy was exactly what Allegra needed.

  So did Fran.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything happening on that front. There were no single men on the tour, and Enzo rushed around with little time to give her one-on-one attention.

  I decided to pull the focus to me and help out my cringing granddaughter. I made a show of looking down at the naked body pasted on the apron. “Wow, I haven’t looked this good in years! Hello, seventy-five!” I announced loudly.

  Our group applauded and whistled, and I took a bow. Allegra smiled and some of the tension dissolved from her face. Maria soon whisked us into the production of making pizza crust, teaching us how to knead and stretch the dough and even showing off a few expert flips. We stood in a line and practiced as Maria made her way to each of us with funny comments and encouragement. She took one peek at Frannie’s stretched, broken dough and made a tsking sound, gently removing the shredded crust from her hands. “Mamma mia, your enthusiasm is wonderful, but maybe a bit gentler with the kneading?”

  I leaned over to my daughter. “All those years I tried to teach you to cook have led up to this moment,” I said teasingly. The moment the words popped out of my mouth, I cringed, realizing she might take my comment as an insult. Sure, as a mom, I wanted to teach her to be a good cook like me, but I was proud of her accomplishments and didn’t care what she chose not to do. With the tension between us lately, especially after my lecture two nights ago, I braced myself for the chilled look she’d cut me with.

  “I’m already an expert, Mom,” she threw back at me. “I can dial the pizza delivery phone number with my eyes closed. It’s perfect every time.”

  Everyone burst into laughter, and relief shot through me at her easy tone. Oh, how I wished we’d be able to relax with each other more often. I felt as if every word needed to be carefully analyzed to make sure I wasn’t hurting her feelings. When had it begun to fall apart on us? When Allegr
a began going to school? Or had the broken cracks always been there, slowly eroding through the years because we never tried to repair them?

  Maria stopped by Allegra. “Signorina, do you cook professionally? You are quite skilled in forming the dough.”

  Allegra straightened up. “My grandmother taught me,” she said proudly, motioning over to me.

  “I think the student has surpassed the teacher,” I said, noting how her pizza was perfectly shaped and kneaded to the perfect width.

  “Very impressive,” Maria said again with a smile. We finished with adding the sauce and cheese and stuck them in the brick oven. Maria collected our aprons and stood in front of us. “I have seen many pizza makers in my life, but there is one who has a natural talent. A true artist who I wish lived here in Italy with me to work in our family business.”

  We waited, and I saw Allegra hold her breath.

  Maria walked straight to Kai. “Young man, you are the winner of the pizza-making contest. It would be my honor for you to work with me.”

  His face lit up, and he looked back and forth between his mother and father. “Thank you, but I’m going to be a firefighter and I can’t move to Italy.”

  I bit my lip to keep from chuckling at his seriousness. “That is a worthy job,” Maria said, patting his head with affection. “I guess I can accept your refusal. Now, if you’ll follow Patricia into the dining area, we are going to eat these delicious pizzas you all created.”

  Oversize tables were situated under a big awning surrounded by lush green vines and flowers ripe with sweet nectar. Platters of fresh mozzarella, juicy red tomatoes, and bottles of olive oil were already set up on festive tablecloths. White and red wine flowed, along with fresh-squeezed lemonade. Baskets of crusty pieces of Italian bread were set in the center.

  “Allegra, I know you mentioned you liked cooking, but you really did look like a professional out there,” Dana said, her many bangles jangling on her wrist. “Maybe you’ll go to school and be a chef.”

  This time, Allegra didn’t hesitate. Her features flushed with pride as she answered. “I’m going to apply to the Culinary Institute. And when I get home, I’m going to see if I can get some experience in a restaurant or catering hall.”

  “How wonderful,” Dana squealed. She directed her words to Frannie. “You must be so proud. I can’t imagine having a chef in the family.”

  I held my breath, but I noticed my daughter’s gaze focus thoughtfully on Allegra. There was a spark of interest I hadn’t seen before. “Yes, I am proud,” she said.

  I relaxed and we focused on our meal. Maybe this was the beginning of her opening up a dialogue with Allegra on her choices. We ate and drank and laughed under the tent, shielded from the Tuscan sun. The gathering was warm and intimate and felt more like a family gathering than strangers forced to share a meal at the same table. After lunch, we were able to shop at the market, and I picked up a bottle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar and bought each of us a naked apron so we’d always remember this trip.

  By the time we reboarded the bus, my girls were smiling together. I’d noticed Frannie check her phone a few times, but she’d never disappeared, seeming to try to focus on being with her daughter.

  As we headed into Florence, I prayed it was a new beginning for all of us, and I thanked Maria and her farm for reminding us that even in the midst of hard work, there is always room for fun and laughter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Francesca

  Florence reminded me of an Italian queen.

  The city was regal and shimmering with a sophistication that made its neighboring cities and sights fade from memory. We’d already visited an array of impressive churches, and I figured nothing would come close to St. Peter’s.

  I was wrong.

  The magnificence of Santa Croce church took me by surprise. From the soaring marble frontage to the gilded golden doors, I was swept into an old-world glamour and surrounded by the greatest artists of all time. As I stood before the tombs of Dante, Galileo, and Michelangelo, the vivid, glittering Giotto frescoes demanded my full attention. The detail was extraordinary, from the stained glass to the mural paintings and sculptures lovingly carved from marble. The endless chapels each held an artistic surprise, until we exited the church and blinked in the sun, halfway drunk from the overstimulation of such beauty.

  We strolled through the Piazza della Signoria, the main town square, and took in the bustle of crowds carrying designer bags from the luxury shops, passing timeless historical pieces without a second glance. It reminded me a bit of New York and how no one ever looked up at the Empire State Building or paused to view the Statue of Liberty across the Hudson. Enzo was well skilled at delivering factual information mixed with interesting stories to keep us moving and engaged. I actually found him a much better tour guide than the locals he’d set us up with for some of the main sights.

  We followed him to the Loggia dei Lanzi, an open-air gallery. The giant archways invited tourists to wander in and enjoy its display of statues. Enzo paused in front of a sculpture that seemed to dominate the whole square. My breath caught as I took in the twisted and entangled bodies carved from a smooth block of solid marble. A man lifted a woman up high in the air, while another man crouched at her feet. The expressions on their faces were filled with ravaged violence. The woman’s desperate reach for freedom seemed as if she was about to burst out of the stone and flee their terror.

  “This is The Rape of the Sabine Women by Giambologna,” he explained, motioning us to move closer. “It’s based on a famous story of when Romans captured the Sabine women for marriage, because they had been denied many times by the king, who said that the women were not allowed to marry Romans. It is a popular subject for art, and this particular statue was carved from a single block of marble—the largest one ever imported to Florence. It is considered Giambologna’s masterpiece. Check out the exquisite detail and emotion. As we wander around the square, I’ll give you some brief background on the pieces.”

  We marveled at the bronze statue of Perseus, holding his sword in one hand and the head of Medusa in the other. Hercules and Nessus shimmered with raw power, and the Medici lions seemed to be guarding the gallery. Enzo’s voice wrapped around me as he wove a spell of enchantment and seemed to make the various statues come alive with their rich history. But it wasn’t his educational talent that was distracting me this afternoon.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about our almost kiss.

  As if he knew my whirling thoughts, his gaze cut to mine and dove deep within me. A shiver of awareness bumped down my spine. Since our embrace in Capri, he’d kept his professional distance, but I felt him staring at me throughout the day, his dark eyes brimming with an emotion that he didn’t seem to want to hide. I’d been ruthless with my time around Allegra and Mom, choosing not to take work calls while we were out on tour and trying to regain my daughter’s trust. Each time I picked up my phone, I saw her expectations for me to flee back to the hotel, but for the past three days I’d surprised all of us by allowing Kate and Layla to make all the final decisions.

  I’d managed to please Perry with my changes to the campaign during my all-nighter, so I was hoping the next few weeks would be low-key and I’d hit the ground running when I returned. I hadn’t addressed my mother’s barbed speech, but I think it was because I sensed she was right. We’d been getting along lately and I didn’t want to dredge up any issues. I just wanted Italy to work its magic on us.

  Enzo called us to attention. “You have the rest of the afternoon on your own. I’d recommend checking out Giubbe Rosse café—it was the meeting place for famous writers and artists. If you want to indulge in designer shopping, cross the Arno to Piazza della Repubblica. There is plenty to do there. I’d recommend staying away from the Uffizi Gallery today since the lines are quite long, but tomorrow you will have enough time after we see David at the Galleria dell’Accademi
a. Tonight, we shall dine at Buca Mario and you will have the most delicious food. Please be ready at seven p.m. I am here for any questions.”

  His fans immediately swarmed him, and I couldn’t help the smile that curved my lips. Everyone adored him, and somehow, I felt pride at his talent and obvious love of his job. I turned to Allegra and Mom. “Okay, ladies, what shall it be? Shopping, culture, or strolling around to see what catches our eye? We can always get lost again.”

  Allegra groaned. “No, thanks, that was enough stress for the whole trip. I’m fine to explore. Nonni?”

  “I’d love to see the Santa Maria del Fiore,” she said. “It has that gorgeous dome and we can shop along the way. As long as you’re up for seeing another church.”

  “I’d love to see that,” Allegra said excitedly.

  I quirked a brow. “Before we left, you said you’d die before you’d be dragged into lots of boring churches. Have you had an epiphany?”

  Did her cheeks turn red or was it just the sun? Or was Ian becoming a bit more important than I’d thought? “I just think we should see all the landmarks while we’re here,” she said with a primness that was a direct contradiction to the spark in her eyes.

  “The church it is.”

  “I have to use the bathroom first,” Mom said. “Enzo said there was a public toilet down the block.”

  “I have to go too. I know where it is. Mom, we’ll meet you back here? We have to head this way to get to the church.”

  “Sounds good.” I quickly checked my phone, sent a few texts, then stuck it back into my pocket.

  “Francesca?”

  I jumped and spun. Enzo stood behind me, a smile resting on his full lips. My heart slammed against my ribs and I felt like a giddy teenager, honored the star quarterback chose to come talk to me. “H-h-hi. How are you?”

  Oh my God, I was stuttering. What was wrong with me?

  “Do you have any questions in order to plan your day?”