Italian for Beginners Read online

  He stared at me for a moment and laughed, too. “I didn’t even realize I was speaking Italian!” he exclaimed. “That is how excited I am to be here in New York City!”

  He hugged me again, and as I hugged back, I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed a little taller—and that he was missing a front tooth. It made me sad to think that by missing just three months, I was missing seeing him grow up. I already loved him like I knew I would love my own niece or nephew—who was due to arrive in just under five months. Apparently, Becky and Jay had started trying for a baby on their honeymoon, and it had worked out right away, as Becky’s life almost always did.

  There was a part of me that used to resent the way she stumbled through life, with everything working out perfectly, while I had to fight for everything I’d ever had. But something had changed in me this year. And I was nothing but happy for my sister. I was looking forward to having a new member of our family to love.

  Karina was close behind Nico, dragging a giant suitcase behind her. Once Nico let go of me, I rushed forward to help her. She smiled in relief and let go of the bag for a moment to hug me tightly. “Well, this is a change,” she said with a grin as we both reached for the suitcase handle again and began pulling. “You helping me with an oversize bag.”

  I laughed. “Don’t get too used to it,” I said. “I’ll be back in Rome soon enough, making you carry my luggage.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed as I led them outside to the taxi stand. Ten minutes later, we were in a minivan cab headed toward Manhattan. Karina and I were in the middle row and Nico was in the back, his face pressed against the glass as he waited for the skyscrapers of my city to come into view.

  “Thank you for having us,” Karina said softly as Nico babbled to himself in the backseat.

  “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “You’re like family now.” I paused and added, “But you’d better not charge me rent the next time I come to visit you.”

  She laughed and promised I could sleep in her guest room free of charge anytime I wanted to.

  “So how’s work going?” I asked, trying to hide a smile.

  Karina looked worried. “It is going well,” she said slowly. “But there is something I must tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  She hesitated. “I am no longer working at Squisito,” she said.

  I feigned ignorance. “Really? What happened?”

  She hesitated. “Please do not be angry at me. But Marco—your Marco—asked me a few weeks ago if I would come to work for him, as his executive chef.”

  She paused and studied my face as if trying to figure out whether I’d be upset with her. She continued rapidly, “I had to try out, of course. I had to cook all of the items on his menu and talk to him about improvements in the food and new dishes we could try out. But he gave me the job, Cat. I start next week.” She paused. “Are you angry at me? I should have asked you. It was terrible that I did not ask you.”

  I smiled at her. “I honestly couldn’t be happier for you,” I said. She looked surprised. “Really,” I added firmly. “Besides, I’ve known about it for weeks. Marco asked me not to say anything to you until he had officially offered you the job. But he called to ask me if it was okay before he even got in touch with you in the first place. How do you think he got your phone number?”

  She stared at me in shock. “So you’ve been talking to Marco?” she asked finally.

  I nodded. “A little bit,” I said.

  “And?” she asked, looking at me hopefully.

  I smiled. “And nothing,” I said. “He’s a good guy. And I know we’re going to be friends for a long time. But I don’t think he’s the right guy for me.” I paused and added, “Plus, he’s dating someone.”

  “What?” Karina asked.

  “Remember that weekend he was gone from Rome?” I asked. “The weekend we went out and ran into Michael Evangelisti?”

  Saying his name sent a strange pang through me. I had decided not to contact him when I got home to the States, and although I thought of him often, I hadn’t been ready to see him. In fact, I had deliberately avoided the entire Upper West Side for the past three months.

  Karina nodded. “I remember.”

  “Marco was actually in Venice that weekend,” I said. “And he ran into a girl he had dated in school. They went on their first date just before I spent the night with him. So maybe it was bad timing for both of us. That’s who he’s seeing. She’s been coming to visit him every weekend.” It made me a little sad, because the closer Marco became with this new girl, the more it meant that that door was closed to me forever. But I was happy for him, too. He deserved to find someone, and I knew in my heart that it wasn’t me.

  “Wow,” Karina said. “I did not know that.” She paused and looked at me closely. “And Michael? Have you seen him?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said simply. I left it at that.

  Just then, Nico shrieked from the backseat. “I see it, Mamma! I see it! The Empire State Building!” Sure enough, off in the distance, we could see the distinctive peak of the city’s most famous tower. And as our taxi took us closer to the city, Nico bounced up and down and announced other things he could see: the Chrysler Building, the UN building, the trees of Central Park.

  “He sure knows New York,” I said to Karina with a laugh.

  She rolled her eyes, but I could see pride shining in them. “He has been dying to come here since the day I first put a book about New York in front of him.”

  The next day, I went out to shoot Central Park in the morning while Karina took Nico to see his father for the first time. I had offered to go with them, but she’d said no. It was something she had to do on her own, for her son. She’d been mentally preparing for months.

  So I wandered through the east side of the park, shooting foliage. The remnant of Indian summer had given way to fall a few weeks ago, and now the air was crisp and the leaves were at their most colorful. The park seemed to be aglow with every imaginable shade of red, orange, and yellow. The leaves had just begun to fall from the trees, thanks to high winds two nights earlier, and so in addition to photographing the trees and the cityscape behind the vibrantly colored Sheep Meadow, I was also able to catch kids in bright jackets and blue jeans running, shrieking, and playing in the leaves. It made me smile. I had the feeling the shots would sell well in Italy; they were a perfect slice of Americana.

  By the time I returned to the apartment, Karina was already sitting at my kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a coffee mug as she stared into space. I was surprised; I had expected them to spend the day with Massimo.

  “Where’s Nico?” I asked, glancing around. She focused on me slowly.

  “Asleep,” Karina said flatly. “He didn’t sleep much last night, because he was so excited to be here. And the time change has thrown him a bit.”

  I sat down at the table with her. “So?” I asked carefully. “How did it go?”

  Karina took a deep breath. She exhaled slowly. “Massimo is a terrible person,” she said finally.

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head. “Nico was so excited to see him. But do you know Massimo had a futbol game on the TV in the background? And he barely even looked at Nico; he was too busy watching the game. Nico was asking him questions and he kept telling Nico to be quiet so that he could hear the futbol announcers. After an hour, he asked us to go; he said he had a busy day and couldn’t spend all day with a family reunion.”

  “What?” I was incredulous.

  “It broke my heart,” she said. She blinked away tears, and I reached for her hand. “Not for me, of course,” she continued. “But for Nico. I think he had imagined all sorts of things about his father. And it is my fault for letting him. I never told him what a horrible man his father was. I thought that perhaps Massimo would change if he had the chance to see his child.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmured.

  “There is no reason to be
sorry,” Karina said. “In a strange way, I feel a little better. And I think Nico will, too, once he has some time to think about it. Massimo is exactly the man I thought he was. And the fact that he doesn’t want to be in Nico’s life, that he couldn’t even pretend to be interested for a few hours.…” She paused and shook her head. “Well, I don’t feel so badly anymore about the way things ended between us.”

  “You shouldn’t have, anyhow,” I reminded her.

  “I know,” she said. “But sometimes it is easier to see that from the outside. Now I know I did not make a mistake.” She paused and added, “I just don’t know how to forgive myself for hurting Nico this way.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said.

  She shook her head. “It is my fault when I can’t protect my child from things that hurt him.” She got up from the table and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, before I could say anything else.

  My father came over that evening after his weekly visit to my grandma’s nursing home so that he could meet Karina and Nico. I invited Becky and Jay, too, but they already had dinner plans with one of Jay’s friends. And I don’t think Becky realized how important my little Italian family of two had become to me.

  Nico was quiet and reserved at first. He still looked stricken after the encounter with his father, and Karina was sitting protectively close to him, stroking his hair. But after chatting with Karina for a little while, my dad began asking Nico questions about what he liked best about New York, and soon the little boy opened up. By the time we had finished the meal, he had moved to sit next to my dad and was showing him pictures of New York he had drawn back in Italy.

  “I save them,” he explained intently, his eyes wide as my dad nodded, flipping through each picture as though they were the most important things he’d ever seen. “I keep them in my pocket sometimes, to remind me of New York City. And now Mamma and I are here!”

  “These are wonderful, Nico,” my father said seriously.

  Nico nodded. “That is the Empire State Building. It is my favorite building in New York City,” he said. “And this one,” he said, flipping to the next picture, “is a building called the Flatiron. Do you know it?”

  “Yes, I do,” my father said with a smile. “Maybe we can go there later.”

  Nico’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Really,” my father said. He glanced at Karina, who was looking at him carefully, a half smile on her face. “In fact, I happen to know a pretty good ice-cream place near the Flatiron Building. Maybe I could take you there, if your mother says it’s okay. Maybe she and Aunt Cat would like to come along.”

  Karina smiled at my father. She seemed to be thinking about something. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “perhaps you and Nico could go alone. There is something I would like to show Cat. I was going to do it tomorrow, but now would be perfect.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I found out a few days ago from Gillian at the gallery about a place that has bought eighteen of your twenty-by-thirty-inch photographs and has used them as interior décor,” she said. “I thought you might like to see it.”

  My heart thudded. I had deliberately avoided the gallery, because I hadn’t wanted to announce in any public way that I was the so-called Audrey H. Verdicchio.

  “No one has to know it’s you,” Karina said, apparently reading my mind. “But I think it will be wonderful to see a whole room full of your photographs. Don’t you think?”

  I hesitated, long enough for my father to say firmly, “Yes, she’ll go.” He shot me a look and added, “You should be proud of yourself, kiddo. Go enjoy it.”

  “I don’t know,” I said uncomfortably.

  “Look at it this way,” my father said. “If you don’t go, you’ll be interrupting Guys’ Night Out. And Nico and I have some serious ice-cream eating to do.”

  Nico laughed and my father high-fived him. Seeing my dad interact so naturally with the boy—and seeing Nico warm to my dad so quickly—was amazing. I glanced at Karina and shrugged. “Okay,” I said warily.

  “Good,” she said. “Go get dressed.”

  I looked down at the faded jeans and T-shirt I’d put on after coming home from the park. “Aren’t I dressed already?”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “You have to look better than that to see your photographs on display for the first time.” She nudged me and grinned. “Show a little respect.”

  So I said good-bye to Nico and my father, who promised not to let Nico eat too much ice cream. Nico threw his arms around me before he left and whispered in my ear, “I like your father, Zia Cat.”

  “Good,” I whispered back. “You can borrow him anytime you want, kiddo.”

  He beamed at me and, after kissing his mother goodbye, he left with my father hand in hand.

  After they were gone, I did as I was told and changed into my black J Brand jeans and my favorite gray cashmere long-sleeved tee, the one that always received compliments. As an afterthought, I tied the teal scarf from my aunt Gina around my neck. It always felt nice to be reminded of her.

  Karina nodded approvingly at my outfit and insisted I put on a little makeup, too. “You must look good to see your photographs,” she said seriously.

  I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re bossy.” But I did as I was told. A few minutes later, we were in a cab, pulling away from my curb.

  Karina handed the driver an address scribbled on a piece of paper.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” she said mysteriously.

  As we cut across the park, I began to get a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Karina?” I asked suspiciously as we emerged on the West Side and the driver turned right to head farther uptown. “You’re not taking me to see Michael, are you?”

  “No,” she said innocently. “I told you, I am taking you to see your photographs.”

  But when we turned on West Ninety-third Street and crossed Columbus, finally pulling to a halt in front of the familiar facade of Adriano’s, I turned to glare at her.

  “Karina!” I said. “I specifically asked you if you were taking me to see Michael,” I said. “You lied.”

  “No,” she said, not making eye contact. “I actually have no idea whether he’s here or not.”

  I glanced at the restaurant, not understanding. I looked back at Karina, who was still avoiding my gaze. “What are you talking about?”

  The cabbie turned around and grunted something that sounded like, “Are you getting out?” But we both ignored him as the meter continued to run.

  “I am being honest,” Karina said after a moment. “I do not know if Michael is here or not. But I wanted you to see this.”

  “You’re telling me that it’s Michael Evangelisti who has just randomly bought eighteen of my photos?” I asked dubiously.

  Karina nodded. “But it’s not what you think,” she said quickly. “He has no idea they are yours.”

  I stared at her.

  She continued, “I called him a couple months ago and said that I’d heard of a new photographer who was exhibiting at a gallery in SoHo,” she said. “I promise, I did not say it was you. He has no idea. But when he was in Roma, he was talking about how he would like to make his restaurant feel more authentically Italian. And when I called, I suggested this might be the way.

  “He sounded doubtful at first,” Karina went on. “But he promised to go check the photos out. Gillian called me a few weeks later and told me she’d made our biggest sale yet—eighteen photos, framed, sold to the owner of a restaurant called Adriano’s on West Ninety-third Street.”

  I shook my head. “You mean he looked at all the photos in her gallery,” I said slowly, “all of the different photographs she has of Italy, and he chose eighteen of mine?”

  Karina nodded slowly. “Amazing, isn’t it? And whether you see Michael or not, whether you talk to him again or not, I think you should see your photographs displayed the way they were meant to be.”


  I thought about it for a moment. I was at a loss; I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. I looked at Karina uncertainly.

  “I know it is not total coincidence,” she said after a moment, “since I am the one who suggested he go to the gallery. But I swear, I told him nothing about you. Does it not mean something that he chose to surround himself with your art?” She paused and added, “Now, every time he sees Rome, he sees it through your eyes.”

  I swallowed hard. I looked up at the entrance to Adriano’s. Then I looked back at Karina. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s go in.”

  Karina grinned and tumbled out of the car while I quickly paid the muttering cabdriver. I followed more slowly and stood on the sidewalk for a long moment after the cab had peeled away. I stared at the restaurant. I didn’t know why I felt so scared. I had liked Michael—a lot. And if it hadn’t been for a stupid misunderstanding, perhaps I would have begun dating him months ago. But now, I wasn’t so sure. Did he hate me after the way I’d been so rude to him—on not one, but two, continents? And if he didn’t, how did I even know he was available? Perhaps he was dating someone else, and by allowing even a sliver of hope in, I was setting myself up for heartbreak. And even if he wasn’t, was that a road I even wanted to go down? It would be complicated to date a widower with a daughter. What if he wasn’t ready? What if his daughter hated me from the start?

  “Are you going to stand there and think of all the reasons you shouldn’t go in?” Karina asked. “Or are you going to act like an adult and walk through those doors to see your hard work on the walls?”

  “Er,” I said. I was still thinking about it. “The second choice, I guess.”

  “Good.” Karina grabbed my hand and dragged me into the restaurant.

  The hostess—the same girl who had delivered the news about Michael’s motherin-law being on the phone without bothering to clarify—looked us up and down with a bored expression on her face. “Table for two?” she asked.

  “No,” Karina responded immediately. “We are just going to walk around and see the photographs in the dining room.”