Another waiter brought menus and laid them in front of us, telling us to take our time. Sofia told him he could bring the appetizers now, then turned to me. “How is your mother? I see her on Facebook, of course, but . . .” She shrugged. “You know how that goes.”
“She’s good. I think she’ll retire in another couple years.”
“And then what?”
“Travel probably.”
“I hope she’ll come here. It’s been too long. You were so young the last time she was here.”
I tilted my head. “We met then?”
She smiled warmly, Joe’s smile. “You and Joe played on the beach together. You were what? Five?”
“Almost,” my grandmother said.
I tried to remember, but there was nothing beyond my grandmother and the rocks. I turned to Joe, and he shrugged.
Puff pastries filled with fish appeared on the table, as well as bread, shrimp, and an egg dish. I put my napkin in my lap, letting Sofia explain what everything was.
“I used old family recipes as a base for most things.”
“I still remember the first time I ate at your grandmother’s house,” my grandma said, helping herself.
“Her bacalhau a bras is on the menu,” Sofia said. “That one I couldn’t bring myself to change.”
I took a bite of one of the pastries, then looked over at Joe. “Saving the best food for last?” I asked quietly after I finished chewing.
“Better than Brewster’s?”
“Might have to go back there for a second taste test. But yeah. I think so.” He touched his leg to mine under the table. No, we hadn’t discussed everything yet. But maybe that was because conversation with him was just so easy. It felt like we already knew each other. Which, apparently, we kind of did.
I asked what he recommended when we turned to the menus, and he deferred to his mother, who recommended her grandmother’s dish for my first experience trying Portuguese food.
“Have you ever been to Portugal?” I asked Joe.
“No.” He shook his head. “I’d like to go someday. Mom has been a few times now.”
“Your great-grandfather insisted I go before I opened the restaurant. He bought my plane ticket.”
I put down the shrimp that had been on its way to my mouth and stared at her. “My great-grandfather?”
She nodded.
“But—” I turned to my grandmother, extremely confused. “Your father?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t get it.”
“What’s not to get?” my grandmother asked. I looked at her more carefully—she was enjoying herself, which meant she had deliberately left important information out.
“The last thing you told me was that your parents wouldn’t let you marry Tony.”
“They wouldn’t.”
“Then . . . ?”
Sofia smiled kindly. “My father died when I was just a little girl. Your great-grandfather approached Tony—he wanted to help. I guess he felt bad about . . . all that. Tony said no, of course. Then Joseph caught me stealing from his store one day when I was seven or eight. I was terrified, but he was so kind. He told me I didn’t need to steal; I could just ask. Then he went to my mother, and she accepted his help. I used to go help him in the store—he didn’t need me, of course, but I was curious about him.” She took a sip of her wine, remembering fondly. “He paid for me to go to culinary school—he wanted me to go to college, but that wasn’t the path for me. He was a wonderful man.”
I remembered Joe saying Tony and my great-grandfather forgave each other eventually—this was how apparently, though I knew there had to be more to the story.
But Sofia was still talking.
“I wouldn’t have all of this without him. It’s why I named Joe for him.”
I looked from Sofia to Joe, shaken. “You’re named for my great-grandfather?”
He was amused at my confusion. “I thought you knew. It’s not exactly a Portuguese name.”
I looked to my grandmother, who winked at me and then laughed.
My grandmother was, miraculously, on her best behavior. There were no overt sexual comments or even innuendos. In fact, most of the conversation she dominated with Sofia, reminiscing about the summers she spent here and people I didn’t know. Joe explained what he could, and Sofia was good about filling in holes. My grandmother just enjoyed having an audience.
“Of course, he didn’t give you the ticket,” Sofia said, laughing as my grandmother finished a tale of an escapade from years past. “Tony wouldn’t have allowed it.”