* * *
Nicolina joined her mother in her bedroom. She carried a tray with a cup of chamomile tea and a few of Ida’s cookies on a plate. She set it on the dresser before going to her mother’s bedside. “I gave Anina the night off.”
“Do you think she’s seeing Paolo?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Don’t worry about her.”
“All I do is worry,” Nicolina admitted.
“Don’t. It gives you wrinkles. Besides, Anina will do what she wants. She follows her heart and has a good sense of direction, from what I can see. When she realizes that she has the answers she won’t look to Paolo to make her happy. She will commit to being an artist.”
“Is that how it works?” Nicolina smiled.
“Yes. Until the end of time.”
Nicolina pulled the table close to the bed and placed the tray from the dresser on it.
“So, it’s your shift?”
“Yes, Mama. How am I doing? I’m not a nurse, you know.” Nicolina straightened the blanket and fluffed the pillows. She handed her mother the cup of tea.
“It’s in the genes. A life in medicine skipped my generation, but I thought it would get yours. Remember that doll hospital you used to run?”
“They were just dolls, Ma. There was no blood. Do you want me to raise the headboard?”
“It’s fine. I don’t want you to wait on me.”
“I like it. Mama, you took care of me all my life; this is the least I can do.”
“You have been a wonderful daughter. You have been a good mother too, Nicolina.”
Nicolina turned away. She wiped the tears from her eyes on her sleeve before turning back to her mother. “Thank you.”
“Don’t cry,” Matelda said.
“Too late,” Nicolina said. “I waited twenty-five years for you to tell me that, Mama.”
“You should’ve asked. Who waits around for a compliment? Ask for it. Then take it. And when you do, you realize you knew the truth all along and you didn’t need anybody else’s opinion in the first place. No one has to tell you that you did a good job.”
Nicolina laughed through her tears. “You know what? You’re right.”
“Is there anything you wanted that you didn’t get?”
“Nothing. Mama, I was thinking how rich we are. Not the shop and the business, but the important things. We had your parents live with us. And I had my great-grandparents too for a time.”
“Wasn’t it fun? When I was a girl, Nonna Vera came to visit during the summers. She took Nino and me to the beach a lot. She packed sandwiches made with ham and butter. They were so delicate and delicious, and she cut them up in shapes. Circles, triangles, and fish. She kept the sodas cold by wrapping them in a black cotton scarf.”
“Nonna Domenica taught me how to sew.”
“That’s right. You should get the machine out and make something!”
“I might.” Nicolina smiled.
“I hope all these stories don’t get lost. Women like Vera. My mother loved Vera, so I loved her too. She was my prize. My extra grandmother. Vera Vietro Salerno. Silvio’s mother. My mother’s wonderful mother-in-law. Nobody talks about her anymore. It’s so sad. The names get lost eventually, then forgotten. Great women gone and lost in our family history. Vera was a few years younger than my grandmother Netta. Vera had a lot of pep. But you know what I loved about her? She had been mistreated most of her life, and it did not turn her bitter. She was always looking to help people, to be of use. Always smiling.” Matelda placed the teacup and saucer on the table.
“I will remember her, Mama. I will tell her story. And Bisnonna Netta’s. And Nonna Domenica’s. And even yours. Do you need a friend?”
“I’d like that.”
Nicolina climbed into the bed and held her mother. “Mama, let’s remember all your best meals.”
“I was a good cook.”
“No one better.”
“Don’t tell Ida. She’s a little competitive.”
“I remember your pastina. It’s the first food I remember eating. The hard biscotti you made for Matteo and me when we were teething, and then you kept making them because we loved the taste. The tortellini. The manicotti with your crepes. The roasted chicken with sage, and the potatoes that went with them.”
“You didn’t like my ravioli?”
“I loved it.”
“I thought so. It’s so hard to make your children happy. The only way is through food.”