“We could call a strega,” Anina suggested.
“All the stregas I knew in the village are dead,” Matelda admitted.
“Mama might know someone in Lucca.”
“We are not calling around Lucca to find a witch.”
“It’s just a thought.” Anina pulled a ring from the box and tried it on. “I’m just trying to help.”
“It’s nothing,” Matelda assured her. But she wasn’t entirely certain. This was the worst aspect of being old: There was no one left to call when Matelda needed answers. “Your coffee is going to get cold. How about the strudel di mele?”
“I can’t.”
“It’s your favorite.”
Anina patted her taut midsection. “I have to wriggle into a wedding gown.”
“You’re wearing one of those?” Matelda couldn’t hide her disappointment.
“I’m not wearing a big skirt. I don’t want to look like a bombolone on my wedding day.”
“Instead you’ll wear a tight gown like a television game show hostess with everything spilling out.”
“I won’t have spillage. There are alterations to take care of that.” Anina examined a platinum brooch with a bow of tiny blue sapphires, holding it up to the light.
“The priest will have something to say about it.”
“He did. I’ve been going for instruction with Paolo. I showed Don Vincenzo a picture of the gown. He thought it was lovely.”
“There are rules. A bride is required to have her head and arms covered in church. No bosoms.”
“But I have bosoms.”
“Modesty. It’s a sign of self-respect to stay covered. It’s keeping something just for you and your husband.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“And it’s too late to teach you.”
“Does it matter?”
“Probably not.” Matelda smiled. Most of the things that mattered to her didn’t matter to anyone anymore. Matelda didn’t have a right to complain, but she remembered a time when an elder could. “Anina, wear whatever makes you happy.”
At least Anina was getting married in a church. Plenty of Matelda’s friends had grandchildren who were married in public parks or on the beach without a mention of God. All they got was a barefoot bride, a sunburn, and warm prosecco in a paper cup. “Do you know what today is?”
“The day you asked me to come over and choose a piece of jewelry for my wedding.” Anina placed the brooch back in its velvet envelope. “Cabrelli family tradition. Your grandmother gave you a piece of jewelry to wear on your wedding day, your mother gave jewelry to my mother, and now it’s your turn to give it to me.”
“It’s also my birthday.”
“No.” Anina placed her hands on the table and thought for a moment. “It is! I am so sorry! Buon Compleanno!” She got up and gave Matelda a kiss on her cheek, the side without the cut. “I didn’t forget altogether. I remembered it yesterday; I just forgot this morning. I should have brought you a present!”
“You did. You brought me fruit, a gift that has to be used immediately. It’s the perfect gift for a woman of eighty-one if I don’t die before it spoils.”
“I’m sorry, Nonna. I can’t do anything right when it comes to you.”
“That’s not true. I’d just like to see more of you, and that’s not a criticism.”
“Whenever someone says, ‘That’s not a criticism,’ it’s always a criticism.”
“Is that why you don’t come and visit more often? Am I too critical?”
“Yes.” Anina tried not to smile. “Truthfully? I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m planning a wedding.” Anina waved her hands in frustration over the jewelry case.
“At your age, I was already keeping the books for my father.”
“I’m taking over for Orsola when she goes on maternity leave.”
“Excellent. When you’re not out front with the customers, try to spend time with your grandfather in the back. That’s where the real work is done. Learn the trade from a master. It might spark your creativity.”
“Let’s see how I do filling in for Orsola, and then we can talk about my creativity.”
“Seize this opportunity and make something of it. You should think about a career.”
“First I want to make a home for Paolo and me. You know, make strudel and paint the walls. Grow a garden.”