I come to a stop a few steps from the painted gelateria door, pause to draw in a steadying breath. I can see Sophia inside with her back turned as she wrangles with the coffee machine, and a couple of customers too by the looks of it. No matter. My business is with Gio. I’m going to fire up my old gelato machine, load it with their secret recipe and pray he believes me when I pass it off as sheer dumb luck. We’ve skated pretty close to it already, it’s not so much of a stretch to be completely implausible.
“Iris.”
Someone says my name as I step into the warmth of the gelateria, the smell of fresh coffee and the sweetness of baking in the air. It literally couldn’t be more welcoming unless they filled the place with armchairs and a library of well-thumbed books.
I turn toward the voice and see Maria rising from a nearby table to greet me. She catches me by surprise, gathering me into her arms and kissing both my cheeks.
“Bambina, you’re feeling better?”
I bite the inside of my lip to stop it from trembling as I raise a smile. “I am, thank you. It’s so nice to see you.”
I look up as Gio appears from the kitchens. If he has any reservations about my apparent illness, he makes a good job of not showing it on his face. His smile is genuine and relief registers in his eyes. He’s carrying a bowl of gelato.
“Mamma,” he says, placing it down on the counter.
Maria takes a seat on one of the high stools and reaches for a spoon.
Sophia looks at me and raises her eyebrows, then shrugs in a way that suggests she has no more clue what’s happening than I do.
Maria takes her time over tasting the gelato, several spoons, her eyes closed each time. Has Gio somehow stumbled on the recipe? Has Santo remembered it?
She places the spoon down with care and then nods at Gio, moving around to stand beside him. Sophia opens the door so the only customer in the shop can leave, and then closes it and leans her back against it.
“What’s going on?” she says, looking between her mother and her brother. “Do we have the recipe at last?”
Maria looks at Gio to reply.
“Mamma and I have decided to use the most recent test recipe for the holiday orders,” he says. “It’s not exact, but with Papa coming home soon there’s a decent chance he might recover his missing memories once he’s back in his familiar environments. He’s excited to try, anyway.”
Sophia picks up a spoon and tastes the gelato.
“We agree that the best thing to do in the meantime for Papa’s health is to keep the business going without disruption, so this”—Gio gestures at the gelato bowl—“is the recipe we will put into production, effective today.”
There is a clear sense of unity between Gio and Maria. This is a decision they’ve reached together, a done deal in order to protect Belotti’s and give Santo the best chance of rediscovering his old memories once he can get back in the kitchen again.
Maria looks at me, her face full of compassion.
“You have tried so hard, Iris, more than anyone could be expected to. We couldn’t have come this far without you.”
Sophia has eaten half a bowlful. “I think it’s absolutely the right decision,” she says. It’s testimony to her respect for Gio that she doesn’t say “I told you so.”
I’m blindsided. I can’t give them their recipe now that Santo has pinned his hopes on the idea that returning to his kitchen will jump-start his memory banks. I hope they’re right for all their sakes, I really do, but what do I do now? I feel redundant and at a loss.
Maria is buttoning her camel winter coat.
“I have to go to the market,” she says, raising an eyebrow at Gio. “A certain little bird is coming to stay with me tonight, if I’m not mistaken?”
Gio makes pretense of being offended. “You feed her too well, Mamma, she takes advantage.”
“The house is too quiet without Santo.” She’s already on her way out of the door on a cloud of expensive scent and the jangle of bangles. “She’s good company.”
“Mamma, wait up. I’ll walk over with you, I need some ingredients,” Sophia says, then glances at Gio. “As long as I’m still making my flavors? Because they’re selling so well and I still want to—”
He raises a hand to stop her mid-flow. “Yes.”
“Cool.” She grins as she bobs after Maria, shoving her arms into her coat as she goes.
There’s a hush once they’re gone. On a usual day Gio and I would head to the kitchen by now, but there will be no gelato-making today. Or there might be, but it’ll be the big industrial machines that rumble back into action rather than my little machine.
“Coffee?”
I nod, unsure how to play things, whether to sit or stand, what to say.
“Let’s sit,” he says, carrying our drinks to the table in the window.
I stir in milk and sugar, thinking. In some ways this has made things easier for me. Logistically, I am no longer needed here. They’ve made a plan to keep the business operational, in the short term at least. They will need their recipe by the spring but that’s a few months away—hopefully Santo will recover his memories and that will be that. And if he doesn’t, then maybe I can say I’ve been working on it too, at home, and hit on it. I don’t really know. It all feels unnecessary this morning, too far down the line to think about when what I really need to say is goodbye.
“You’ve been avoiding me over the holiday,” he says, quiet.
Gosh, that was direct. “I’ve been under the weather,” I say, knowing it sounds like the lie it is and hating myself for it.
“Is there something wrong?”
I can’t drink my coffee, my throat feels swollen with the effort of not crying. I’m so distressed at the way things have turned out for us. In a different place and time, I really do think Gio and I have what it takes to make each other happy. It probably makes me a weak person that I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth about Adam. I’m the first person he’s emotionally invested in since his wife died seven years ago. What would it do to him to know I’ve lied through my teeth from the very first time we met? Will he lose faith in his own judgment, retreat to his place behind the counter forever more? He deserves better than that. He deserves better than a relationship based on secrets and lies. I just need to find the words to walk away, words that feel as if they don’t exist in the English language, because how do you end things when every fiber of your being wants to stay? But…Bella. Adam. The recipe. I’ve been ostriching over the lies and keeping my head in the sand because being with Gio feels so separate, so safe, like an island we visit where only we exist and everything is about us, but that’s not real life, is it? The island is surrounded by shark-infested waters, and if I just do nothing, it will sink with us both on it. I don’t have to let that happen. I can wade into the water and battle the sharks—maybe I’ll survive and maybe I won’t, but at least Gio won’t get a mauling in the process. Bella needs her dad, and the Belottis need him to be the rock he’s always been. So I look him in the eyes and take a deep breath, my hands around the mug with my name on.