WALKING into the kitchen sparks a kaleidoscope of memories.
Working on homework at the kitchen table while Mom prepped dinner, Food Network playing on the television.
Shrieking at my brother when he pulled on my hair on the way to grab something from the fridge.
Stealing bites of antipasti before taking it to the dining room during dinner parties.
Laughing with my sister over crushes, ice cream bowls in hand.
Stomping upstairs to change when I tried to alter my Catholic school uniform too boldly and got a scold from Nana.
Hugging my dad goodbye as he gave me the keys to the car.
Sitting quietly with Nonno as he drank espresso and read the paper, a box of pastries open on the counter between us.
Some of the memories are jewel-bright, but others are dark and sharp enough to cut. Kitchens have a special place in all kinds of families—they certainly hold a lot of significance for Sebastian, who developed a passion from food alongside his mother—and mine has always been the center, the proverbial hearth. For all my family’s faults, the food is always impeccable. I’m sure my mother was at the Italian butcher yesterday, buying sausages and mozzarella, bread and rice balls, olives and marinated mushrooms. She’s been on a first-name basis with the guy who owns the store since before I was born.
Right now, the kitchen is complete chaos. Platters cover the breakfast table, with stacks of plastic cups and plates crammed in between. All five burners on the stove are going and the oven is on, making the room at least twice as warm as the rest of the house. My mother holds court at the counter, putting together a gigantic salad, and my aunts and older cousins hover around, chatting loudly as they cook.
“Wow,” Penny says, flattening herself against the wall as Aunt Carmela passes by with a platter of hot dogs. “How many more people are coming over?”
“Girls, there you are!” Mom wipes her hands on a dishcloth before hurrying around to hug us, never mind the fact we already said hello when I introduced her to Sebastian earlier. I couldn’t tell if she was more surprised about the fact I came home with a date in tow, or my stupid pink dress. The last family gathering I attended, I wore jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, and she told me I looked disgraceful, so I figured I’d borrow a dress from Izzy’s closet this time.
“We could use some more sets of hands in here, the neighbors are still arriving,” Nana says.
“Don’t forget about Rick’s friend, Paul,” my cousin Raquel says. “Step back, I need to open the oven. I think the stuffed shells should be done.”
“Paul and his girlfriend,” Aunt Dottie says, making a face. “Have you seen the way she dresses?”
Mom cups my cheek, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. I’ve tried to get a lot of things by her over the years, but she has an uncanny ability to sniff out bullshit. “Are you eating enough?”
I’m not sure when she went from telling me not to eat too much to worrying I eat too little, but I just shrug. “I’m fine.”
“You look tired.” She turns my head from side to side, then fusses with my sweater. “Tell us more about Sebastian, honey. He seems like such a good young man. Very polite.”
“Um—”
“And thank goodness he’s a young man,” she interrupts, voice low, as she continues to fuss with my outfit. “It makes the whole thing so much easier.”
I resist the urge to jerk away. Penny throws me a look, eyes wide, but I ignore her.
This afternoon is going to be torturous.
“That boy is so handsome,” Aunt Carmela says as she walks back into the kitchen. “And an athlete, too?”
“No wonder he has so many muscles,” Raquel says as she waggles her eyebrows, sending half the kitchen into a fit of laughter. Even Nana, sitting on a counter stool as she very carefully arranges a plate of antipasti, chuckles.
“He plays baseball,” Giana says. She’s at the sink, scrubbing a gigantic pot. “Right, Mia?”
“He doesn’t just play it,” Penny says, bumping her hip against mine subtly. “It’s going to be his career.”
I’m glad she’s here, even if part of me wishes I just came to the party myself—no Penny and Cooper, no Sebastian. If Giana goes through with her threat to tell Mom the truth about how I’ve been spending my time at college, the fallout will be nuclear. I tried to talk to her when we first arrived, but she brushed me off.
“Yep,” I say. As far as I know, Sebastian hasn’t told anyone else about his decision, and it’s his news to share, not mine. “The draft is soon.”
Mom clasps her hands. “He’s perfect. I’m so glad you finally came to your senses and found yourself a nice boy, Maria.”
The rest of my aunts and cousins voice their approval. I’m not usually the one who earns this kind of reaction—I’ve always gotten the exasperated looks, the reprimands—and it feels weird. I’m not doing anything to earn it; it’s not like I’m dating Sebastian because he plays baseball. I force myself to keep smiling.
“A professional baseball player,” Aunt Carmela says. “You’ll be set.”
“You might not even need to teach at all,” Mom teases. “Come help take all of this outside.”
I follow her into the yard with the salad bowl in hand. When I look at the grill, I relax slightly. Sebastian’s talking to my father and one of my uncles. Giana is closer to both of our parents than I am, but still, it means a lot to me that he’s taking the time to get to know Dad.
The reactions to Sebastian haven’t surprised me in the slightest. He’s charming and handsome, golden through and through. Who wouldn’t love him? I thought part of me would find satisfaction in that, but instead, I feel like I’m balancing on a ledge, and one false move will send me plummeting.
When we’re back in the kitchen, Mom smooths back my hair the way she did when I was little.
“This is wonderful, Maria,” she says, her voice low enough my aunts and cousins can’t listen in. “I hope you realize what it means to be with a man with that kind of career. You need to be prepared to support him. If you’re going to keep him, you need to make sure he’s happy and taken care of.”
For a moment, I just stare. She’s spoken to Sebastian exactly once and is already thinking about ways I could fuck things up.
“Right,” I say. “He’s—well, we’re happy.”
“Your aunt is right,” she says. “It’s not every day that someone has the opportunity to be with someone so successful. He’ll have attention no matter where he goes, so it’ll be up to you to keep it.”
I glance around. Penny is chatting with my grandmother, my aunts are arguing over how to serve the stuffed shells even though someone makes them for every single party, a couple of my cousins run inside for more sodas. No one is looking at us except Giana, soapy up to the elbows, her brows drawn together.
“I trust him,” I say.
Mom waves her hand impatiently. “It’s not about trust. It’s about making sacrifices. Goodness knows you’ve never once understood that concept when it comes to our family, but maybe with him—”
“Seriously?” I interrupt. “It’s not like I’m some terrible—”
“Not that this is about us,” she says, a little louder. “This isn’t about that. This is about recognizing that you could have it all, Maria. He’s a good man, he’s going to want a girlfriend and eventually a wife who is there for him. Maybe instead of tying yourself to a school district after graduation, you could tutor and travel with him.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter because I’m not getting my teaching degree anyway.”
The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. I wince; I was loud enough that everyone in the room heard.
“Wait, what?” someone says into the silence.
My mother grabs me by the elbow and drags me into the living room.
Not the hall by the staircase or the den or even my room, but the formal living room in the front of the house with the pristine couches we only sit on during holidays. It’s my mother’s favorite place for a lecture, and I feel like a seventeen-year-old again, caught doing any number of stupid things.
I wrench my elbow away from her. “Mom, stop. I’m not a little kid.”
“You’d call that mature? Talking nonsense in front of half the family? Your friend?”
“It’s not nonsense.” I smooth down the skirt of my horrible dress, wishing I could rip the thing in two. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
“Are you even still in school?”
“Yes. God.” I take a deep breath. “I’m just… I’m majoring in astronomy and physics. I want to get my PhD. Do research, maybe even work for NASA. Not teach and be a housewife.”
She stares at me like I really did just rip the dress off. “And when do you expect to have time for marriage? For children? What about Sebastian?”
“This isn’t about him.”
“So you declared a new major and conveniently forgot to mention it to me or your father?”
“It’s not new.”
“What?”
“It’s not new,” I snap, unable to keep my voice steady. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but you didn’t listen.”
Giana appears in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Mom looks at her, then back at me with such disappointment in her expression, my knees nearly buckle.
“Your father and I have worked so hard to make sure you could attend that fancy private university,” she says. She takes a step closer. Even with the carpet muffling the sound of her heel, I sense the intention in it. “So you could get an accelerated teaching degree, like we agreed.”
“I never agreed.” I cross my arms, resisting the urge to take a step back. “You just decided it for me and expected me to go along with it. Nonno is the only one who understood me, he encouraged me—”
“My father was many things, but a realist was not one of them,” she interjects. “Jesus, Mia, come on. Stop dreaming.”
“It’s not just a dream.” I feel the beginning of a sob building in my throat and swallow it down. “It’s what I’m meant to do.”
“And what about what Sebastian is meant to do? What about what he deserves? A wife who will support him and his career. Who will take care of his children. You can’t do that if you’re working around the clock.”
“It doesn’t matter!” I throw my hands up. “I told you this ages ago. I don’t know if I even want to get married and have kids anyway.”
She’s silent for a moment. Then she says, in a voice that cracks like ice, “I can’t believe I raised such a selfish daughter.”
A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away roughly. “Nice to know things haven’t changed.”
“What?”
I laugh wetly. “The last time I told you that, you said I would be welcome to leave the family if I decided not to get married or give you grandchildren.”
There’s genuine confusion on her face, warring with the anger. “I never said that.”
“You did. You threatened to fucking disown me if I didn’t make myself someone’s good little wife.”
“Do not curse at me.”
I can’t believe she doesn’t even remember. I’ve thought of that night a million times now, but it didn’t even matter enough to her for it to stay in her memory. What was a crushing blow to me was nothing to her.
Nothing.
My stomach rolls. Giana says something, but I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears. Why did I ever think there’d be a way forward? That my family would truly see me for me?
I push past Giana, past my aunts and cousins and Penny and everyone else listening in, and throw open the screen door. It slams shut behind me.
“Sebastian!” I call.
He looks up, along with half of the people in the backyard. I know it’s rude to leave, but right now, I don’t care how it looks. I just need to make it to the car without crying. “I need to leave.”
