Page 146 of Married With Malice

We find Daisy setting the dining room table. “You’re just in time for dinner!”

Big Man Bowie promptly strolls in, balancing a platter piled with hamburgers on his palm. He sets it down in the middle of the table.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he says, always eager to feed the world.

“Starving,” I reply.

“I can carry that, Mama,” Sabrina complains as she trails my mother, who holds a tray of wedge fries, another Big Man Bowie specialty. I’ve learned he seasons them with garlic salt and smoked paprika. I’ve promised not to share this information with anyone.

“No no no.” My mother keeps the tray out of Sabrina’s reach. “You can, um, go get the napkins.”

“The napkins,” Sabrina mutters. “I’m capable of more than getting the napkins. It’s not as if I set fire to the dining room or something.”

“Too soon,” I say, glancing at the scorch marks left on the wall from the great Christmas Cake Inferno.

Sabrina blows me a kiss and flounces away. She nearly crashes right into our uncle, who appears somewhat perturbed to be tasked with carrying a tray of burger fixings.

“Ah, thanks, Uncle Vittorio,” says Big Man Bowie. “You can just find an empty spot for that.”

The cranky look my uncle throws at my sister’s husband says he neither appreciates being called ‘uncle’ by him or being ordered where to place food.

Big Man Bowie, more adorably clueless than ever, smiles with encouragement and points. “Like that spot right there. Go on, go for it.”

My uncle exhales loudly but follows instructions.

“Here, Vittorio.” My mother pulls out the seat at the head of the table. The chair has only ever been occupied by my father. “You sit here.”

He shakes his head. “This is your house, Giulia. You sit at the head of the table.”

She slides into the chair with the grace of a queen. There’s a flush of happiness on her cheeks. I have to say, I don’t dislike this fearsome uncle of mine. No matter what kind of reign of terror he inflicts out there in the mafia realm, he makes my mother smile so he’s all right in my book.

Sabrina returns with an armful of napkins. Then the toe of her boot catches on a throw rug and she spills the napkins all over the floor.

“I meant to do that,” she says, grabbing for the scattered napkins.

I help her pick them up. “Of course you did.”

With the enthusiastic support of Big Man Bowie, we heap food on our plates.

“Know what these could really use?” Luca muses beside me as he examines a fry. “A dash of hot pepper.”

I reach over and pinch his thigh. “You’re mean.”

“You love me.” He winks.

Yes, I truly do.

The weather is unusually warm for late February. I’m starting to feel panicked at the knowledge that the clock is continuing to tick away precious moments. Luca and I will need to leave for the airport in a few hours.

First, I want a few minutes alone with my sisters and suggest taking a walk.

We remain on the impeccably manicured grounds of the estate as twilight settles.

There’s not a square foot of this property that doesn’t make me think of my sisters. We’ve all spent our lives here. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be back.

And I don’t know when I’ll see Daisy and Sabrina again.

I’ll never cry a single tear for my father. But the impending separation from my sisters makes my throat tight and my limbs feel heavy. The three of us have always stuck together. Now we’ll all be in separate corners of the world.

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