A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) (19 page)

There was no help for it. I unbuckled and scooted over into the middle to make room for Adrian.

He winked.

I had sincere doubts about the series of events that led to Adrian being left
behind, especially once the two of us had buckled our seat belts and found ourselves in a kind of awkward truck cuddle.

“Do you have enough room?” I asked Adrian, wide eyed, and scooted farther away, to the point that I was practically in my oldest brother’s lap.

For all that, Adrian practically ignored me during the drive, instead asking Alex about his job managing Elle’s catering business.

At the apartment, I busied myself with the kitchen supplies, getting stuff ready enough to have things to eat off for lunch. While Nico and Adrian continued to move everything in, Alex offered to make the trip to Elephants Deli to pick up lunch for everyone.

Maman had offered to have Alex take things to Goodwill, but I’d demurred for some reason or other that I made up on the spot. Really, I didn’t want to accidentally donate something that might provide answers, even if it was just a sewing box.

I had my reasons, none of which lent to a seamless move. With every new box and chair, finding places for everything became increasingly difficult. Nico and Alex dismantled Grand-mère’s bed while Adrian unloaded my own bed from the trailer.

“Where do you want that trunk to be once we’re done?” Nico asked, pointing at Grand-mère’s huge gray steamer trunk, the one that had always been at the foot of her bed.

“Right there,” I told him.

“Are you sure? It’s old.”

“It’s vintage,” I clarified. “It can stay.”

Once the space had been cleared, the difficulties only increased.

Nico squinted at the headboard as if it were a loaf of bread gone stale. “So … how does this go together?”

“Where’s the hardware from when you disassembled it?” I asked.

Nico shrugged. “Alex did it.”

Of course Alex wasn’t there, having fled to the deli.

Coward.

Adrian eyed the pieces. “So there’s, like, nails somewhere? Do you have a hammer?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Nico said, hands on his hips. “There are screws and bolts and washings and stuff.”

“Wash
er
s,” Adrian corrected.

“Whatever.” Nico waved a hand. “I’m a chef, not a construction worker.”

I patted his arm. “But you do make beautiful composed salads. Where are the tools, anyway?” I asked.

Nico frowned. “Alex had them last.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Alex had hidden them and fled the scene on purpose.

Rather than try to be helpful, I followed suit and retreated to the kitchen. Telling Nico to give up on the assembly would only make him more determined. I figured that as long as the tools were AWOL, the likelihood of my bed sustaining serious damage remained low.

I was halfway through the crudités prep when I heard it.

The electric screwdriver.

Darn it.

In the end, all the boxes and furniture made their way into the new apartment. And between the four us of, there wasn’t a leftover from the deli to be found. Alex fixed my bed (he had to undo what the guys did in his absence), and all was right in the world. I hugged my brothers good-bye.

Adrian gave me a warm smile and a hand on my arm. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his eyes flickering over my face. His gaze rested on my lips before returning to my eyes. “Good night.”

I stood frozen as he walked out the door.

Nico appeared not to have noticed, excusing himself to use the bathroom.

“I think Adrian may have a thing for you,” Alex said dryly.

I sank onto the couch, my head in my hands. “Don’t say it.”

Alex chuckled. “Don’t have to—he certainly wasn’t hiding it—the guy’s interested. It was impossible to miss.”

“Unless you’re Nico.”

“True.” Alex patted my shoulder. “Have fun with that.”

Neil e-mailed me the next morning.

I read the e-mail twice, my face turning pink without my permission, for all the worst reasons.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t answer my questions about missing him.

I pressed my lips together and closed out of my e-mail window.

Had I completely, utterly, and literally misread him? Had I read him correctly, but he changed his mind?

My computer screen offered no answers.

Frustrated and not a little embarrassed, I closed my laptop, put away my breakfast dishes, and redirected my attentions to Grand-mère’s vintage cookbook.

After work Tuesday, I returned to a home that needed a lot of work. I put on my yoga pants and zipped a hoodie over my tee, setting Stacey Kent to play on the stereo before I set to work. After making a call for the carpets to be shampooed, I vacuumed as much carpet as I could reach with my machine. With a soft cloth, I washed the pale blue walls, erasing years of fingerprints and scuffs.

The kitchen—I fit my things in where I could. The tile needed the love of a good bleach pen, and mine had dried up.

In the bedroom, I moved Grand-mère’s things out of the closet and into the spare room, temporarily. In reality, my mom and Sophie needed to go through and decide what to keep and what to donate. Until then, I made just enough space to be able to hang the things I needed to hang.

As the hours wore on, the last of the sun faded, but the work had kept me warm. I shed my hoodie and surveyed my progress.

My eyes fell on the steamer trunk by my bed. More of Grand-mère’s treasures or attractive storage space for my own things? As much as I wanted to explore, I needed to stay on task, which meant getting cleaned up and going to City Market for groceries. My work had paid off, though. The apartment smelled of fresh air and cleaning products. I could see my kitchen table. Some of my own décor hung on the walls.

Grand-mère would have approved.

On Wednesday, my father called and asked if I would come by D’Alisa & Elle in the morning, before opening. When it came to reasons, he was mysterious.

I showed up on my way to work, not knowing exactly what I was in for. When I arrived, he’d clearly been there for hours, greeting me with a warm hug and kisses on both cheeks.

“Ciao, bella,”
he said, his hands grasping my shoulders. “I am so proud of you. This new restaurant? It is very exciting. I love my restaurant. I want you to love yours.”

We turned to face the dining room, taking in the space that had supported our family for so many years.

It was ornate without being fussy, fancy without being cluttered or dated. The furniture had a lovely patina.

“I have been thinking,” he said. “Your
nonno
’s ninetieth birthday is this summer. Your mother and I were going to go and celebrate with the rest of the family, you know, but with the surgery …”

“I’m sure they understand,” I said.

His lip twitched. “Perhaps. But perhaps they will understand better if I send you to Italy in our stead.”