slipped into old age and dementia.
‘Come inside. Dinner’s getting cold.’ Sonia led her through the house to the heart and soul of the Morelli’s home – the kitchen. It was her parents’ one indulgence. The room was lined with bench tops and cupboards and in the centre, like a heart, sat a huge wooden dining table. Anna could see the whole family was already seated around it, waiting: her father, Paulo; her mum’s mum, Nonna Alessio; her little brother Luca; and the youngest of the Morellis, Grace. Next to Grace was an empty chair. Alex’s spot.
‘ Ciao everyone,’ Anna called as she slipped off her heels and padded in bare feet towards the table.
‘For you.’ Her father handed her a full glass of his homemade wine.
‘Hi, Dad.’ She kissed him twice. ‘ Buona sera , Nonna.’ Her Nonna squeezed her cheek.
‘About time you got here. I’m starving.’ Luca stood to kiss her cheeks, bending down so she could reach him. ‘Ouch Luca, you need a shave.’
‘It’s my designer stubble,’ he replied with a grin as he sat, rubbing his palm over the dark shadow on his jaw.
‘More like designer bum fluff,’ Grace scoffed.
Finally Anna was seated. Her father at the head of the table, her brother at the other end. The four women placed two by two on either side. The empty chair next to her. Since she was a child, they’d all had their established places at the family table. She’d always sat in this very chair, which meant her view to the backyard hadn’t changed in her thirty-five years. The neatly trimmed grass led to a grid of garden beds, each hemmed by a cement path, bursting with abundant crops of tomatoes and cucumbers, zucchinis, green beans and herbs, all as lush and green as a tropical rainforest.
‘What are you waiting for? Eat!’ Sonia called and Luca lifted a huge plate of antipasti towards his grandmother. She selected some cold meats, artichoke, olives and a small wedge of cheese, then Luca passed it around and the eating began in earnest. Anna sipped her wine, glad of the reprieve from all the talking she knew would come. She simply had to tell them about Alex today, but figured such news on empty stomachs might inflame some kind of hunger-induced hysteria. Anna grabbed an olive and a chunk of bread.
‘How’s work, Luca?’ Anna asked. Her brother was a carpenter who’d just started his own business.
‘Busy as. Which is good.
‘What kind of work are you picking up?’
Luca took another slice of salami from the platter. ‘A pool house, a thousand pergolas, a couple of decks. Someone wants me to quote on building a kitchen.’ Luca threw an olive into his mouth. ‘Hey, I haven’t seen you since the wedding down in … the place where the surfers go. Where was it again?’
Anna stopped. The chunk of bread in her mouth suddenly felt like a whole loaf. She swallowed it with a gulp. ‘Middle Point. It was in Middle Point, down on the south coast.’
‘That’s it, Middle Point. Some guys I know rented a house down there in January. Raved about it.’
‘Somebody married?’ Nonna put down her fork and looked around. Her English wasn’t the best, but she knew the word marriage in six dialects and four languages.
Anna drank more wine. Here she was again, talking about the wedding. ‘My old friend from university, Nonna. Ry Blackburn.’
‘Was it a big wedding?’ her mother asked.
Anna shook her head. ‘It was good. Small.’
‘Not like Anna’s wedding,’ Nonna chimed in, proudly eyeing off her first granddaughter.
Anna struggled to smile. ‘No, nothing like mine, Nonna.’ Anna’s wedding had been a kick-arse, full-on Italian-Australian extravaganza. But all the bridesmaids and food and bomboniere and relatives and acres of silk in her pouffy gown and first dances all felt like a bad dream now. Big weddings were no indicator of future happiness. She was living proof of that. All the dreams she’d had on her wedding day had died. Perhaps there was a new law of
‘Come inside. Dinner’s getting cold.’ Sonia led her through the house to the heart and soul of the Morelli’s home – the kitchen. It was her parents’ one indulgence. The room was lined with bench tops and cupboards and in the centre, like a heart, sat a huge wooden dining table. Anna could see the whole family was already seated around it, waiting: her father, Paulo; her mum’s mum, Nonna Alessio; her little brother Luca; and the youngest of the Morellis, Grace. Next to Grace was an empty chair. Alex’s spot.
‘ Ciao everyone,’ Anna called as she slipped off her heels and padded in bare feet towards the table.
‘For you.’ Her father handed her a full glass of his homemade wine.
‘Hi, Dad.’ She kissed him twice. ‘ Buona sera , Nonna.’ Her Nonna squeezed her cheek.
‘About time you got here. I’m starving.’ Luca stood to kiss her cheeks, bending down so she could reach him. ‘Ouch Luca, you need a shave.’
‘It’s my designer stubble,’ he replied with a grin as he sat, rubbing his palm over the dark shadow on his jaw.
‘More like designer bum fluff,’ Grace scoffed.
Finally Anna was seated. Her father at the head of the table, her brother at the other end. The four women placed two by two on either side. The empty chair next to her. Since she was a child, they’d all had their established places at the family table. She’d always sat in this very chair, which meant her view to the backyard hadn’t changed in her thirty-five years. The neatly trimmed grass led to a grid of garden beds, each hemmed by a cement path, bursting with abundant crops of tomatoes and cucumbers, zucchinis, green beans and herbs, all as lush and green as a tropical rainforest.
‘What are you waiting for? Eat!’ Sonia called and Luca lifted a huge plate of antipasti towards his grandmother. She selected some cold meats, artichoke, olives and a small wedge of cheese, then Luca passed it around and the eating began in earnest. Anna sipped her wine, glad of the reprieve from all the talking she knew would come. She simply had to tell them about Alex today, but figured such news on empty stomachs might inflame some kind of hunger-induced hysteria. Anna grabbed an olive and a chunk of bread.
‘How’s work, Luca?’ Anna asked. Her brother was a carpenter who’d just started his own business.
‘Busy as. Which is good.
‘What kind of work are you picking up?’
Luca took another slice of salami from the platter. ‘A pool house, a thousand pergolas, a couple of decks. Someone wants me to quote on building a kitchen.’ Luca threw an olive into his mouth. ‘Hey, I haven’t seen you since the wedding down in … the place where the surfers go. Where was it again?’
Anna stopped. The chunk of bread in her mouth suddenly felt like a whole loaf. She swallowed it with a gulp. ‘Middle Point. It was in Middle Point, down on the south coast.’
‘That’s it, Middle Point. Some guys I know rented a house down there in January. Raved about it.’
‘Somebody married?’ Nonna put down her fork and looked around. Her English wasn’t the best, but she knew the word marriage in six dialects and four languages.
Anna drank more wine. Here she was again, talking about the wedding. ‘My old friend from university, Nonna. Ry Blackburn.’
‘Was it a big wedding?’ her mother asked.
Anna shook her head. ‘It was good. Small.’
‘Not like Anna’s wedding,’ Nonna chimed in, proudly eyeing off her first granddaughter.
Anna struggled to smile. ‘No, nothing like mine, Nonna.’ Anna’s wedding had been a kick-arse, full-on Italian-Australian extravaganza. But all the bridesmaids and food and bomboniere and relatives and acres of silk in her pouffy gown and first dances all felt like a bad dream now. Big weddings were no indicator of future happiness. She was living proof of that. All the dreams she’d had on her wedding day had died. Perhaps there was a new law of
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