“What is it?”
“It’s…I…”
She couldn’t even speak through the laughter, but she managed to hold up her hand. There was a worn photograph clutched between her fingers, and even from across the room, I knew what it was. I’d assumed I’d burned every image from that day years ago, but apparently Nonna had held on to a copy for herself.
“You were a very pretty little girl, Gianluca!” she said, wiping at her eyes.
I pushed to my feet and went over to snatch the photo out of her hands. Sure enough, a seven-year-old version of myself stared back at me, covered in makeup and wearing a dress. I’d lost a bet to Massimo and as retribution, I’d had to go around the village dressed up like that all day.
“Laugh all you want. I was probably prettier than you were.”
That only made her laugh harder. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were pinched closed. She held her hand up to shield her smile, telling me she’d get ahold of herself in just a second.
I tried to fight the infectious sound of her laughter, to turn the spotlight on her and save a bit of my dignity.
“You’ll get laugh lines if you keep that up.”
She ignored me. “You were dressed like a GIRL. A tiny little girl with a bow and everything.”
“Yeah, I can see them there, by your eyes.”
“I think I even had that same dress!” she said through tears of laughter.
Eventually, the sound of her laughter was too hard to fend off. A chuckle sort of erupted out of me like a knee-jerk reaction, and it made her eyes go round as saucers.
“Holy shit! Did you just laugh? Or is that just some strange new sound you make when you’re brooding?”
I turned then, trying to put more distance between us. I went back to work, shoving things into the bin bag with a tad too much force. She stayed on the ground.
“I can’t get up. Every time I blink, I see the picture. I’m afraid you’ve scarred me for life.”
“Shame you’ll have to lie there forever. I’ll build a door for the cats so you’ll have some company.”
Her laughter filled the room, chipping away at my grumpy façade. She was experiencing that kind of laughter that hurts after a while, and even when we tried to go back to work, every time we’d meet each other’s eyes, she’d start the whole process over again.
“Stop! Stop,” she insisted with a light groan, pressing her hand to her stomach. “My stomach can’t take it.”
“You were the one looking at me,” I pointed out.
“Right, well. You just stay on that side of the room facing away from me and I’ll work over here.”
I shook my head, working at wiping the hidden smile off my face.
…
“Why do you insist on wearing those overalls?”
She looked like an overgrown toddler in them.
She grinned and patted her hips. “They’ve got loads of pockets. I stuff candy in them in the morning.”
I didn’t reply, which I knew infuriated her.
“Do you want to know why I stuff candy in my pockets in the mornings?”
“You fancy a bit of diabetes?”
“It’s a reward system. Every time I get you to talk, I reward myself with a piece of chocolate.”
…
“You’re doing it again,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“Singing.”
…
“GIANLUCA!”
I jerked up and slammed my head against the bottom of the sink.
“Fuck.”
“HURRYYY! HURRY!”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my head as I ran up the stairs to find Georgie cowering in the corner of the back bedroom, pointing to the opposite wall with a shaky finger.
“What? Jesus, what’s wrong?”
“There’s a tarantula over there! A massive one!”
I shuffled around a few boxes in the opposite corner, trying to find the so-called tarantula. Georgie hovered behind my back, pointing me in the right direction.
“Try that one,” she whispered as if the spider was keyed into the sound of her voice.
I flipped it over and the spider scurried out.
It was a tiny thing, no bigger than a coin.
Georgie jumped a mile in the air and ran from the room. I caught the spider and released it outside. When I returned, Georgie was walking back up the stairs with a pair of gloves that reached her elbows and the protective glasses I used when I was woodworking.
“You didn’t kill it, did you?”
She seemed concerned, but with the glasses covering most of her face, I couldn’t be sure.
“No, but that thing looked like it could scale walls. I’d lock my windows tonight if I were you.”
…
“Pizza?” she asked near the end of one workday.
“I’ll eat later.”
She let out an exasperated sigh, heavy enough to ensure I heard it across the room. “I know if I bring back hot, cheesy pizza, you’re going to silently plead with me to give you a piece.”
“I’ve never done that.”
She snorted. “Yesterday you practically salivated on my sandwich.”
“That was drool from boredom. You were taking so long to eat it.”
…
“What were you like as a child?”
I was down below the sink on my back, trying to repair a minor leak in the first-floor bathroom. At some point, Georgie had walked in to watch me.