Grabbing the green leafy herb, I walk back to her at the stove and wait for further instruction. This has been our daily ritual for the past week or so; she gets me in the kitchen and shows me how to cook. It’s now one of my favorite things.

“Wash the leaves, then pat them dry with the paper towel, carefully. We don’t want to bruise them,” she instructs as she continues to stir.

“What is in the pot?” I ask, getting busy with the basil.

“I sauteed onions in some oil, then added my chopped tomatoes…” She leans across to grab some sugar. “I am adding some sugar. Dante likes it on the sweet side, Bella. Remember that.” She looks at me with raised brows before giving me a wink. My heart pulses at Maria’s words, thoughts swirling that maybe I will get to make this dish for Dante myself in the near future. But I shake myself out of it.

“There, basil is ready,” I say proudly, and she looks over at my completed task with a surprised grin on her face.

“Good, Bella, very good,” she purrs. “Now, let’s put in the basil and let it simmer.” I pick up the leaves and drop them into the pot, watching her continue to stir the simmering sauce. The aroma in the kitchen is amazing as I take a deep breath in, causing me to nearly salivate.

“Smells delicious,” I say, smiling, as she looks at me with glee.

“Come, eat, Bella. You are too skinny, you need to eat. Then you can help me make the parmigiana.” She gestures to the kitchen bench where a large plate of pancakes is waiting for me.

Stepping away from the kitchen, I do as she asks and take a seat next to Leo at the breakfast bar, drenching my pancake in maple syrup. Leo and I both sit in silence as we eat and continue to watch Maria as she moves around the kitchen with ease, like she was born to do it. I decide then and there that I want to learn a new recipe from her every day that I am here. Already she has taught me way more than my mother ever did.

Leo and I pack away our dishes, and he runs off to his room to finish his Lego project while I take my new position in the kitchen next to Maria. Together we make the parmigiana for dinner. She goes through step by step, and I follow her every instruction. Once that is prepared, she teaches me the art of more Italian cooking as we attempt to make fresh pasta. Mine keeps breaking, but I improve throughout the afternoon.

“Dante likes fresh pasta, Bella. Fettuccine is his favorite,” she says like a proud mother.