I nibbled my lip. I preferred planning to chaos. Getting lost just wasn’t done anymore, because it was avoidable. But I wanted to indulge them and this was something I could manage. “If that’s what you want, I’m in.”

“No phones,” Allegra warned. “We need to figure things out by ourselves.”

“Not even Google Translate?” I asked. I was addicted to technology and not too proud to admit it. “Or a text to Enzo?”

“Nothing. Let’s see what happens,” Allegra said.

Mom nodded, and I was outvoted. I paid the bill, and we picked a street and set out on foot for an adventure.

It took me a while to settle in and begin to enjoy the sights without worry. We headed over the bridge, crossing the Tiber River, not sure what we’d find. As we navigated narrow cobblestone streets, I was struck by the endless rows of buildings in rich, earthy colors, covered with bright green winding ivy. Wrought-iron balconies spilled over the square filled with pots of red, yellow, and pink geraniums. Savory and sweet scents of bread and sugar drifted in the air, teasing our nostrils. We passed cafés where people lounged at small tables, smoking and drinking aperitifs, and listened to the chatter of lyrical Italian float in the air. Mom bought a leather wallet, and I picked up a bright red Pinocchio ornament with moving legs for our Christmas tree. We guzzled bottled water to combat the heat as the baked pavement seeped right into our flimsy sandals.

“This is so cute,” Mom said, her head craning back and forth to take it all in. “Don’t you wish we could sell everything and live here?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” Allegra said.

We looked at each other. “Really? You preferred going cross-country in a dilapidated RV with some half-baked musician. How would you deal with simplifying your life to this extent?”

“He’s not half-baked,” she replied hotly. “He’s got a lot of talent and needs to go out there to share his gift.”

“As long as he doesn’t share his weed.”

She blew out an annoyed breath. “You have no idea what would make me happy. I bet I’d do well here with less stress and more focus on living.”

“You’re eighteen. You need to live big first before you decide to settle down to the simple life, don’t you think?”

“My big isn’t your big, Mom. It never was.”

My mother got in between us and clucked her tongue. “My question was supposed to be fun and hypothetical. No more fighting. Both of you would thrive anywhere because you have strong cores and stubborn determination. Discussion over. Oh, look, a bakery! Let’s get some goodies to go.”