“I’m already an expert, Mom,” she threw back at me. “I can dial the pizza delivery phone number with my eyes closed. It’s perfect every time.”

Everyone burst into laughter, and relief shot through me at her easy tone. Oh, how I wished we’d be able to relax with each other more often. I felt as if every word needed to be carefully analyzed to make sure I wasn’t hurting her feelings. When had it begun to fall apart on us? When Allegra began going to school? Or had the broken cracks always been there, slowly eroding through the years because we never tried to repair them?

Maria stopped by Allegra. “Signorina, do you cook professionally? You are quite skilled in forming the dough.”

Allegra straightened up. “My grandmother taught me,” she said proudly, motioning over to me.

“I think the student has surpassed the teacher,” I said, noting how her pizza was perfectly shaped and kneaded to the perfect width.

“Very impressive,” Maria said again with a smile. We finished with adding the sauce and cheese and stuck them in the brick oven. Maria collected our aprons and stood in front of us. “I have seen many pizza makers in my life, but there is one who has a natural talent. A true artist who I wish lived here in Italy with me to work in our family business.”

We waited, and I saw Allegra hold her breath.

Maria walked straight to Kai. “Young man, you are the winner of the pizza-making contest. It would be my honor for you to work with me.”

His face lit up, and he looked back and forth between his mother and father. “Thank you, but I’m going to be a firefighter and I can’t move to Italy.”

I bit my lip to keep from chuckling at his seriousness. “That is a worthy job,” Maria said, patting his head with affection. “I guess I can accept your refusal. Now, if you’ll follow Patricia into the dining area, we are going to eat these delicious pizzas you all created.”

Oversize tables were situated under a big awning surrounded by lush green vines and flowers ripe with sweet nectar. Platters of fresh mozzarella, juicy red tomatoes, and bottles of olive oil were already set up on festive tablecloths. White and red wine flowed, along with fresh-squeezed lemonade. Baskets of crusty pieces of Italian bread were set in the center.

“Allegra, I know you mentioned you liked cooking, but you really did look like a professional out there,” Dana said, her many bangles jangling on her wrist. “Maybe you’ll go to school and be a chef.”

This time, Allegra didn’t hesitate. Her features flushed with pride as she answered. “I’m going to apply to the Culinary Institute. And when I get home, I’m going to see if I can get some experience in a restaurant or catering hall.”