Sure, he’d been gone a lot, but when he was with us, his focus was complete. He’d play tickle monster and read endless books and take me out for ice cream. I remembered lingering for hours at the dinner table, watching him drink little cups of black espresso and talking about fascinating subjects. He’d taught me so much about the ins and outs of running a business: how to figure out invaluable information by reading a person and their tells; how to redirect a dialogue and create trust; how to upsell once the client was hooked. Without some type of connection, failure was imminent. I’d soaked up his lessons and vowed to be just like him one day.

And I was.

After he died, we’d been able to sell the business to his partner and set Mom up with a nice cushion, especially since she had no social security. He’d done everything to take care of his family. Had he experienced the same distance with my mom when he spoke about work?

I’d never know.

Soon, all the food was prepped and on the table. We passed around bowls of fresh peas, potatoes, turkey, and cranberry sauce. I’d avoided the bread—always ruthless with limiting carbs—but took a healthy portion of Allegra’s potatoes, surprised at the creamy texture and flavor, which were restaurant quality. “Honey, these are really good,” I said. My daughter’s flushed cheeks were an even bigger surprise, and she ducked her head quickly as if hiding her pleasure at my comment. My heart squeezed. Had I not been acknowledging her enough? I always told her she was smart and could do anything she put her mind to, but she usually rolled her eyes or made some snide comment that cut off my praise.

“Thanks. Nonni knows all the tricks. She’s teaching me how to make lasagna next.”

My mother laughed. “That will be easy compared to the Easter pie. Remember that fiasco?”

My daughter laughed with her. “That was harder than a Regents test! Mom, have you ever made it before?”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t get her into the kitchen unless I bribed her,” Mom said with a snort.

“It’s insane! There’s like a thousand steps, and four kinds of meat, and the layering process is a math equation.”

“But worth it, right?” Mom asked.

“So worth it. I wish we could make them year-round instead of only at Easter,” Allegra said.

“Are you kidding? After I make even one of those I need a nap.”

I smiled, enjoying the pleasure on their faces, even as the tiny bite of jealousy at their closeness reared up. I smothered it quickly, embarrassed. I was thrilled Allegra loved her grandmother so much, especially since she never got to spend time with Dad.