The dinner was held at a restaurant on the rooftop of our hotel. The elegant display of crisp white linens, sparkly china, and the stunning view of Rome spread out like a gift made me thankful I’d insisted on upgrading our tour. Mom had wanted to settle for a larger group and lower-class hotels, but I’d finally found a more boutique tour that catered to clients with top-rate lodging, meals, and experiences. A large rectangular table was set up and already a few of the tour members were sipping water and chatting. Immediately I cringed, since I’d hoped to snag a table alone with Mom and Allegra so we didn’t have to socialize the first night. I knew it was a mixer, but we’d had a long travel day, and I was in the mood to enjoy a good meal without trying to get to know strangers.

Anxiety started to seize me, and I gritted my teeth, determined to ward off any type of attack. The plane ride had spiked the same type of panic, reminding me of that slow, torturous downfall at my office; reminding me of being out of control and helpless under the flighty impulses of my body. I shuddered out a breath and tried to focus on a relaxing dinner.

“Should we sit there?” my mother asked, pointing to the end where we’d only have to deal with people on one side. I nodded, quickly motioning for them to grab the seats before anyone else could. Allegra shot me a strange look but was thankfully silent as she plopped down.

The stout Italian waiter brought over a tray with bottles of red and white wine. “Mom, can I have a glass of wine?” Allegra asked.

“No,” I said, still shaky over the pot incident. Didn’t they say weed was a gateway drug? Had she also been getting drunk on school nights or weekends and I’d never even suspected?

My mother smiled with indulgence. “Oh, let her have just a few sips. We’re in Italy and it’s with dinner. Most families give their children wine young so they learn to drink it with meals as an accompaniment. Maybe if we didn’t make it such a mystery, fewer kids would want to get drunk.”

My mouth fell open. “Are you really questioning me on this? You never let me have wine.”

She shrugged. “We weren’t in Italy.”

Allegra smothered a laugh, and I shook my head. It was nice to hear my daughter laugh. Maybe I needed to try to not make everything a battle between us. Better to keep the peace, and my mother could help chaperone. “Just a few sips,” I warned.

“We’ll do Pinot Grigio,” my mother declared. “It’s light and fruity.”