I pondered the fruit tart on my plate and settled on a few sips of precious coffee. It was strong and a touch bitter and absolutely perfect. “They were nice,” my mother commented, forking up a piece of her dessert. “She’s a hoot.”

“She’s cool,” Allegra said. “I’d love to run a clothes shop.”

I snorted. “Retail has awful hours and high turnover. You’d hate it,” I said.

Immediately she stiffened. “Why do you have to ruin everything I mention?” she asked, her eyes burning with resentment. “Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t.”

I sighed. “I’m just telling you the truth. Lots of jobs seem glamorous from the outside, but you realize there’s too many limitations or downfalls. I’m trying to help.”

“You do it all the time. I told you I’m interested in cooking and would love to take classes, but you said to stay away from the restaurant business.”

“Because it’s a nightmare. You work nights, weekends, and odd hours. The pay is terrible, and it’s competitive.”

“I don’t care. I’m tired of you crapping on all the things I’m interested in.”

“Allegra, language,” my mother scolded. “Your mother is only trying to help. Just let her know when she’s doing something to upset you and you can work it out.”

“Forgive me for trying to teach you a few things about life,” I said, tired of always being the bad guy. “When you declared you’d be a Broadway dancer and you couldn’t even get through your first recital, did you want me to give you false expectations? Or how about when you said being a vet was your calling but you pass out at the sight of a needle? There are endless numbers of jobs you’d excel at. I’d be happy to help you explore them, or get internships, or make phone calls to my contacts. Whatever you want.”

“Forget it. You don’t understand. I’m tired.” She turned toward my mother. “I want to go to bed. Can I have the key?”

My mother glanced at me, obviously torn between the both of us and whose side to take. Our first night in Italy and we couldn’t get through a dinner without fighting. I pushed my chair away from the table. “It’s okay, I’m going to bed too. I’ll see you both in the morning for breakfast. Text me if you need anything.”

Mom looked like she was about to say something, then thought better of it. I remembered when things fell apart when I was young, her advice to fix any problems revolved around two sacred things.

Feed me.

Make me go to bed early.

If only things were that easy.