“It’s my favorite.”

“Is it?” She took my coat and hung it on a hook before sitting on a bench to pull off her boots. “Good to know.”

“My parents were both Italian.” I took my boots off too, so I wouldn’t get the floor wet or dirty, and gave a quick prayer of thanks I was wearing new socks without any holes. “Neither was a hundred percent, but I’m more than half. I grew up eating a lot of Italian food.”

“Aha—so it’s in your blood.” She straightened my boots into a row along with everyone else’s. It was oddly touching somehow. “Sorry, it’s a mom thing. My kids just throw their stuff everywhere, and it drives me nuts. I’m surprised you didn’t learn to cook, having two Italian parents,” she said as we walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, my mom tried to teach us. Didn’t work.” My eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of all the food on the island. “Is that lasagna?”

“Yes. One is vegetarian and one has meat. And there’s antipasto and Caesar salad and garlic bread, and it looks like my parents opened a bottle of red wine. Can I get you a glass?”

I stared at her. “Did you make all this today?”

She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want my mom to have to cook after working such a long day, so I snuck over here this afternoon to put things together. Plus, I enjoy it. I really haven’t gotten to cook for a large group in a while. I’d forgotten how much I like doing it. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” I picked up an empty plate from the island and began to fill it. “And yes, a glass of wine sounds great.”

“It’s been nice to be home, but I’m actually getting a little antsy to have my own space. My own kitchen.” She took two glasses down and filled them from the bottle of nebbiolo on the island. “I’m going to look at a few places next week.”

“Oh yeah? Where are they?”

As she described the houses she was interested in, we finished filling our plates and took them into the dining room, where her kids and parents were already eating, along with April. I greeted everyone and took the seat Sylvia indicated for me, which was next to her and across from Whitney. While we ate, her parents and sister weighed in on which homes and locations they thought might be best for her, and the kids pleaded for the one with the most land so they could have animals.

“My dad never let us have pets,” Keaton told me.

“Do you have a dog?” Whitney asked.

“I don’t,” I told her. “My, uh, wife was allergic.”

“You have a wife?” She looked surprised.