The best thing about being an Italian is the food. I ate well at my aunt's in Toscana, but Salvatore is still the master. It's been so long since he cooked just for me, but today we were alone together in the house for the first time in weeks.
He knows me so well, he could tell just by looking at me I had something on my mind, so he made me a risotto alla milanese with saffron and sat down with me. I told him about my worries, how I feel stuck between childhood and adulthood and the loss of trust in everything I used to believe in. It was so easy, the words just came to me.
He listened in silence and I know I can trust him so I didn't leave out anything. When I was done he said "so how was the food?", just to make me smile again, and I did. It was miraculous of course, as always.