Tracy Kelleher - Invitation to Italian

“You should have children of your own. It’s much more fun than minding little brothers,” Lena said as she passed Julie back her plate. A succulent aroma filled the room.

“Have you been talking to my mother, Mrs. Zemanova? Or maybe my grandmother? Sometimes I think I see her staring at me, visualizing the size of my ovaries. She tells me she has powers, you know? Supposedly even the evil eye,” Julie said with a laugh. “Hey, come to think of it, maybe that’s what’s been keeping all those eligible bachelors away.”

“She would never do that!” Lena looked aghast, as if she had taken Julie seriously. “Here, have some sour cream. It will make you feel better.”

Julie took the bowl. “It can’t hurt.” She plopped a generous amount on her plate, then passed the dish to Katarina.

Katarina studied it and frowned. “Oh, all right. But that means an extra thirty minutes on the stationary bike tonight.” She added a modest dollop of sour cream to her dumplings, paused and added a speck more. “You know, let me just throw this thought out, knowing full well that you’ll probably shoot it down immediately. Maybe, just maybe, the problem isn’t your grandmother, but you. I mean, you never get out at all.” She took a bite of dumpling with sour cream and onion and smiled. “Oh, bliss!”

Julie stopped patting Rad’s diaper-covered bottom. “I do so get out. I’m here today, aren’t I? I see my folks. And what about the girls’ nights out with you and Sarah?” Actually, since Katarina and Sarah had gotten married and had children, the sad truth was the three of them rarely had time to get together. If they did find the time, they were usually so tired that they tended to lie around Julie’s condo, watch DVDs and eat too many chips and salsa.

“Somehow I don’t hear the mention of any men, outside of family members, in that scenario,” Katarina said. The baby started to fuss on Julie’s shoulder. “Here, let me take the squirt. You haven’t even touched your food.”

“I’m fine,” Julie protested.

“No, you’re not.” Katarina stood up and walked around.

“Here you go, lover boy.” Julie reluctantly let Katarina take the baby. “I think you might find he needs his diaper changed.”

Katarina sniffed the baby’s bottom. “Oooh! You are stinky. It never fails after I feed him. I’ll just go change him and be right down.”

Lena winked at her great-grandson and made kissy noises. Then she addressed Julie with perfect sincerity. “Maybe what is necessary is for you to go some place where you can find single men?”

“Listen, I am not about to start hanging out at bars, looking for a pickup,” Julie said circumspectly.

Lena rested her fork on her plate. “I would never suggest that!”

Katarina stopped at the doorway to the hall. “How about at the hospital? Didn’t you just tell me you ran into an eligible doctor this morning?” She laughed and headed up to the bedrooms.

Lena pressed her hand on the table. “You don’t mean you bumped into Sebastiano Fonterra? Now I understand the cause of the bruise.”

Julie shook her head. “No, Katarina got it all wrong. I just had a run-in, a disagreement. What makes you say it was Sebastiano Fonterra? Don’t tell me you have special powers, too?”

Lena shook her head. “No, no. I met him a while back at a hospital fundraiser, and since then at my regular physical therapy session with Sarah—my tennis elbow, you know. She talks all about the new hospital administrator.” Lena leaned more closely. “So tell me. Do you think he’s as sexy as Sarah says he is?”

“Well, it depends on what you mean by sexy,” Julie hedged.

“Tall, dark and handsome?”

“Well, he’s tall, but not as tall as me. And I suppose he’s got brown hair, but I wouldn’t call it dark-dark. And I’m pretty sure there’re even a few wisps of gray starting to show.”

“You noticed that, did you?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t like I noticed-noticed. I mean, between you and me—and probably the whole hospital by now—Sebastiano Fonterra and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.”

Lena picked up her fork again. She had a sly smile on her lips, which with her short gray bob and dazzling blue eyes, made her look like some Eastern European pixie up to no good. “So you are taller, but only a bit.”

Julie could see which way this was headed. “It’s not so much a height thing. It’s more that we are diametrically opposed to each other,” she clarified.

Lena shook off her remark, fork in hand. “Good! Forceful opinions are good! That shows passion!”

There was a loud knock at the front door.

Lena and Julie looked up.

“Maybe Wanda made it after all?” Julie asked.

“No, she has a key.” Lena shook her head. “I’m not expecting anyone that I know of.”

“Let me get it,” Julie said. It was a good excuse to change the topic of conversation. She started to get up.

Lena put a wrinkled but firm hand on hers. “No, I’ll get it. You are a guest, and you haven’t even had a chance to have one bite. Please, I insist.”

The knock repeated.

“Don’t bother, Babi ka,” Katarina called out, coming down the stairs. “I’m already on my way.”

Lena smiled. “She’s a wonderful granddaughter. I am so lucky. Just like your grandmother is lucky to have you,” she added to Julie.

From the dining room, they heard the wooden front door being opened. There was a sound of muffled voices. Julie tried not to eavesdrop and dug into her food. “Oh, my God, this is like heaven! I can’t tell you the last time I ate, and that was probably a candy bar.”

Lena looked horrified.

The footsteps grew louder as they made their way down the central hallway to the dining room. Lena raised her chin and looked over the centerpiece. Her mouth dropped open.

Julie saw Lena’s startled expression, turned and saw Katarina standing awkwardly in the doorway. She held the baby tightly in her arms as if protecting it from gale-force winds.

Next to her stood a middle-aged woman. Her thick braid was dark blond with streaks of gray. Her face was tanned and lined from the sun. She wore a fleece vest, jeans and work boots.

“Lena,” the woman said, offering a tentative smile.

Julie stared at the woman’s cornflower-blue eyes. She was sure she’d seen ones just like it before. She glanced over at Katarina’s grandmother.

“Julie,” Katarina said.

She turned.

“I don’t know if you remember. It’s been many years. But this is my mother, Zora.”

“FOR AN OLD MAN, you can still pound the ball.” Sebastiano mopped his forehead as he walked to the bench beside the tennis court.

“I may be fifty-three, but I’m not old. I just feel old most of the time.” Paul Bedecker stopped to gulp down half a bottle of Gatorade. Still breathing hard, he wiped his mouth. Despite the years, he had a wiry build. Dark red stubble covered his gaunt cheekbones. If the man had an ounce of fat on him, he was hiding it well.

He waggled his racket menacingly in Sebastiano’s direction. “Just don’t get the idea that I’m about to start playing like an old man. Those little dink shots. The underhanded serves.” He demonstrated some ditsy hand motions. “Don’t you just hate them?” He pulled the beak of his baseball cap down over his shaved head. It bore the logo of a reality TV show from a bunch of years back, a remnant of his time in Hollywood.

Sebastiano deliberately folded his towel into thirds and draped it over the end post of the net. “So you played and lost to an old man recently I take it?”