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The children climb into their seats at the far end of the table.

“Isn’t it nice that the kids are old enough to seat themselves?” Mom marvels. “I love a baby, but those high chairs.” She makes a face. “I was so happy to put ours in the Saint Rose tag sale.”

“You may have sold them too soon,” Diego says.

“Do you have news, Connie?” Mom says hopefully.

“No. And there will be no news.”

Katie waves across the table. “No news here either. Ever again.”

“But Jess may have a baby someday,” Diego offers. “Hold on to all that plastic crap. You may need it.”

Aunt Lil pipes up, rescuing me. “Do you need any help in the kitchen, Jess?”

“Absolutely not, Lil. You sit.” My mother smiles at her. “This is Giuseppina’s show.”

“Happy to create Sunday dinner like Zia Giuseppina.” I force a smile.

Uncle Louie slices a delicate pillow of ravioli in half. He closes his eyes and tastes. “Jess, you resemble your great-aunt in one way and one way only. You make a good gravy.”

“Cooking is one thing,” my mother begins. “But there are more important things. I hope all my children and their children have a teaspoon of Zia’s deep faith. She had very high moral standards.” My mother sits up straight like those acrobats from Slovenia who form a pyramid as they balance their entire family overhead on chairs.

“I’m honored to carry her name and make her recipes.” I serve the children. “Nothing is as important as family.”

“I didn’t see us on your dream board,” Mom says under her breath.

“The artichokes are perfection. Just the right amount of breadcrumbs,” Dad says, diverting attention away from my mother’s criticism.

“You’re welcome, Dad.”

“These are work intensive. You have a job, you’re busy, and I appreciate it.”

“Least I can do, Dad. You don’t charge me rent.”

“You’re our child,” Mom pipes up.

“Not to worry. You’ll be able to rent out the cellar soon. I’m looking at apartments.”

Mom puts down her fork. “Apartments? Where?”

“Hoboken.”

“Hoboken! The Caps fled that dump as soon as they made a couple of bucks! Why would you ever move back?”

“Philly, it’s an hour in the car,” Dad says.

“Jess can live anywhere she wants,” Connie says. “She’s over thirty.”

“Let’s not advertise. Shall we?” Mom warns her. “We’re all fighting the big clock.”

“I like Hoboken.” Uncle Louie winks at me.

“Hoboken is anowhere! It’s not even ananywhere!” Mom says.

Uncle Louie, Aunt Lil, and my father exchange looks. Despitemy earnest efforts, my mother has pulled her own pin. The secrets I wanted to keep are out. Well, three of them anyway. Italy, Hoboken, and therapy are now on the table, served hot like the meat platter. My life choices will be analyzed, stabbed, and consumed like meatballs, chicken thighs, and beef ribs.

“You’re leaving us, kid,” Dad says sadly.