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I don’t sharemajor decisions I’ve made in advance with my family because in their eyes, I usually make the wrong ones. But Dr. Sharon, in a single session, taught me one thing: Out with it. Do not hold back. Release your secrets like a bunch of red balloons on a sunny day and let them fly away as they will, because where the truth goes is not your problem; it’s just important that you say it. The first of November cannot come fast enough.

“You’re serious. When are you moving out?” My mother’s voice breaks.

“I plan to move as soon as I can,” I tell her.

“You haven’t thought this through. The traffic is terrible in North Jersey,” Mom grumbles.

I take a firm tone and look at my mother. “Hoboken has changed. It’s beautiful.”

“I’ve heard they have a good Target,” my sister says supportively. “It’s actually very chic now.”

“Thanks, Connie. It’s time for me to leave the nest. Though I don’t know of any birds who live in cellars.”

I go into the kitchen and return, carrying a silver tray with coffee cups and saucers, a pot of espresso and one of hot coffee, and the creamer and sugar bowl into the dining room. We are in the last lap of Sunday dinner. The tiramisu, in a rectangular spring pan, lookslike a small football field dusted in chocolate powder. I place it in the center of the table to a chorus of compliments. Katie takes the tray from me and serves the coffee. I place two large wooden bowls of mixed nuts in their shells on either end of the table. I fan the silver nutcrackers and picks on the tabletop.

“Call the kids, hon,” Mom says to me.

“I gave them each an ice cream sandwich. They’re going to town in the backyard,” I tell her.

“Tell us about your trip to Italy,” Katie says as she cracks a walnut. “What’s on the docket, Uncle Louie?”

“For starters, we’re going to the quarry in Carrara. Where I worked. What year was that, Lil?”

“I don’t know. It was before you met me.”

“So it had to be ’71 or ’72.”

“That’s right. We met in ’73.”

“How could I forget? You blew the roof off my life that summer when you wore that little sundress. We were at the Feast.”

“You’re obsessed, Uncle Louie.” Connie passes the cream to Diego. “See how they are? Married forever and still in love.”

“It’s a beautiful thing.” Diego rolls his eyes. “Maybe because they didn’t have kids.”

The dining room is silent except for the sound of my father cracking a tough walnut.

“We would have loved to have a baby,” Aunt Lil says quietly, “but we weren’t blessed in that way.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Lil.” Diego is truly contrite.

“Anyhow,” Uncle Louie continues, “when I lived over in Italy, they had me do all the jobs in the mine. I started out as a runner. Then those guys taught me to cut stone. Once you cut stone, you fear nothing. I was on the mountain. Literally. Dangling in midair on ropes like a trapeze artist.”

“When you weren’t busy being a skirt chaser.” Aunt Lil rolls her eyes. “He reeled in the girls with his bad Italian.”

“That’s not all he did, Lil. You almost died on that mountain, didn’t you, Lou?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, but I made it. I take all the danger in the world, if you give me Italy.” Uncle Louie winks at me.

“Katie and I will do the dishes for you.” Connie smiles before draining the last of her wine.

“Thanks, Con.” They’re technicallyallof our dishes, because we all ate the meal I prepared on them, but okay. I cut a hefty slab of tiramisu out of the pan and place it on a plate. I wonder how they’ll manage next week when they have to do all the cooking, serving, and cleaning up. Not my problem. I move seats, sitting down next to Aunt Lil and Uncle Louie.

“You made this?” Uncle Louie takes a bite. “Just right on the Amaretto, doused but not soaked to the point the cake is mush.” Uncle Louie puts down his fork. “Tell the kids to come see me,” he says to Connie. “It’s magic time.”

“You promise not to teach them any curse words in Italian?” Connie says on her way to the backyard.

“You know what, Connie? You’re my niece and I love you, but you take the starch right out of life with your rules. Loosen up. One of the happiest moments of my life was the day my uncle Mike taught me to sayfongool. I have used it in his honor ever since.”