Page 91 of Bellini Bound

“Alittlebirdietoldme that you girls like to eat meals right off the table,” I remarked while stirring butter into the pot of mashed potatoes.

“Was that birdie M-O-M-M-Y?” Bianca asked, mindful that the M-word was strictly off-limits if we wanted to avoid another toddler meltdown.

“Great spelling.” I raised my hand for a high five. “And yes, that’s exactly who.”

Bianca slapped her palm against mine. Rising on her tiptoes atop the chair she’d pulled up to the stove, she peeked into the pot curiously. “But it’s usually pasket—” She stopped mid-word, forehead wrinkling in concentration before correcting herself, “Spaghetti.”

Bumping shoulders with her, I praised, “Girl, you are crushing it today.”

She beamed up at me. I’d been going out of my way to put an emphasis on “big girl” activities just for her since her younger sister demanded so much of my and Enzo’s attention. Helping me cook seemed to be her favorite.

Typically, Serafina was very vocal about not being left out, claiming she was a big girl too, but a new sticker book kept her occupied at the table with her uncle.

“And this is going to be wayyyyyy better than boring old spaghetti,” I declared with confidence.

The little girl looked at me with a doubtful expression, but I wasn’t offended by her skepticism because I knew this dinner was going to knock her socks off.

The timer beeped on the steamer at the same time the air fryer chirped that it was finished.

“Prep the table. We’re almost ready,” I called over to Enzo.

While I stacked one plate with broccoli and another with dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, Enzo positioned a plastic tablecloth over the wood surface.

“All right, Bianca. Go sit down,” I instructed my tiny helper.

Enzo came over to the stove, lifted the heavy pot of mashed potatoes, and carried it to the table. Using a wooden spoon, I spread a thin layer of the buttery, starchy goodness. Then, I grabbed a plastic cup and placed it upside down in the center before covering it with mashed potatoes and emptying the rest of the pot around it. Next, I strategically placed the broccoli and dino nuggets along the mashed potato mountain. The final step was pouring gravy into the divot created atop the overturned cup, allowing it to flow over the sides.

Bianca’s eyes lit up when the scene finally came together. “It’s a volcano!”

“Whoa,” Serafina breathed out before pointing to her chest. “I eat?”

The smile that stretched across my face was so wide my cheeks ached. Creating this magical memory for our nieces made my soul sing.

“Dig in, girls!”

They wasted no time, dipping the nuggets and broccoli in mashed potatoes before devouring them. Once they had their fill, the leftovers became a messy playscape, with my husband—the biggest child of them all—as an enthusiastic participant.

The love and laughter filling the room had my heart on the verge of bursting.

This family filled a void in my life I hadn’t even realized existed before I was forced to walk down that aisle toward Enzo.

What had once seemed like the end of the world—becoming a Bellini—was now the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I scanned the menu in my hands. “What do you think? Chocolate or strawberry?”

Bianca’s reply was instant. “Always chocolate.”

“Chocolate it is.” Turning to the waitress standing at the end of the booth, awaiting our order with a notepad in hand, I said, “We’ll take two cheeseburgers with fries and a chocolate milkshake.” Holding up two fingers, I added, “Two straws.”

“You got it.” The woman smiled as she took down the order before tucking the menus under her arm. “And if I can just say, you two make the most adorable mother-daughter duo.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, but before I could correct the stranger’s misconception, Bianca spoke up.

“She’s not my mom. She’s my Aunt Allie. The best aunt in the whole wide world.”

Blinking rapidly, I fought back the tears, not wanting the little girl to think that what she’d said had upset me.

Pull it together. You can buy a “World’s Best Aunt” cup on your own time and ugly cry in private over a few words from a five-year-old that probably mean way more to you than they do to her.