Page 81 of Heart

He had finished up the béchamel topper and was beginning to layer the four industrial-sized casserole dishes when he received a text from Mikey that they were waiting outside the front door. He removed his apron.

Right on time.

When George opened the door, the three of them entered with a gust of cold air.

“Oh, this is very nice,” said Sophia, entering quickly and removing her scarf. “Just like you described, Mikey.”

“It’s like home, isn’t it, Ma? Like they lifted a chunk of Little Italy and set it down right here in DC.”

There was a young woman with them, and George approached her. “You must be Natalie,” he said. “Here, I’ll take your coat.”

“Thank you,” she said, removing the garment and handing it to George. “And thank you for having us.”

He placed the coat on the hall tree, and Mikey did the same for himself and his mother. “You’re most welcome. Any family of Mikey’s is family of mine. Please have a seat. I have this table set up, there’s wine open. I have just afew things to finish up in the kitchen, so please help yourselves.”

Mikey and Natalie crossed to the table, but Sophia stayed with George. “No. I want to see this kitchen I’ve heard so much about.”

George glanced at Mikey who was grinning, silently sayingI told you so.

“Certainly—”

“—Sophia will do.”

“Certainly,Sophia,” said George, looping his arm in hers. “Follow me.”

He reached ahead, holding the kitchen door open for the petite woman, amazed that someone as big as Mikey could have come from her. She had on a pretty floral print dress, dated but appropriate for her age. Her hair was up,fixed—as David would have said—and though Mikey was apprehensive of their meeting, George was already succumbing to her abrasive charm.

“It’s not as big as he described,” she said. “And shiny. So much metal.”

“Small by most restaurant standards, but big enough for me.”

“Is that lasagna I smell?”

“Pastitsio. It’s similar.”

“Yes.” She sniffed the air. “Cinnamon. You use the lamb, no?”

“I do... but only half—half beef, half lamb.”

“Eccellente,” she exclaimed, reaching for the apron he had left on the counter, and putting it on. “What can I do?”

* * *

Mikey poured Chianti for Natalie and him. “So, how’s it going at the salon?”

Natalie shrugged. “Good. I got a raise.”

“Wow. That was quick. They must like you.”

“Concetta sticks up for me. It’s going well.”

“Good. I’m glad. But why does she have to stick up for you?”

“You know, Mikey,” she said, hesitating. “I’m not quick like you. I don’t learn things fast. Tony, her husband—he’s impatient. He wanted to fire me the first week because I dropped a curling iron in a woman’s pedicure tub.”

“Christ, Natalie! Is she OK?”

“It wasn’t plugged in.”