Late Night Conversations

The actual cleaning wasn't that bad. Well, other than having Gramsy stand over me overseeing my work. As always, that was always a blast.

The only room not crowded with extra furniture was the Kitchen so after we were done, we went in there. I was just about to offer an excuse to slip outside when Gramsy told me what was next.

"We're going to be in here for a while with the carpet drying and the weather so depressing. Let's do some baking."

The way she said it let me know she was talking desserts, which always piqued my interest. My grandmother wasn't a big dessert person and didn't bake often, but when she did the results were always worth savoring.

I knew Gramsy thought of it as a reward for me, and it was, but honestly, I would have been happier getting outside to see Miranda. Of course, I couldn't say that to her.

"Grandson, if you touch that drape one more time today, I'm going to make you wash and iron it tomorrow."

I'd slipped out of the kitchen and into the dining room for a second. It faced the back of the house so if I peeked out the window so I could see if Miranda was outside. I hadn't realized how often I was doing it until Gramsy called me on it.

"Sorry," I began, trying to hide the fact that I was embarrassed. "I was just..."

"I know what you were doing," she interjected with a somewhat wry expression. "I'm guess you finally admitted to yourself how you feel about Miranda."

"To her too," I admitted with a slow smile. My grandmother returned it in full. "She feels the same."

"Good." I figured that was the end of it because that's the way most conversations with Gramsy ended, but not this time. "You treat that girl right. Miranda's a good one. She got heart and backbone. That's a hard combination to come by."

"Always," I promised. Gramsy met my eyes momentarily before nodding, and this time that was the end of it.

"Let's get to baking," she said, leading the way back to the kitchen. "How about we make some cookies?"

"Cookies?" I asked in reply, as my brain shifted gears. To my knowledge, my grandmother only made cookies once a year. "You don't mean your Italian Christmas Cookies?"

"They don't have to be for Christmas."

My mouth started watering the moment she answered. Gramsy's Italian Christmas Cookies were out of this world. They also happened to be a closely kept secret. To my knowledge, the only other person who knew it was my father's sister. Okay, and maybe her two daughters, but I wouldn't bet on that.

My mother had known it before she passed, but Gramsy refused to share it with my father's new wife. Honestly, I didn't blame her. Not only was Hillary a terrible cook, but she'd probably substitute something like Kale for one of the ingredients.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed learning to cook from Gramsy. It had started out as a way for me to make sure she didn't overtax herself making dinner for so many, but it ended up being something we both enjoyed.

Gramsy never pulled out a recipe when she showed me how to make something so I'd been jotting down notes every time. I'd transfer them to my laptop every couple of days, but this was different. This was her famous Italian Christmas Cookies. I actually contemplated using my phone to record Gramsy, but I knew that wouldn't go over well. I was going to ask anyway when she pulled out an index card sized wooden box.

"This was my mothers. It's one of the few things of hers that I still have. It's all her recipes," she said wistfully as she opened the container and sorted through the recipes. "I'm not sure if she made it herself or if she inherited it. A lot of the recipes are written in Italian." It was obviously a family treasure even without me seeing the care my grandmother used in opening it.

"Gramsy, you've been holding out on me." I'm sure my eyes glowed with more than a little avarice as I watched her gently leaf through the recipes. "I didn't think you believed in the written recipe."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said in that no-nonsense tone of hers. "Almost everything I make at least started out as a recipe in this box. Well, except for the dozen or so meals I added myself through the years. It has to be something extra special to make it to this box."

"How come this is the first time I'm seeing it?"

"I know most of these by heart, or at least the ones I make often," she replied, finally finding the recipe she was looking for. I thought she was done, but she put it aside and went back to leafing through the others. "And many of these are so old and faded that it's getting harder and harder to read them. I've had to rewrite the worst of them. I only go in here when I have to."

"Ah, I get it." The memory that surfaced wasn't so much painful as sad. "I've got a picture mom drew for me years ago. I don't take it out very often for the same reason." My grandmother and I shared a brief, melancholy smile. We'd both lost our mothers young. It was something else we had in common.

Gramsy picked out four more recipes before she was done, which confused me. I only remembered three different kinds of her cookies. She'd pulled out five recipes in total. She saw my expression and held up two of them.

"These are not cookies. I haven't made them in years. They used to my oldest brother's favorites. I stopped making them after he passed. I thought we'd see if you and the Ramos family like them."

My eyebrows rose as I read the names on the recipes. One of them said sfogliatelle and the other mustacciuoli. "Gramsy, what are they? I've never heard of them."

"Sfogliatelle is similar to a Lobster Tail, but the inside is more of a custard than a whipped cream," she explained.

"And mustacciuoli?" I frowned. That one sounded more familiar, but not as a dessert. "I thought that was a type of pasta?"

"That's mostaccioli. Mustacciuoli is a chocolate covered spiced cake."

"If you say so." The names sounded similar, but clearly they weren't remotely the same.

The rest of the day flew by. I guess making her oldest brother's favorite desserts made Gramsy think about him, her other brothers and growing up. She started sharing stories of her childhood as we made the desserts. I was sucked in from the first one.

That didn't mean I didn't pay attention to what we were making. The cookies alone would have kept me focused, but these two new desserts? I was betting based on the smells and what went into them, that they would be incredible too.

I took pictures of the recipes before we started, but I still had to write notes because between them being written in Italian and the measurements being in metric, I'd have been lost without them.

"Gramsy, this is incredible." I'd just tasted the still hot sfogliatelle and it was even better than I expected. I glanced at the wooden box filled with recipes and wondering what other surprises it held.

"Grandson, I see the way you're eyeing momma's recipes," my grandmother said with a smile that didn't quite blossom. "Don't get your hopes up. I promised your aunt years ago that I would leave it to her."

"Oh," I said in obvious disappointment. Gramsy nodded to herself as if coming to some decision based on my reaction.

"But I will let you take pictures of the recipes if you want."

"If I want?" I asked incredulously, making her smile finally open to its fullest. "Oh, I want! I'm going to take pictures of each and every one of them. Can I share them with Lisa?"

"Of course, if you think she'd have any interest."

"Lisa will go crazy..." I glanced at the oven as I was talking and saw the time. It was so late that I forgot what I was saying. "Gramsy, we didn't make dinner!"

"Yes, I know," she said calmly. "Roberto insisted that I at least let them make dinner once and send it over." It took me a moment to remember that Roberto was Mr. Romas's first name. "I only agreed because he said Miranda would make her mother's Enchiladas. That's another reason why I decided to bake today."

"Enchiladis? I'd better save some room!" I couldn't help smile as a thought popped into my head. "Unless you think Miranda's going to burn them?"

"You two," Gramsy said with a shake of her head, not bothering to finish the statement before turning back to the tray of sfogliatelle. "These are cool enough to move off the cooking sheet."

"I've got it."

The kitchen table was covered with cookies and pastries by the time we were done, each one looking and smelling more delicious than the last. I couldn't help taking a picture and sending it to Lisa and my dad. The jealous responses I got made me grin.

I spoke to each of them roughly, once a week, but we texted each other often. Everyone was doing okay, or as best they could with the pandemic. Thoughts of that reminded me of the conversation Miranda and I had yet to have today, but I was distracted from that thought when Gramsy decided to give me an honest to God complement. You had no idea how rare those were from her.

"You know, if your aunt hadn't wanted momma's recipes, I would have left them to you. You've got the touch." She was placing the coolest of the desserts we made in large plastic container. "You're a good cook." She grinned ever so slightly before adding, "Well, except for your pasta. That needs work."

"Hey! You were going too fast! I'll learn the trick of it eventually." I was laughing despite my complaint. Gramsy's eyes sparkled as well. "You know, this pandemic is terrible, but not everything that's come out if it is bad."

"Do you mean learning to cook or Miranda?" My grandmother was teasing me and I knew it, but I grew serious for a moment.

"I was talking about spending time with you and reconnecting." Her grin faded as I spoke. "Also, learning about your past. I'm amazed at how much I didn't know. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Gramsy nodded in response, but didn't say anything at first. I doubt she was at a loss for words because that never happened. More likely, she figured words were unnecessary which was more like her. That's why I was surprised when she said, "You're still not getting momma's recipe box." A joke? From my grandmother?

"I think I'm starting to rub off on you, Gramsy!" I got out between laughs.

"Heaven forbid." Her retort was perfect and I had problems catching my breath enough to reply. There was a knock on the front door before I could. "That's probably dinner. Go get it. Give whoever's there these."

Gramsy handed me the overfull plastic container. Somehow, she's arranged everything perfectly as she packed it. She had a knack for doing that. It was something I still needed to learn, but I was afraid it was something you were just born with instead.

In either case, just looking at the full container made my mouth water. Frankly, I would have had problems handing it over to whoever was at the door if I didn't see what was left on the table. Well, except if it were Miranda. I give it to Mira just to see her smile again.

"You know, it might be Miranda's father or Renzo at the door." Gramsy obviously knew what, or more to the point, who was on my mind.

"Again with the teasing?" I asked rhetorically.

"Now you understand how the rest of us feel." Gramsy pulled me down and kissed my forehead to take the sting out of her words. That didn't stop her from adding afterward, "Now, hurry up. I'm in the mood for someone else's cooking for a change. If Miranda's enchiladas are half as good as her mother's then dinner should enjoyable."

"Don't get your hopes up." I was joking, but Gramsy didn't react the way I expected. She reached out and stopped me from leaving by taking hold of my elbow.

"David, don't tease Miranda about her cooking today. It's the first she's ever done it for you."

"Um, okay." I was taken back by her use of my first name and how serious Gramsy sounded. "I won't. I promise." She smiled and nodded, releasing my elbow.

I was still wondering at the importance of what she said when I opened the door. Miranda was standing there. She looked nervous which was odd in and of itself. One of the things I liked about Mira was how confident she always came across. I decided to go a step beyond what I promised Gramsy.

"Something smells incredible!"

"I hope you like them," Miranda smiled tentatively. "I promise, they're neither burnt nor dried out." That was a set up for a teasing comment if I ever heard one, but not today.

"I can't wait to try them. I'm sure they'll taste as good as they smell."

Miranda still looked nervous, but not nearly as tense. As usual, I realized that Gramsy was right. This was a big deal to Mira, and that made it a big deal to me.

"Thanks, you didn't have to do this, but I can't deny that Gramsy and I have been looking forward to this all day." She nodded slowly, her smile growing. That's when I remembered what I was holding. "Gramsy decided that since you were supplying dinner, that we'd supply the dessert."

"Oh, she shouldn't have!"

"Bite your tongue!" I retorted. "The cookies she usually only makes for Christmas and I've never had the pastries before. Wait until you try them!"

"Just how many have you eaten?" There was something in her tone that made me think before I spoke, for a change.

"They're still cooling. I did try one of the sfogliatelle, but that's it. I didn't want to ruin dinner. I've been dying for a good enchilada since I last had your mothers."

"These won't be that good, but they did come out okay." Miranda was smiling again.

"I bet they're just as good," I insisted, making eye contact. "And I really appreciate you making them for me." I paused, but only for the briefest of moments so she could see that I was serious. "And Gramsy."

Miranda surprised me by leaning in and giving me a quick kiss. Maybe it was in thanks or maybe it was just because. I didn't care which as long as she kept doing it. I tried to steal another, but Mira quickly backed away and stepped off the porch.

"Make sure you thank Gramsy for the desserts."

"Hey, I helped. Don't I get a thank you?" I stepped outside and onto the porch. Miranda looked at my expression and laughed, but her eyes lit up in a way that let me know that at least part of it was in frustration.

"Thank you." Her teasing grin wasn't helping at all.

"That's not what I meant," I snapped pointedly.

"I know." Miranda must have read something in my expression because she took another step away from me and looked ready to run. At one level it was annoying, but on another the whole situation was downright funny. "But I shouldn't have kiss you."

"We'll have to discuss that when we meet tonight."

"If you keep looking at me like that, then maybe I won't show." It was meant as a threat to calm me down, but it didn't really work.

"You'll show." My comment obviously irritated Miranda, but she didn't deny it.

"We'll see," was the best she could come up with as a retort.

"Grandson, I'd like to eat those enchiladas before they get cold!" Gramsy voice carried far enough for both of us to hear.

Miranda and I froze for a moment before we both ended laughing. I'm not sure which one of us was blushing more.

"I'll see you tonight." My words were more of a promise than anything else. Mira frowned, but only for a moment before she smiled and nodded. It wasn't that she didn't want the same thing I did. She was just fighting it, and not for a bad reason either. She was obviously about to leave so I quickly added, "I love you."

"I love you too," Miranda replied happily before turning and making her way back to her house.

I waited until she was inside before I moved. Mostly, because I cared so much about Mira that just the sight of her made me happy, but also because I got a chance to stare at one of my favorite features of hers. My girlfriend's butt was something else. There was no denying that.

'Girlfriend, I like the sound of that,' I thought to myself. I wanted Miranda, badly. There was no denying that, but there was so much more to what I was feeling than that. I knew it was because I loved her. I think the real issue was that I really had no idea what true love was until Mira came back into my life. It was going to take some getting used to.

Miranda turned at the last moment and waved. There was something in her expression that made me think she understood both reasons why I was watching her, and didn't have a problem with either. In fact, there was a moment of shared longing between us that hurt, but in a good way. The question was, how were we going to address it?

**********

I went into the yard that night, a man on a mission. I spend most of the time since dinner working through all of Miranda's possible arguments. It all boiled down to social distancing and being safe, for both our families. I couldn't argue with that, but neither of our families had left home in over a week and her mother was very careful during her visits.

I wasn't looking to force Miranda into anything. I could wait for everything our love promised except her kisses. Those I had to have to survive, or at least that's how it felt. I'd have to approach this carefully.

Miranda was already in the yard when I got there. She was once more standing and looking at the sky, only it was overcast so I wasn't sure why. I moved toward the fence with a smile, not even bothering to grab the chair.

"Best enchiladas ever." It was true too, at least to me. Some of it may have been the fact that Mira made them specifically for me, but they really were very good.

"Thanks."

I'm not sure how I expected her to react, but a listless thank you wasn't it. I'd been so focused on what I wanted to say that although I'd looked at Miranda when I came outside, I hadn't really seen her.

"What's wrong?"

"One of the drivers for the rescue squad broke his foot. They're seriously shorthanded. Papa went in to help."

"Oh." It wasn't the smartest response I'd ever given, but I wasn't expecting this kind of news. All my arguments about why we should be able to touch, and yes, kiss flew out the window, but right now that seemed less important. Miranda was worried about her father and it made sense.

Most of the rescue squad called were auto accidents, but not since the pandemic hit and most people stopped driving. They were called less often, but when they were called it was usually to go to someone's house. That was dangerous enough with the virus, but frequently, transporting someone suspected of having it was why they were called in the first place.

"I'm here if you need me." It was the only thing I could offer. The next thing I knew Miranda ran to me and hugged me over the fence. I could only handle that for a few seconds before pulling away, but only long enough to jump over it. Miranda came back into my arms without protest.

"This is the last time because once papa comes home..."

"I know," I interjected, kissing her on top of her head. Miranda's reaction was to tilt her head up and pull my mouth to hers.

It was a hungry kiss, but it wasn't sexual, not really. It was her attempt to not feel so alone in the world and mine to make sure she knew she wasn't. Her father was putting a lot on her by volunteering. He would need to be more careful around the kids because he didn't want to chance them getting it if he picked it up. That meant taking care of her younger siblings fell to Miranda once more.

A part of me was mad at Mr. Ramos for it, but I understood. He was a good man. It was in his nature to help and the rescue squad was in desperate need. The odds were...well, I didn't know what the odds were that he's catch the virus. They changed every day.

Miranda and I stayed tightly wrapped in each other's arms for almost an hour. She didn't cry, Mira just hugged me tight, like I was life preserver. Sometimes we kissed, but mostly, I just held her, making sure she knew I was here for her. That I would always be.