They worked side by side. Matteo wiped the counters while Isabella swept flour from the floor. Mrs. Russo scrubbed the oven. Slowly, the kitchen started to look normal again.
"Why don't you celebrate?" Isabella asked, looking at Matteo while she swept.
Matteo's hands stopped moving. "It's complicated," he said, his voice low.
"Most things are," she replied, leaning on the broom handle.
He stayed quiet for a while. Isabella thought he wouldn't answer. Then he spoke again.
"I was twelve," Matteo said, keeping his eyes on the counter. "It was my birthday. My mother had planned a big party. All my friends from school. A magician. The whole thing."
Isabella stopped sweeping and listened.
"She went to pick up the cake," he said, wiping the same spot over and over. "A special order from the bakery across town. I begged to go with her, but she said no. Said it was a surprise."
His voice got quieter.
