Momma Mia!

I’ve been trying to leave a little ceramic bird and Cory’s picture at every eatery we visit.  I learned early not to just leave them on the table because they are quickly returned to me, even if it means the server runs out of the restaurant after mef, arms waving, yelling, “Scusi!  Scusi, bella!”

Shy little me, who has never been comfortable striking up conversations with strangers has been forced to open up and (gasp!) actually talk to people.  For instance, last night at dinner, the painfully gorgeous waiter spotted Cory’s picture propped up against my glass, and asked, “Chi?” (Who?”) 

I told him the story of Cory, keeping it simple because of the language barrier.  One second, he was dazzling the general public with his blinding smile, and the next he looked ready to break into tears.  He held up one hand (just a minute), and fled.  I looked at mom across the table, a little confused, asking her, “Do you think he understood what I said?” 

Quietly, she nodded.  “I think he did.  I think it just made him…sad.”

A second later, he was back at my side with the proprietor in tow.  This kind gentleman searched my face, then looked down at the picture.  “Your daughter?”

I nodded, and told him about Cory.  He stopped in the middle of the dinner hustle and bustle, and listened.  He told me his own daughter was six, and he could not begin to imagine.  Then he said this, “But you know, Nicole, no one ever really dies.  They live in our hearts.  Cory is living in yours, and now that you have shared her with me, she will live in mine.”  At his completely unaffected statement, the tears flooded my eyes.  He hugged me, and kissed my cheek like the Italian uncle I’ve never had.  Proudly, he and the hot waiter donned purple Cory bracelets, raised their fists, and gave a triumphant little cheer.

When I placed Cory’s picture and a tiny ceramic board near the chalkboard menu, he said he’d bring her in at close, and set her out when they opened…until someone decided she needed to come home with them.  So there my girl sat and watched as Mom and I savored our Spaghetti a Cacio e Pepe (Spaghetti with Pecorino Romano and Pepper).  As I finished my meal, I imagined Cory and I in giggly raptures over this hot waiter, and decided to flirt with him (on her behalf, of course).

“Scusi?  Mimo?”  I gestured for him to come over to the table.  Yes, his name is Mimo.  Obediently, he made his way over.  “Take a picture with me?  Let’s make my husband jealous.”  I smiled up into his eyes.  He laughed, “Oh, my!  Let me go get ready, my hair... it needs something... I don’t know.  I'm such a mess!”

He made sure I was watching as he primped in the glass behind the cash register just inside the door.  Come on, Mimo, we all know you’re beyond gorgeous, let’s not lord it over us mere mortals!

I had created an audience for our little photo shoot, who roared with laughter as we nestled cheek to cheek, and I directed emphatically, “Now make it look like we’re in love!”

Mimo, the worst sort of ham, who is as charming as he is good looking, laughed when an on-looker shouted, “Look like it?  He is in love!”  Laughing, I snapped the pic, and shook my head, amused, as he waved a menu across his handsome face.  “Oh, it’s so hot in here all of the sudden!  Momma mia!”

Oh, Mimo, you do make me smile. 

And somewhere, my girl is smiling, too.  The woman that just bantered with a hot Italian young man nearly half her age...

that's the mom she knew and loved beyond reason. 

She hasn't seen her in a while.