Sisterchicks in Gondolas! Read Free Page A

“one.”
    “Si, due gelato, per favore.”
I turned to Sue. “What flavor do you want?”
    “What do you mean, ‘flavor’? What are you doing? You’re carrying on now in full sentences. I’m lost.”
    “Oh. Sorry. Gelato. Italian ice cream. The world’s best ice cream, to be precise.”
    “For breakfast?”
    “Sure, why not? We’re on vacation. We can eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if we want.”
    “Okay,” Sue said slowly. I realized how quickly I could take charge. I had promised Sue I wouldn’t overpower her on this trip. Being a single mom for so many years had placed me in the role of the designated leader almost every day. I was entering a new season of life; it was time to pull back. Relax.
    “Would you like ice cream or something else?” I asked Sue.
    “No, ice cream is fine. It’s milk, right? I’ll tell myself it’s a breakfast drink, only frozen.”
    “What flavor do you want?”
    “I don’t know. What flavors do they have?”
    I knew I didn’t want to try this man’s patience so I suggested chocolate.
    “Cioccolato?”
he said, going to work with the metal scooping paddle in his hand, sliding the server into the creamy chocolate.
    “
Chalk-o-lot-o?”
Sue repeated. “Well, I’m happy to know that the word ‘chocolate’ is so similar in our two languages. That could be the only word I manage to remember all week!”
    “Then it’s a good thing it’s one of the more essentialwords.” I reached for several euros to pay the waiter. “And sorry about running ahead of you there. You will let me know when I’m getting too bossy, won’t you?”
    “Jenna, that wasn’t bossy. Don’t worry; I’ll let know you when you’re bossy. Not that I think you will be. I just didn’t realize you were going to start carrying on in complete Italian paragraphs with every man we met within our first hour in Venice. You move fast, girl!”
    I laughed, and Sue gave me “the smile.” The one with which she looks directly at me with her warm, brown eyes, and everything about her expression and posture says, “We’re sisters. Sisters by marriage. Sisters of the heart. Sisters in a spirit of irrevocable bonding. That’s not going to change. Not now. Not ever. But even if we weren’t sisters, I’d still like you. I’d still want to be your friend.”
    I held my cup of chocolate gelato and fought back an urge to give way to a flood of tears.
    I know. How pathetic, right? Crying over frozen milk. Actually, even though I’m sure a touch of jet lag was involved, I think the real reason I wanted to cry was because of the way Sue accepted me just the way I was. That had not always been the case. We had experienced a long history of family disconnection, which is why I still found her acceptance of me so startling. Every time she looked at me like that I felt I was being offered a tender gift in the second season of life. And for every woman, but especially, I think, forsingle moms, friendship is such a welcome gift.
    “
Chock-o-lat-o
,” Sue repeated as she headed for one of the outdoor tables. “I have to remember that word.”
    “You will,” I said, pulling myself together. “You’ll remember this.” The comment might have been more for me than for Sue. I had a feeling I would remember this morning for the rest of my life.

Two

    P arking my luggage beside one of the outdoor tables of Paolo’s café, I sat down and watched Sue take her first taste of gelato.
    Her eyes opened wide. She sat up straight and looked at me as if I had just fulfilled some long-forgotten secret wish of hers.
    “Sweet peaches, Jenna! You weren’t kidding about this being the world’s best ice cream.” She went for another taste. “What do they put in this stuff? It’s fabulous.”
    “I know.” I let another spoonful melt on my tongue. “It has something to do with how they make gelato in small batches with milk instead of cream and how the process doesn’t use a lot of air.”
    “I