The Supreme Macaroni Company: A Novel by Adriana Trigiani

Author:Adriana Trigiani [Trigiani, Adriana]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, United States, Women's Fiction, Contemporary Women, Domestic Life, Romance, Contemporary Fiction, American, Genre Fiction
ISBN: 0062136585
Amazon: B00CO4KB9A
Publisher: Harper
Published: 2013-11-26T06:00:00+00:00

7

New Orleans is nothing like New York City, but I’m an urban girl born and raised, so I can find my way around any city in the world if there’s a grid and I can walk it. I realized, as I walked through the French Quarter, that I really hadn’t paid a lot of attention to where we went. I’d been content to follow Gianluca wherever he wanted to go. As I walked through the same streets alone, the haunted beauty of the city was lost on me. It was no longer lush and romantic. It was strange and confusing.

My feet were beginning to hurt. I’d run out of the room in a pair of mules, leather slides I take on trips so I’m never barefoot on hotel room floors. They’re meant to get me from the bed to the bathroom, not walking around on pavement. It seemed all my decisions, great and small, were misguided. I couldn’t even choose the right shoes.

I passed a small, crowded bistro next to Café Du Monde, our regular breakfast place. Something told me to stop and slow down at Ilaria’s. It reminded me of a trattoria in Arezzo. It wasn’t just a restaurant. There was a party going on. The crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk. The outdoor café was packed with customers eating crocks of gumbo and cracking the shells of crawfish while downing mimosas. I could have used a Gin Fizz myself right about then.

Going up on tiptoe to look inside, I saw the back of Gianluca’s head at the bar. I squeezed my way through the crowd until I got to him. He was puffing on a cigarette, the open pack lying on the bar, and drinking a glass of bourbon.

“You smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

“I mean, I knew you had a cigar now and then.”

“And now and then I have a cigarette.” He looked at the rows of liquor on the shelf behind the bar, not at me.

It was noisy, and I found myself getting angry all over again. Maybe if he had embraced me and said, “Why don’t we go somewhere where we can talk?” I would’ve forgiven him on the spot. But instead, he put me on ice like Kentucky bourbon. He took a slow drag off the cigarette as if I were not there. I became furious all over again. I raised my voice. “Do you want a divorce?”

“We haven’t been married yet.”

“It’s best to catch a mistake sooner rather than later.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Common sense.”

He nodded. “You’re very calm.” Finally, he looked at me. “You’ve thought this through.”

I broke his gaze and looked off. “I’m holding it together.”

“I can see that.”

“You said some awful things to me.”

“I’m capable of saying awful things, just as you are capable of doing them.”

“Whoa right there. You’re the one who kept a secret from me.”

“It wasn’t a secret. You could have read your e-mails all week.”

“I didn’t because you didn’t want me to.”

“Oh, so you do listen to me.”

“I respected your wishes.

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