My eyes have adjusted to the dark, so I decide to leave the lights out. I carefully feel my way down the hallway to the stairwell. The noise is coming from downstairs. I’m sure of it.
“Hello?” I call down the stairs.
No answer. Of course.
I look back in the direction of the master bedroom. Okay, there’s a scraping noise on the first floor of our house at two in the morning that sounds like it could be created by a human. Am I really going to investigate this on my own? Even though it will make him cranky, wouldn’t it be smarter to wake up Enzo so he could go with me?
But I’ve mentioned the scraping sound to him before. He has repeatedly claimed he doesn’t hear it and tells me I’m being silly. He’s just going to claim that it’s the house settling again, then roll over and go back to sleep. And besides, I don’t need a man just to investigate the first floor of my own house. I’ll be fine.
Anyway, he’s within screaming distance.
I grab the banister of the stairwell. For a second, the scraping sound grows louder—loud enough to send a creepy-crawly sensation down my spine. It’s like whatever is making that sound is moving toward me.
Nope, that’s it. I’m turning back. Enzo needs to wake up. If he doesn’t hear this sound, then he needs a hearing test.
Except before I can turn around and go back to the bedroom…
It stops.
I stand there, waiting for it to start again. But it doesn’t. The house has gone completely silent.
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. I’m glad the awful sound has ceased, but now that the noise is gone, it will be impossible to locate it.
I walk downstairs anyway. I take the stairs slowly, descending till I get to the first floor. The first floor of our house seems incredibly still. I squint at the outline of our furniture, cloaked in shadows. My gaze darts from corner to corner, searching for the source of that sound.
Finally, I reach out and flick on the light switch.
There’s no one here. The first floor is completely empty. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And yet…
There was a noise. There was a noise coming from the first floor of this house. I did not imagine it. And as soon as I started down the stairs, the noise stopped. Is it possible whoever made that noise heard me coming and went silent?
No, I’m being ridiculous. Like Enzo said, it’s probably just the house settling. Whatever that means.
FOURTEEN
“Mom.”
I am stirring a pot of tomato sauce, and I’ve got eggplant browning in a pan. Guess what I’m making? Pasta alla Norma. I looked up half a dozen recipes online and chose the one that got the best reviews. Then I took a shopping trip to purchase all the ingredients. And I went to the good supermarket—the one on the other side of town. I am working hard on this dish. If it doesn’t make Enzo shed at least a single tear, I’m going to be seriously disappointed.
“Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom. Mom.”
I put down the spoon I am using to stir the tomato sauce and turn to look at Nico, who does not do “patient” very well.
He’s wearing the same jeans and T-shirt from his Little League practice today, even though I asked him to change when we got home because they were pretty dirty. But you have to pick your battles sometimes. He’s been on the team for two weeks, and the coach told me he’s one of the star players so far. And I especially liked the way all the other kids cheered for him when he came to bat.
“Mom.” Nico’s messy black hair flops in his eyes. “Where’s Dad? He said he’d practice with me tonight.”
“Maybe he meant after dinner?”
He juts out his lower lip. “But I want to practice now. Dad said he’d show me how to throw a curveball!”
I raise my eyebrows. “He knows how to do that?”
“Yeah! It’s amazing. You think it’s going to go right, but then it goes left, then it goes up, then it goes down, and then it goes right again!”
I don’t know if this gravity-defying curveball is real or not. Nico hero-worships his father, to the point where I’m sure he imagines that curveball could go backward through time if that’s what Enzo wanted it to do. Ada is the same way—both kids think Enzo walks on water. And I’m just an ordinary mom who makes subpar Italian food. But that’s okay. Being ordinary has always been an impossible dream for me, so I’m happy to have achieved it. As far as I’m concerned, if my kids think I’m boring, that’s great.
“I’m sure he’ll be home soon,” I say. “And we’re going to have dinner in about half an hour.”
Nico crinkles his nose. “What are you making?”
“It’s your dad’s favorite: pasta alla Norma.”
“Can I have macaroni and cheese instead?”
If given a choice, Nico would eat macaroni and cheese for every meal, including breakfast. Ada would too. “I’ll set aside some spaghetti for you with butter and cheese.”
Nico seems happy with this compromise. “Can I practice by myself in the yard until dinner?”
I nod, thrilled that he’s satisfied to practice out in the yard without either me or Enzo needing to participate. Nico happily darts out to the backyard so that he can get as dirty as humanly possible before it’s time for dinner.
And now back to the pasta alla Norma.
The recipe says to sauté the eggplant until it gets brown, but they are not getting brown. They just seem to be getting mushy and disintegrating. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, because I’m a pretty good cook. It’s like I can’t figure out this one dish that I have to get right for Enzo. I mean, I don’t have to, but…
He always seems to like the food I cook for him. When we sit down at the dinner table and he sees the plate of food in front of him, he always immediately leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. It’s like a little way of thanking me for making him dinner, even if it’s something simple like chicken and rice. But I’ve never seen him react to a dish like he did to that one he ate at Suzette’s the other night.
What am I doing wrong? Why won’t the stupid eggplant just get brown already?
