THE TWENTY-NINTH pt4

Arriving at my parents’ house promptly on the dot of seven, I am overwhelmed by the aromas filtering out of the kitchen. Following a brief round of hugs, we are ushered through to the dining room, which has been set beautifully, candlelight glinting off the silverware and stark-white china and the lovely smell of fresh freesias filling the room with their beautiful aroma. We take our seats and my mum disappears for a moment before returning with a dish that I quickly identify.

“Mum, is that…?” I ask quietly.

“Nonna’s chicken parma. I know it was your favourite, so I dug through her notebooks and found the recipe,” Mum says proudly.

“Your mum has been practising for the last week to get it right,” my dad chuckles.

Oh my. After all her hard work, I can’t bring myself to tell Mum that this is the dish that Nonna was making when she dropped dead on the floor from an aneurism. Even after a lot of therapy, I still can’t think about that day without feeling like my world is ending. Today