Every Summer | Alberto/Luca

Two Years Later

Luca knew Alberto wasn't lying about his cooking when he tried it.

Apparently, Alberto had been mastering and refining his skills and now did most of the cooking in the Marcovaldo's household.

The pesto sauce was irresistibly creamy and he made the green beans and potatoes actually taste good! And the pasta was so soft. Maybe he intentionally let them boil longer.

"Holy fish sticks! It's as good as Signor Marcovaldo's!" Although I thought it was actually better, I decided not to mention it with him in the room, nodding in approval.

"Grazie*, Luca." Alberto smiled an avalanche of light green pasta.

I looked to my right, to see Machiavelli the cat with narrowed yellow eyes. I gulped, "Oh, hey... Buddy." The cat only growled in response. "Um, I guess we'll never see uh, eye-to-eye, huh?" The cat stuffed its black muzzle further closer, forcing me to back up even more.

"Machi." Alberto chided with a frown, snapping his fingers beside the cat's ear. "Why don't you go play with your kittens?"

Content with the idea, the cat strutted away to the other end of the table and jumped off gracefully, its tail up high. I swore it had a smirk.

"I've been trying to teach him that you're a good guy," Alberto said. I nodded slowly, wondering what he meant by 'good guy'. "Anyway, trenette al pesto is really simple. For me, I just grinded the basil, garlic, pine nuts and parmesan together just a little more precisely. And the pasta, I boiled them more."

"I figured." I rubbed my nose and twirled another bite.

Giulia gave him a thumbs up while the other hand shoveled the food into her mouth at a brilliant speed. It was like she was practicing for the Porto Rosso cup.

Then, an idea struck me.

I wiped my mouth clean with a napkin. "What is the age limit for the Porto Rosso cup?"

She paused to swallow. "16, why?"

Alberto's eyes grew to the size of ice cream scoops. More accurately, pistachio ice cream. "You want to compete this year? If so, I'm down!"

"I'm just thinking," I admitted. "It's just an idea," I shyly glanced at Giulia's dad.

He set his fork down. "I think you three should enter. It'll be the last you three can enter together. And, maybe we can have another cup." He pointed out the trophy stacked modestly on a shelf along with some pictures.

I noticed a few including Alberto and my parents.

Alberto smirked coolly, "I keep the trophy clean and shiny."

"I noticed," Giulia said. "It seems like you take better care of it than Machiavelli."

"Excuse me?" Alberto yelped, "I helped with his mate's delivery, hmph." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why can't I care for the trophy?"

"Just teasing, Berto." Giulia amended.

"I know, I know. Anyway, we need a better approach than last time. Here's what I think..." He paused dramatically, "Giulia, eat. Luca, bike. I swim."

Giulia slammed the end of her fork down on the table with her chin raised. "It's on."

Signor Marcovaldo had the last laugh. "It's on as long as you do the work I assign you."

⋯

The day of the race came so fast, I was sure I'd imagined the last dozen days spent training.