Chapter 10: Pronounce It

On Tuesday morning my husband tried to tell me he loved me, and told me he hated me instead.

He did it over eggs, in his shirtsleeves, with the primer propped against the juice carafe.

"Ti odio," he said, very seriously, with his hand over his heart.

The aide, who was washing a pan at the sink, dropped it.

I put down my fork.

"Where did you learn that?"

"Page eleven. Agnese circled it."

"Cesare, that means I hate you."

He looked at the page and then at me.

"No."

"Yes."

"She circled it." He turned the book around. "She drew a heart next to it."

"Maybe she was being funny."

"My grandmother has never been funny in her life."

"She's funnier than you."

The aide made a noise into the dish towel.

Cesare shut the primer, stood up and said with great dignity, in English, "I'll be in the car."

I laughed until I got the hiccups.

It was the first time I had laughed in that penthouse.

He came back in two minutes and kissed me hard on the mouth.

"Ti amo," he said. "I looked it up."

"That one's right."

"Good," he said, and then he flinched, because it was the word he said when he didn't know what else to say.

I took his hand.

"Bene," I said. "Say bene."

"Bene."

"Now say it like you mean it."

"Bene," he said, and he sounded, for the first time, like a man who knew what it was for.

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