Giulia is preparing minestrone. Her mother taught her how to do it. The vegetables splash around in the broth as she adds some spices. I fill her glass, I take it to her. She takes a sip and puts it down to one side side, next to the cutting board covered with zucchini peels. There is a good smell in the air. She adjusts her apron.
"Guess what?" she asks.
"What?"
"I’ve joined the gym."
"The gym?"
"Yes."
I imagine Giulia battling with the equipment. There is nothing further from the image that I have of her.
"It"s not like you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you never cared for it. You"ve always said that gymnasts have a ridiculous physique, that they"re puffed up and all that..."
