“Giorgio? Mom, really?”
Julie was never good as disguising her thoughts through careful modulation of her voice. She came across as both surprised and disappointed, maybe even a bit indelicate in her willingness to doubt me.
“I wasn"t a young girl, Julie.” Somehow, I felt like I had to defend myself and my time with Giorgio. Julie sat back against the chair and tapped her fork on the plate; she seemed ready to offer some "grown up" advice to her mother.
“Mom, was that his real name?”
Okay, so that really set me off. I had many fond memories of my relationship with Giorgio and how it had matured and developed, but Julie – with no knowledge yet – acted like I needed a lecture about avoiding swarthy Italians approaching me on a street in Rome.
reallyHmmm. When I thought about it in those
