Chapter 13 - THE WAITRESS WHO CHOSE HER OWN FUTURE
I left La Cattedrale the following spring.
Not because Dante asked me to.
Because I wanted something different.
I enrolled in a university program focused on archival research and historical documentation.
I'd always loved photographs.
Old letters.
The stories people left behind.
My work at the auction company had taught me how much history could hide inside ordinary objects.
I began working with a nonprofit that preserved immigrant family histories.
I interviewed people who had come to Chicago decades earlier.
I recorded their stories.
Translated letters.
Digitized photographs.
For the first time, the language Pietro had taught me became more than a private memory.
It became a way to help other families preserve theirs.
Dante supported me.
But he didn't pay my tuition without asking.
He didn't arrange my schedule.
He didn't make decisions for me.
He asked what I needed.
Sometimes I said help.
Sometimes I said nothing.
He respected both answers.
One evening, we sat in a small café.
Not La Cattedrale.
A quiet place near my apartment.
Dante looked at me.
"Do you miss waiting tables?"
I smiled.
"Sometimes."
He laughed.
"Really?"
"Yes."
I stirred my coffee.
"I liked knowing exactly what people wanted."
Dante raised an eyebrow.
"Did you?"
I smiled.
"Usually."
He looked at me.
"Nora."
"Yes?"
"Would you have dinner with me?"
I laughed.
"We're already having coffee."
"A proper dinner."
I studied him.
"Is this a date?"
He smiled.
"I hope so."
I considered.
Then nodded.
"All right."
Dante looked relieved.
May you like
And I realized that the man who had once commanded an entire room was nervous about asking a former waitress to dinner.
I liked him better that way.
