Sisterchicks in Gondolas! Read Online Free Page A

case, the
sorbettos
are pretty amazing. Try the
limoncello
or the Bellini peach.”
    “Wait, wait, wait,” Sue said, going for a pen in her bag. “I have to write this down.”
    Steph laughed. “Are you serious?”
    “It’s research,” Sue said with a straight face. She opened to the first page of the simple, small spiral notebook and suddenly started to cry.
    “Sue, what’s wrong?”
    “The pages are blank,” she said in a tight voice.
    I gave Steph an apologetic look. I had no idea what my companion was talking about.
    “I’m sorry.” Sue sniffed back the few tears that had escaped. “It’s just that I have another notebook like this at home. That notebook is filled with doctors’ numbers, pharmacy hours, and all of my relatives’ cell phone numbers. This notebook is new. It’s blank. It just hit me that I’m about to make a fresh start.”
    “And you’re using the first page to list gelato flavors,” I reminded her. “How’s that for evidence of goodness and mercy?”
    Sue handed the notebook to Steph. “Could you write down those flavors you mentioned?”
    “Okay.”
    “She likes details,” I explained.
    “Not a problem.” Steph grinned. “My mom is exactly the same way. If she doesn’t write things down, she forgets everything. She even has a notepad by the phone to take notes during conversations.”
    Suddenly I felt small again. For a few glorious hours that morning I’d felt young and free, as if the world weremy oyster. (Whatever that saying means.) We were riding vaporettos with young Italian chefs, eating ice cream for breakfast, and being set up by lovely Steph for future flirting.
    Then, boom! There it was. The striking reminder that Sue and I were old enough to be this young woman’s mother. While Sue might have been having a hard time realizing where she was, I think I was having a hard time remembering how old I was.
    Seemingly unfazed by the “like my mom” comment, Sue explained to Steph, “I’m doing an independent study of all the gelato in Venice.”
    “
All
the gelato in Venezia? That’s quite an undertaking.”
    “I realize that. It’s grueling work, but I’m dedicated to my research, and I will see this project through to its conclusion.”
    “Plus she has an assistant,” I added brightly.
    Steph looked at us as if trying to decide if we were playing a joke on her. A smile grew on her rosy lips. “You two are hilarious.”
    “No,” I said. “You don’t know my sister-in-law. She’s serious about this.”
    Steph laughed and then leaned forward, as if we were best friends sharing confessions over our coffee. “I have to tell you something. When I first heard the renters were two women over fifty, no offense, but I didn’t expect two women like you.”
    “What did you expect?” I wanted to know.
    “Well, you know. Older women. Over fifty. Gray-haired ladies like my mom.” She hesitated and added, “I thought I’d have to carry your luggage for you and do your grocery shopping. But you two are nothing like my mom. She never could make a trip like this. You two rock! You’re definitely a couple of Sisterchicks.”
    The term was new to us, but Sue and I exchanged favorable glances and embraced the title. I hoped the word carried the connotation that we were women who were younger on the inside than we appeared to be on the outside.
    Paolo approached with our perfectly frothed cappuccinos. We leaned back in our patio chairs and leisurely sipped the satisfying brew.
    “This is nice,” I said. I mostly was referring to the leisurely pace of the morning and the way we were able to sit enjoying conversation with this young American woman. Steph must have thought I was referring to the cappuccino.
    “I’ll warn you now,” she said. “It will be difficult to go home and try to find coffee like this. The Italians treat their barista skills as a serious art form. You probably already know this, since so many of the coffee terms in the U.S. are in