A/N: It has been a long time since I updated this story, but today seems appropriate. (Apologies if some of the words or phrases are strange, I used an online translator since I'm not fluent.) And Grandpa, I miss you so much!

Grandpa

It Will Be Me

The sun caressed the herbs like a lover's hand and in turn the plants blushed their aromas into the heady summer air: basil dancing with fennel, laurel blowing kisses at oregano, and bay singing to thyme. The garden reminded Ashley more of a kitchen than the kitchen itself did and she relished the solitary time she had each day to dig her knees into the ebony soil and cajole her plants.

Her tomato plants were of particular interest and today they were looking a little peckish. She gently cupped each tomato in her bare palms, some just newly green heads while others sported vibrantly taut red skin, like edible bouncy balls. Ashley judged their growth by the way they filled her palm. She smiled, pleased with their weights, and carefully picked off any yellowing or crunchy leaves. They would be ready for picking within a week's time, possibly for a fresh pasta or a garnish or, her favorite, raw, sprinkled with just a kiss of salt. Her mouth watered at the edges, nearly tasting the sweet juices.

Over the sounds of twittering birds, there was a rapturous knock through her villa. A woman's deep and yet delightfully cheerful voice followed yelling "Ashley!" and yet sounded more like Ah-sha-lay.

Ashley angled her hands behind her back and pushed herself up from her spot in the dirt. Although she brushed herself off as best she could, she subconsciously felt that she was still layered in dirt but that didn't bother her as much as it might someone else. She carried herself through the one bedroom home and opened the front door to a mailwoman. "Esta," she greeted, faintly smiling.

Esta was older, late fifties perhaps, with a swathe of salt and pepper hair that made Ashley wonder if she actually had a Persian cat coiled around her head. Esta had been on the mail route the entire ten years that Ashley had been at the residence. What she lacked in height she more than made up for in charisma. "You have a package to-day m'dear!"

She'd been expecting something, though she didn't know quite what it would be. Several weeks earlier she'd gotten a letter from Amy, informing her that Mimsy had passed away and that they would be clearing out her house soon. Since the ashes were to be scattered instead of a funeral proper, Ashley had declined to fly back to the States and asked that if there was anything they wanted her to have, to please mail it.

The package Esta handed her was small, about the size of a shoebox, with her nephew's handwriting on it. "Grazie."

"Sei il benvenuto mio caro. I shall see you t'morrow!" Etsa kissed the air beside Ashley's cheeks before she left.

Ashley entered the kitchen with the package and tore it open with a pair of shears. Inside she found several letters, some old crayon drawings, and various pictures tied together with a single white ribbon. She set them aside in favor of something else though, a VHS tape. She didn't have a VHS player, blu-ray was king nowadays, but stuck to the VHS cover was a blu-ray transfer disc for home movies. She carried the disc into her living room and popped it into the mouth of her blu-ray player.

The image was grainy at first and the camera work was abysmal. The sounds of her parents' voices could be heard in the background, but the only thing on screen was the familiar blue and white tile floor of her grandparents' kitchen.

"And what is Anne craving this morning?" George's voice bellowed from the hi-def speakers.

Ashley grabbed the remote to turn down the volume.

"George!" Anne scolded. "Put that away!"

"I want to get my beautiful wife on camera."

"I look like a mess," Anne protested.

The camera finally moved up from the floor to shakily capture Anne. Her tomato colored hair was long but she had no bangs and her face was rounder than usual, matching the full moon of her belly that made it impossible for her to sit at the table.

"Pancakes?" George taunted. "Are you craving pancakes?"

"Go away, George!" Anne wadded up a napkin and threw it at the camera but it bounced harmlessly off the lens.

"I don't care what you say, love, you look beautiful," came a different voice. The voice's owner passed in front of the camera carrying a stack of buttermilk pancakes overflowing in a Niagara Falls of maple syrup and butter. Robert Scott set the plate on Anne's full belly. "Is this to your liking?"

Anne frowned. "Whip cream?"

Robert chortled and jetted off camera and back again, spraying a powerful mound of heavy whip cream atop the pancakes. "Anything for my girls." As his daughter took a sopping bite, he reached to her belly and gave it a loving rub. "Oh," he laughed. "I felt that. My little Ashley's got zest!"

"Zest?" Amy asked. "What's zest, Grandpa?"

"Like circus," Ashley replied from across the table. She looked to their grandfather for confirmation. "Like circus?"

"Citrus," Robert corrected. He booped Ashley's nose. "And yes, my clever girl, zest is citrus. Citrus rind, specifically." He picked up Ashley's glass and showed it to Amy. "That's the rubbery stuff on the outside of oranges and lemons and grapefruit!"

Amy wrinkled her nose. "Ew!"

"It's an acquired taste," Robert agreed. "But it makes a mean marmalade, doesn't it, Ash?"

The small brunette nodded feverishly. "I like mommy-lade."

"Good girl," he said. "Not everyone can appreciate zest, but it enriches the lives of those who can. Brings everything together with a nice little kick, I always say."

"And here we are!" the waitress announced, balancing a massive round serving tray with three plates as she approached their table. "One key lime pie slice with extra zest, one gooey cinnamon bun with extra icing," she turned to Ashley and set down the final plate, "and one Mickey Mouse pancake with a whip cream smile!"

"Tank you, Gampa!" Ashley squealed while stabbing the right ear of her pancake with her fork.

TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT

Ashley stood on a step ladder, her small frame bent over the gaping mouth of the sink to stare at the yellow, orange, and red tomatoes strewn across the kitchen windowsill. "Gampa?"

"Hmm?" Robert asked, sounding as though he were a meditating monk.

"Why you not like dese ones?"

Robert turned away from his cutting board and wiped his brow. "Those ones aren't quite ripe yet." He picked up a pale orange tomato that was gradually turning red. "See how light it is? It needs to get darker before we can eat it, so I leave them in the sun to ripen."

"Why not ou'side?" she asked, the skin between her eyes forming a triangle in her confusion.

"Sometimes Mother Nature blows them off, sometimes animals tamper with the bushes, and sometimes I have to pick them because of the weather. If they're premature, I put them here so they can grow big." He winked. "Like you!" Robert motioned his hand across the windowsill and picked up a small, oval shaped red tomato. "I think this one's ready. Wanna give it a try, Ash?"

Ashley nodded rapidly.

"Here," he said, dropping it into Ashley's small hands. He turned on the sink. "Wash it off real good."

"Wif soap?"

"No, just warm water and your fingers, but be careful not to pop it."

Ashley cradled the tomato like an egg, careful to massage each bit of the surface with the pads of her fingers.

"Perfect," Robert crooned. He took the tomato from Ashley, dried it off with a paper towel, and sprinkled some salt onto the flawless skin. "Would you like a bite?"

A groan of satisfaction escaped her lips as a bit of tomato juice dribbled down the contour of her chin. There was nothing quite like biting into the salty sweetness of a homegrown food. Ashley nibbled on the remainder of the tomato as she stood in her kitchen, though not the one in her house.

With the ten thousand dollars Mimsy had left her when she was only a teenager, she'd traipsed off to Italy and spent years slaving over hot stoves and weathering the tongue lashings of seasoned chefs, but in the end, she'd managed to make a name for herself and when it was all said and done, Italy had become her home.

Twenty minutes from her villa lay a thriving hole in the wall bistro of Ashley's very own. There was a small staff of five, including herself, and the clientele consisted primarily of regulars that Ashley knew by name and order. There was something about spending her formative years in invisibility that made her keen to a first name basis.

"Questa è la vita," she whispered, a phrase that meant that's life. Ashley tossed the stem of the tomato into the trash bin as she left the bistro kitchen and made her way to the storefront, where several small tables were constructed with umbrellas for shade. She sat down at a table with a closed umbrella and splayed her hands across the sun warmed tabletop.

"Ashley!" Rosa, the head chef, greeted as she strolled towards the bistro entrance to begin her shift. "I didn't know you were here today, is something wrong?"

"No, I just…thought I'd come in for breakfast."

"Well since I'm already standing here, what's your flavor?"

Ashley licked her lips. "Buttermilk pancakes, extra whip cream."

Rosa tipped an imaginary chef's hat. "Arriva subito!"

Ashley watched Rosa disappear into the bistro, greeting guests in both fluent English and Italian all along the way. When she could no longer hear the cook, her eyes drifted to the sign atop the bistro, styled in cursive tomato vines: Zest è la Vita.