Setting My Place at the Family Table

Today Annalisa asked me to set the table. Let me tell you why this is important:

Living with a host family means sharing intimate space with a unit of people who talk a lot, fight sometimes, have loud phone conversations, hog the bathroom, watch their favorite TV shows on high volume, take trips together, have friends over, and everything else. Living with them means constantly walking a line between inserting yourself into parts of their life where there didn't used to be a 20-year-old American girl before. And sometimes it's awkward.

It's safe to assume that the Martinis don't usually spend a lot of time fussing over their spot at the beach, worried that a certain palid someone will fry in the Italian sun. And most of the year, 10 year old Olga has her own room, and Mom and kids don't all share a bathroom to politely privatize their second one for a houseguest who drinks more milk than all of them combined and takes longer-than-average showers.

As much as I'm part of the Martini household, being such a close observer of their lives reminds me constantly that I'm not actually a part of their family. When Olga and Livio come home, Annalisa hugs them both, slowing kisses them each on the forehead, then her hands on their shoulders and asks them about their day. It's adorable and endearing, but also reminds how far I am from my own family. Annalisa scolds Livio for sleeping too late and berates Olga leaving clothes and shoes strewn across the floor of the room they're now sharing, but would never comment on the state of my room or on my sleeping habits. When she warns Olga to stop taking bread because she'll get fat, she pushes bread-and pasta-and meat!-and cheese!!! towards me with an encouraging smile.

Tonight I sat at the dinner table in the kitchen as Annalisa prepared dinner and chatted with a friend who had come over. I felt awkward, holding my book and alternately trying to listen to their conversation and look like I didn't care if I had no idea what was going on. I'm always doing this; trying to be a part of their family life without disrupting it. So when Annalisa looked up from her slicing and dicing, halted her rapid conversation and spoke a slow sentence simply telling- not asking- me to set the table...well, I was pretty delighted. It means having a reason to be in the kitchen with her and her friend and her family, it means doing something useful instead of just adding another place setting and another set of laundry to her household duties.

I counted the number of places correctly: one for Uncle Andreas at the foot of the table, regardless of whether he's present at the time of dinner or not. One for Annalisa's friend who said her name too fast for me to catch, and one for Annalisa beside her. Livio at the head of the table. And, as usualy, my spot is next to Olga.