I finish my coffee and leave through the back door. Following a path worn down by my brother and me over the years, I make my way to Nonna's house—a small cottage on the edge of the property. Few men would want their mother-in-law in close proximity to them, but my dad does. The arrangement is ideal when he and Nicky are away. I still have the comfort of my bed and the delicious cooking of my nonna. And she can keep an eye on all of us.

I reach the halfway point between Nonna's house and ours, and wander from the path. A hammock hangs in the center of two towering redwoods. When I need some time to think, this is where I come. There is a small opening in the canopy of the trees allowing me to see the stars at night, and during the day, it lets in just the right amount of sunlight. It's secluded, and I love it here.

I sit in the hammock and swing back and forth, hoping it will ease my frustrations, but it's not the antidote I need. With a sigh, I stand and finish my journey.

A little cabin with large windows and vines clinging to the log sides comes into view. The splintered stairs of the porch creak under my weight and the screen door squeaks when I open it, alerting Nonna that someone is entering the house.

"Mia nipotina?"

Although Nonna speaks mostly English to me, she feels it's crucial I learn the heritage of her and my mother, so she calls me mia nipotina instead of granddaughter. She's determined that I speak at least some Italian.

The smell of garlic and bread fills the air and heightens my excitement to see one of my most favorite people in the world. Nonna lives to cook for those she loves. I'm not sure why Dad didn't convert this house into one gigantic kitchen with a huge dining table and a bedroom; they are the only rooms she needs.

I come around the corner and take in the sight of Nonna. She's adorable in an apron that says "Bacio the Cook" with big red puckered lips printed on the front. Gray peppers the black hair piled in a loose bun on her head. Wavy strands have broken free and frame her round face. There is a sparkle in her big brown eyes like she has figured out the secret to a happy life.

"Ciao Nonna," I say, taking a seat at the old rustic kitchen table.

A huge smile consumes her face. "How was your trip to see your friend?"

For reasons unknown to me, she refuses to acknowledge Asher as my boyfriend. He's always just a friend. It depends on my mood as to whether or not I correct her, but more times than not, I just let it slide.

"It went by too quickly, but it was nice getting to see him, even if it was for just a few hours." I trace the natural lines of the wooden tabletop with my fingertips.

"You look upset. What is bothering you, Ariella?" Nonna feeds dough through a hand-cranked metal device on the counter, shaping it into pasta.

She is intuitive and maybe a smidge psychic. It's more than just spending every day with her since I was nine. She has this way of looking at someone and giving them some unseen insight into their life. Sometimes she walks up to people in town and makes random comments to them. Like the time I went with her the grocery store, and my geometry teacher was in the cookie aisle. Nonna walked right up to her and said, "There is no need for you to stress. Once you make your decision, you will see it is for the best. Make sure the cookies you choose have chocolate in them." She patted my teacher on her shoulder and walked away. Four days later, Ms. Watson approached me in class and asked me to thank my grandmother. I have no clue what that was all about, but her advice obviously worked.

Even with her odd ways, there's not a day that goes by where I'm not grateful she's here. She's the glue holding my family together, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

"Did my dad tell you about his plans for me this summer?" I ask, although I know the answer.

Dad consults with her about everything when it comes to me. Being a single parent to a daughter is absolutely frightening to him. He says raising me is like predicting where a tornado will touch down. It's not that I'm a bad kid, but like my mom, I'm strong-willed and not afraid to speak my mind. So he can use Nonna's guidance when it comes to me.

Nonna comes around the counter and leans against it in front of me. "I think it is a good idea. You will get to travel this summer, and you will work hard. Besides, Robert told me you will be in Rome for a short while. You have not been to Italy since you were a young girl. This will be very good for you."

Now the truth comes out. Dad played the heritage card with her. Damn, he's so sneaky. Convincing her to change her mind is going to be next to impossible; I might as well pack my bags right now.

My voice raises an octave as I desperately make my point. "I understand that, but don't you think school is important too? This will have me out of the classroom for an entire semester."

She shakes her head and waves her hand. "Your father said you will get credit from the university, and you can take classes over the internet. This is good for you, Ariella. You would just spend your summer here with me or chase after your friend. You need to try something new."

"I've met a member of the band, and he's insufferable. What if he makes me miserable the whole time?"

Placing her hand on my cheeks, she gives them a gentle pat. "You are like your mother. You will be just fine around the boy. I know you, and you don't like to be uncomfortable, but it is something you have to work through." Her lips pull up into a loving smile. "All right, it is time for you to help me. Come on, get up, let's make this pasta."

The thing about Nonna is I think I'm having a discussion with her. My point is obvious, and she appears to be listening, but she has her mind made up before I speak a word. Even if I initially disagree with her, I will hold the same opinion as her when all is said and done. It can be frustrating, but she always has my best interest at heart, even if I don't like it. She carries a wisdom no one I know possesses, so she's always the person I go to when I'm facing a tough choice.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in the airy kitchen. Nonna sings songs in Italian, and I join in with the ones I know. She dances while cooking and pulls me into her arms, twirling us around. The amount of food we make is enough to feed a small army–or my dad and brother.

Whenever Nonna and I are together, my problems seem so minimal. I get lost in the happiness she exudes, and when it's time to return to my dilemmas, I'm always at peace with what I must do. I don't know how she does it, but I can't imagine my life without her.