Honestly, I don’t think you guys realize how important the Soul’s-mom-is-of-Italian-descent headcanon is to me. Especially since I think the Evans family isn’t an abusive family as much as Mama and Papa Evans didn’t know how to raise Soul because he was so vastly different from Wes. Like, so many things fall into place perfectly for me with these two little tidbits in my imagining of Soul’s glorious family and his home life with Maka.
His maternal grandmother, although came into wealth when she became famous for her opera talents, lived a comfortably modest childhood in Siracusa, Sicily. Even after moving to America, some things never changed (like growing all of her herbs and canning her own tomatoes for sauce. She also was the only one to make sauce; she didn’t trust her cooks for the staple part of the meal.)
She also gets very sad because she tried to get Wes and Soul to call her Nana but it didn’t stick and somehow Gran did.
Gran taught Mama Evans how to cook and bake delicious things. She later taught Soul and Wes.
Later on, when Soul was like 7 and Wes 12, Gran and Mama and the boys would bake and Papa Evans would play fun little ditties on the piano.
Soul loved young childhood. He started hating it when he started comparing himself to Wes.
Nobody else really did.
Gran loves the shit outta her baby boy.
Wes loves cooking. Baking bores him.
Soul is a stress baker, even though he doesn’t really care for too many sweets.
Maka, on the other hand, love pastries. But not the overly sweet ones. Sheet cakes make her sad because the frosting is overwhelming.
One evening Soul made Maka homemade sauce –
(”Soul, you literally made enough pasta to last us the month. What the hell are we going to do with this?” “The fuck are you talking about, Maka? This is like a seventh of what my Gran makes back home!” “How the hell are you so skinny???”)
– they were discussing Italian desserts and Soul brought up how Cassata Cake is his favorite dessert, like ever, and Maka cringed because the only “Cassata Cake” she ever had was the much more Americanized version with fruits and whipped cream and custard (”and while it’s good for a few bites, Jesus Soul, it’s wayyyy too sweet”) and Soul was like “no, like the cake that’s more like a Cannoli” and Maka had never one and Soul was
And literally drove to Death Mart immediately to get some maraschino cherries, ricotta cheese (”Maka if you pronounce it as Rick-otta one more time I swear I’m going to cry”), heavy whipping cream, bittersweet chocolate, and cake flour and got to work as soon as he got home.
“Soul what the fuck I’m too full to have dessert tonight, let alone two different ones.” “Nonsense Maka I’m only making the cake tonight and you’ll be hungry when this is done in three hours.” “Soul we have school in the morning!” “This is important you uncultured swine!”
When the cake was done at like 2 am, Maka admitted that it was sort of worth it.
Admittedly this was mostly because all I could think of for a moment was Maka not knowing what the other Cassata Cake was and Soul being horrified.
But I do almost always headcanon that Mama Evans (whose name always changes) is Sicilian Italian.