Friendship, Texas Series: Volume 1

by Magan Vernon

  “Sonny, you’re here!” Sammy’s wife, Maria, came out to the front of the ristorante.

  She was even tinier than Sammy was but was one of the scariest women I’d ever met. Her bulky eyebrows always furrowed and her thick black curls hung in a mess around her head.

  I hugged her and then proceeded to hug the rest of the family who piled out of the back of the ristorante, even though guests were sitting at almost all of the tables.

  Most of the restaurants in Sicily were open air with the majority of tables outside and the cooking in a back kitchen. Dad wanted to do a similar concept back in Friendship, but it wasn’t exactly popular in the small town, and when he first learned about snow, he immediately decided to go for the traditional American restaurant style.

  “Sonny, you’re much too skinny. Has your mama turned into a medigan with her cooking now?” one of my aunts asked. “Come. Sit. I feed you.”

  I didn’t protest when she guided me to a table and served me a three-course meal, complete with more wine.

  By the time I was starting the dessert course, enjoying my tiramisu and espresso, the heat of the day had waned down on me.

  All I wanted to do was get in the shower then roll into the guest bed Sammy had laid out for me.

  “You ready to head to the disco tonight?” asked one of my other cousins, Sal, taking the seat across from me.

  Sal was a few years older than I was—same as Sammy. But both seemed decades older with their thick accents and restaurant worker bodies with rough hands and tobacco-stained teeth. They put in so many hours behind the grill that the only time they saw sunlight was on a smoke break. This was what I feared would happen to me if I kept working long hours at the restaurant like these guys did. I felt like a lot of times me or any of my other family members coming in was the highlight of their year so they could take a little bit of a break. Maybe that was why Sammy kept having kids, just for some downtime.

  “Always,” I replied, taking down the rest of my espresso. As much as I wanted to sleep, Micke’s words weighed on me.

  Maybe someday a girl would be out there for me like he seemed to think, but for now, I was going to enjoy my time in Sicily. I’d work in the ristorante, take a nap when it closed in the afternoon, and then spend the night with my cousins at the club. This summer in Sicily was going to be no responsibilities and no attachments.

  ***

  Americans have a big thing about masculinity. Men can show up in an old t-shirt and ball cap to the club and be fine while the women dress to the nines. Men don’t wear pink, and they would never ride on the back of another man’s scooter while wearing a purse.

  None of that is true for Sicily.

  As each of my guy cousins take longer than the next to get ready in the apartment above the ristorante, I have to wait to use the bathroom while they shave, gel their hair, and slip on their pink shirts.

  Sammy put some money in the small purse he’d draped around his shoulder and kissed his wife and two of his kids before we headed downstairs where Sal and his friend Michael were waiting. Sal was driving, and Michael sat on the back of the moped like a very short and stubby biker bitch, if biker bitches rode mopeds.

  “Where we headed?” Sammy asked them before getting on his moped, and I got on behind him. Even though I’d been riding like this with them for years, my life in America was completely different than in Sicily, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how funny we would look riding down the streets of Dallas like this.

  Sal responded back with the name of some disco they’d gone to a million times before then we headed down the street, weaving through cars and other traffic, while the guys honked and swore like it was their fault they had to cut the guys off. Sammy parked in front of some building with only a small neon sign that pointed at a stairway.

  “Near the university and the American girls are celebrating their last week here,” Sal said, rubbing his hands together as he and Michael eyed some blondes in very tight dresses.

  The American girls are always the easy ones to spot since they’re dressed up with their hair and makeup done and usually blondes or redheads. The Sicilian women, while gorgeous in their own right, give no fucks. The men get more dressed up than they do, and Sammy always says ‘the bigger the Italian woman, the better—then you know they can cook like their mama.’

  We headed into the disco where some loud bass was thumping through the speakers.

  Sal and Michael immediately went to the dancefloor, eying a group of younger looking girls while Sammy and I headed for the bar.

  “Bierra Moretti,” I told the bartender, and Sammy ordered the same.

  “You not going out there with the boys?” Sammy asked as we sipped our beers and leaned against the bar.

  I shook my head. “Not tonight. Just going to relax for a bit.”

  I couldn’t help but think about what Micke had said. I shouldn’t have let some military guy I’d never met before get to me that much, but it was nagging me. Was there really a girl out there for me who would put up with my shit? If there was, I wasn’t sure she’d be at some disco in Palermo.

  “You may be in luck. I think the women are coming to you,” Sammy said, nudging my shoulder as a group of girls approached the bar.

  They all blended together with their curled hair and mini dresses, typical study abroad girls. But one stood out, and she had me taking a second look.

  Her hair was the color of a Texas sunset and piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She wasn’t wearing any makeup that I could tell, but a parade of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Instead of some slinky dress, she was in a long t-shirt and brightly colored leggings that I was pretty sure had paint stains on them.

  This girl was gorgeous. Naturally. She was the kind of girl who would roll her eyes at me more than Micke did, but like a moth to the flame, I was drawn to her.

  “You gonna make a move?” Sammy asked, knocking me out of my trance.

  I noticed two of her friends were looking in my direction and whispering between them.

  “I think I will.” I slowly pushed off the bar and made the few steps over to them, making a circle with the two blond girls and the redhead.

  “Speak English or are y’all natives?” I asked, adding the Southern charm and drawling out my words. Another trick that got American and Sicilian girls alike. Something about the Southern accent had them dropping their panties faster than I could say “darlin’ .”

  The two blondes giggled, and the redhead rolled her eyes. “Yeah. We’re studying at the university but from Illinois. Where are you from with that accent?” one of the blondes asked.

  “Texas. The name’s Sonny,” I said, putting my hand out.

  The first blonde shook it eagerly. “Delia.”

  Then the other blonde took my hand, smiling widely. “Morgan.”

  I turned to fully face the redhead whose face remained stoic.

  “And you are?” I asked, putting my hand out.

  “Virginia,” she muttered, barely shaking my hand before taking a long sip of her drink.

  “Can I call you Ginny?” I asked.

  “I’d prefer not.”

  The other two girls laughed. “Wow, Virginia, way to be a bitch!” Morgan said.

  Virginia just shook her head and sipped her drink, turning toward the bar.

  Before she could fully look away, I grabbed her arm.

  She glanced over her shoulder, those bright green eyes catching mine, and I knew I was a goner right there.

  “How about this, Virginia. If I can make you smile, you give me one dance and let me call you Ginny.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “And if you can’t?”

  I shrugged. “Then I guess I leave you alone.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. “Okay, Sonny, try me.”

  “First, can you spare some change?” I asked, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

  “Um, what?” She blinked.

  “Oh, wait … never mind …�
�� I reached behind her head, briefly letting my fingers graze her soft hairline then the sensitive skin of her earlobe before I held a quarter between my thumb and forefinger. “I found some behind your ear.”

  A large grin crossed her face, and she laughed. “I can’t believe you just pulled a lame half-ass magic trick on me.”

  I put my hand out toward her. “Yeah. But that half-ass magic trick worked. Now dance with me, Ginny.”

  She looked back at her two friends who smiled and nodded like two bobbleheads.

  Virginia sighed and set her drink down before putting her hand in mine. I’d held many girls hands and danced with more than my fair share, but when I felt Virginia’s fingers interlace with mine, a warm chill vibrated through my entire body.

  “One dance, Sonny.”

  “One dance,” I replied, pulling her with me to the dance floor.

  The song was some upbeat pop mix in Italian. There were dozens of sweaty bodies all mingled together under the strobe lights, but all I could focus on was the sunset-haired girl in front of me.

  She didn’t try to grind against me or even get as close as possible. Rather, she was aloof.

  Our bodies were mere millimeters from each other but never touched as we moved to the music. And oh damn, did I want to touch her. To taste her. But being so close without touching was even more sensational.

  She reached her arms up and let down her hair, running her fingers through the loose curls, and I instantly got hard just from thinking about my own hands grabbing those curls and taking her right there.

  The heat from her body melted to mine, and with her lips just a whisper away, I could practically taste her sweet cherry lip-gloss. One little movement and I could. One little move and I’d have her.

  We stayed in this trance of our moving bodies while the song played. I couldn’t even tell when it started or ended. All I could focus on were those lips.

  But Virginia was all too sure when the song ended, and the spell broke. She stopped her movements and pulled the hair tie from her wrist to put her hair back up before standing on her tippy toes and whispering in my ear. “Thanks for the dance, Sonny.”

  I opened my mouth to say something else, but instead, her lips barely grazed my jaw then she turned, heading out of the crowd.

  I went to follow her but kept getting pushed back until I made my way to Sammy and the bar. My eyes searched the club and bar, but I didn’t see her friends or her sunset hair.

  She was gone. All I had was a fleeting moment, and now, it was lost.

  “Going to meet the redhead somewhere?” Sammy asked.

  “No, I think that was the only chance I had to meet Virginia,” I muttered and ordered another beer.

  Chapter 3

  “He’s not dead!” Gia, one of Sammy’s kids, yelled as I opened one eye while her brother Fabio jumped on my back.

  Rolling over, my back popped, even though I was way too young to be having back problems. The pullout couch mattress made my body feel like a ninety-year-old man with aching bones.

  “How hungover are you, Sonny?” Maria yelled from the kitchen where the smells of strong coffee and fried dough wafted through.

  “He’s not hungover; he’s just in love with a Cinderella and doesn’t wake up from his pumpkin-filled dreams,” Sammy said with a laugh as he walked into the living room and buttoned the last buttons of his shirt.

  “Sonny met another girl? How many hearts will he break this summer? How many girls will we have screaming and crying and throwing tomatoes at the restaurant?” Maria yelled.

  “One girl threw tomatoes one time,” I said, holding up one finger. Though that was probably enough. She was a local girl from Mondello who I’d met at one of the discos. I barely even touched her, and she proclaimed she was in love with me, so I told her I had to go to the bathroom and went home. Guess she was not only crazy, but also a good detective at finding out where I stayed. Once Maria gave her a verbal smack down, she left the restaurant quickly, and I never saw her again. Thank God.

  Sammy shook his head. “No, this time, the bello is in love.”

  “Shut up, Sammy,” I muttered, swatting his chest as I pulled myself to a standing position and stretched out.

  The three-story building housed the restaurant on the first floor; the second floor was where my uncle lived, and the third floor, all one-thousand square feet, held Sammy’s family and now me. I could have stayed with my great uncle, but he snored worse than my Nonna and liked to rescue a lot of local birds that tended to shit everywhere. One summer, I stayed with him for a night and woke up to bird shit inside my socks. After that, I just dealt with Sammy and his kids.

  I walked from the living room toward the olive green kitchen where Maria stood over a four-burner stove, her stomach sticking out so much that I thought the baby would stir the sugo.

  “So a girl, ey? Did you tell her to come by the restaurant today? Maybe you can make her some cupalatina. No woman can resist a man who’s good in the kitchen.”

  Sammy put his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck. “That’s the truth.”

  “There’s no bella, y’all. She was just a girl I danced with,” I said, raking my fingers through my hair that still had remnants of gel in it.

  “A girl you sought out. Usually, the bambinas come to you, but you searched for this one like the perfect grape on the vine. She’s your vino,” Sammy said, holding out his hand as if he was holding a glass.

  I pushed his shoulder. “You’ve been watching too much TV, Sammy. I’m going to shower before you two plan my wedding.”

  I turned away from the happy couple, walking by my little cousins who played with some sort of weird dolls on the floor of the living room, using my socks as their dolls beds.

  “Don’t stay in there too long. Your baby batter clogs the drain. Rinse it in the toilet!” Maria yelled.

  “What’s his baby batter?” Gia yelled.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Maria replied.

  ***

  With its prime location in the city, the restaurant was always busy—well, except from eleven to one when everything closed down.

  When I tried to explain to Dad that we should do as the Spaniards and Sicilians, who close down for breaks in the afternoon and open late at night, he told me Americans would never go for it. Obviously, Dad never lived in a college town because that would go over great in Austin. But like everything else, I just went with what he said and continued my normal schedule.

  I had a million different ideas for Dad on how to grow Conti’s business. Some, I voiced, and some, I just kept to myself. Okay, most I kept to myself. Being the only Italian restaurant for miles and the only pizza delivery place in tiny Friendship, Texas, my family’s restaurant was always busy. He didn’t need my help, but even though I enjoyed the routine and things staying the same, sometimes I wanted something different. Something more.

  During the break at the restaurant, I could have gone back to the apartment and slept in the afternoon after my shift. But with Maria, Sammy, and the kids there, I’d have better luck sleeping in the restaurant than I would in the tiny apartment.

  So I decided to take a walk.

  Even though I’d been coming to Sicily for as long as I could remember, my family didn’t do many tourist things. We always spent time visiting different family members, and if we were lucky, we spent some days at the beach in Mondello.

  Now, walking past the cuatro centri, I got to see things through the eyes of a tourist. The places that all the travel shows talked about. And really, they weren’t that much different from the replicas Dad liked to display around the house.

  The only thing that was different in this old city was the lush botanical garden. The Ordo Botanico Di Palermo was a bright spot amidst all of the older buildings that surrounded the city. Dad never wanted to pay the five euros for each of us to get in, so we only ever saw it from the outside.

  I walked along the wrought-iron fence, taking in the colorful flowers. Then I spo
tted something. Amongst the orange and yellow flora was a pile of sunset-colored hair. I’d recognize it anywhere.

  Without even thinking what I was doing, I paid the fee to get in and made my way through the flowers and different trees until I found her again.

  There Virginia sat on a cement bench with her wavy hair tumbling down her back. It looked like she didn’t even run a brush through it, or maybe did at one time but had run her fingers through it so many times that it now had a mind of its own. Something was sexy about a girl who didn’t care if her hair was a mess.

  She was wearing a plain t-shirt and shorts, her creamy white skin dotted with even more freckles than the ones on her beautiful face.

  As I slowly approached her, I noticed her hand rapidly moving.

  Holy shit, was she getting off on a public bench? I knew there was more to this girl.

  But as I made my way down the path, I saw a sketchbook in her hands and a set of colored pencils next to her.

  Cautiously, I approached, peering over her shoulder at the intricate drawing of the fountain in front of us with the succulent orange and purple flowers dancing in the grass behind it. It was so lifelike that it could have just jumped off the page.

  “Do you always creepily stare at people while they’re working?” she quipped, not looking up from her notebook.

  I smirked. Sitting down next to her, I kept barely an inch between us on the bench. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I’m very observant,” she said, not even looking up from her drawing.

  “I can tell.”

  She didn’t say anything and picked up a different color, shading in the sides of the fountain.

  “So you’re an artist?” I asked.

  “Art major. I’m getting my masters at the university,” she half-mumbled, half-muttered as if she was already bored with her explanation.

  “Nothing sexier than a girl with brains.”

  The corner of her lip turned up, but she wouldn’t look at me. “Good one.”