The Supreme Macaroni Company

by Adriana Trigiani

  “I really love what you do,” I told him. “I mean, when you cut leather, it’s a master craftsman at work at the top of his game.”

  “Why do you watch me so closely?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because I couldn’t do what I do without you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have what I need to make shoes.”

  “I have a feeling you would find a way.” He smiled.

  “When are you taking Gram and your dad to the airport?”

  “In a couple of hours.”

  “Did you check out of the hotel?”

  “I can.”

  “You should. Gabriel is staying at the Carlyle tonight. The manager gave him the room for New Year’s.”

  “You’re all alone here?”

  “Just me and my big old diamond ring.”

  Gianluca kissed me. “And me.”

  I untied the enormous red ribbon on the dress box. There was a tag hanging from it:

  Merry Christmas Ma, Love Tess

  Mom had scribbled over it:

  Do not wear this dress!!!

  I smiled and ripped off the tag. My mother never met a ribbon or a gift tag she didn’t save and reuse.

  I opened the box and removed tufts of fresh tissue paper. I lifted out my mother’s wedding gown from 1970.

  The gown was of its era, conjuring the mod early 1970s, the days of Lauren Hutton, Marisa Berenson, and Priscilla Presley when she married Elvis. It was a simple, straight A-line gown with a round collar. It was made of open antique cream-colored lace over a silk charmeuse lining. The lace of the trumpet sleeves was unlined, giving the gown a very fresh and courant look.

  Clusters of tiny seed pearls were sewn into the flowers on the lace. The glints of milky beading gave the dress a classic finish. At the bottom of the box, folded neatly, was a long, wide shawl that I remembered from the wedding photographs. My mother liked dramatic emphasis around her face, and this shawl provided it. She had draped the shawl over her shoulders and thrown it over the back of her dress, giving a capelike effect.

  I slipped behind the dressing screen and removed my jeans and work shirt. I slipped the dress over my head. It glided over me. I pulled a box of size 8 sample shoes off the shelf. I slipped out of my loafers and into the pumps. I crossed to the three-way mirror and stepped up onto the riser. I adjusted the mirrors.

  The dress fit, but it was five inches too short. I examined it from all sides. I liked the neckline, the antique lace, and the silhouette. It needed something, and I wasn’t sure what, so I went to the notions closet and found a wide grosgrain ribbon in lavender. I cut a piece and wrapped it around my waist. The pop of color changed the look of the old lace. The round cutouts of roses and daisies in the lace were offset by the straight lines of the grosgrain ribbon. The mix of textures did something to the dress. I went to the notions closet and picked out a chunky rhinestone buckle. I threaded the ribbon through the buckle.

  There was a knock on the door. “I’m busy!” I called out.

  “It’s Gram.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes!” she called out.

  “Come on in.”

  “We’re all packed for the airport,” she said, stopping when she saw me in the dress.

  “What do you think?” I modeled the dress.

  “Are you going to cut it off to the knee?”

  “No, I was thinking of altering it.” I picked up the shawl and unfurled it. “There might be enough fabric. I would add the lace at the bodice and waist and drop the hem to the floor.”

  “You really like it?” Gram asked carefully.

  “You don’t?”

  “I loved it the first time around.” Gram smiled.

  “Mom tried to act like she lost it. I told her exactly where it was in the attic so she had to send it over. Why the resistance?”

  “Because your mother is a drama queen.”

  “You raised her.”

  “So I speak the truth. Your mother has never liked anything old, including being old. She wants to buy you a new dress.”

  “I don’t want a new dress.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to make a big deal out of this wedding.” I caught myself, but not before my grandmother saw through me.

  “It is a big deal.”

  “I just want to get married and start a new life with Gianluca. I don’t really care about the ceremony and the party.”

  Gram sat down on one of the work stools and faced me. “You’re the most traditional person I know. You never wanted me to sell this building because of the history. So what’s going on with you? Are you sure you want to get married?”

  “Yes! I love Gianluca. But I don’t care about the dress and the hors d’oeuvres and the band. I just don’t. Maybe years of making wedding shoes for people has turned me off to the entire enterprise. To tell you the truth, I would be happy going down to city hall.”

  “That would kill your parents.”

  “They’d recover.”

  “I don’t mean to cause trouble, but you need to get real here. Your mother needs this wedding, and just because you’ve always helped with your customers’ weddings doesn’t mean you give your own short shrift. It’s a sacrament, after all. Why are you treating it like it’s less than that?”

  “Is that what I’m doing?”

  Gram nodded.

  “I don’t like being the center of attention. In fact, it makes me a little sick. I don’t like to broadcast my feelings or stand in front of a crowd. It’s just not me.”

  “I understand. But a wedding isn’t just about you and Gianluca. It’s about family. All of us show up in our best clothes and promise to be there for you in the years to come. You need the people you love to make a vow to you, as much as you need to make one to each other.”

  “My family can’t agree on manicotti or risotto for dinner—how is my wedding supposed to pull us all together?”

  Gram smiled. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it does. You have to welcome him into your family, and he has to welcome you into his. There are no lone wolves in the family structure—there shouldn’t be. It’s the community of your heart, your allies. You need them even though you think you might not. You don’t know what the future holds, but your family will be there to hold you when you need them. Unless, of course, you don’t think that’s important.”

  I went behind the screen and slipped out of the gown and back into my clothes. Gram made sense, but the truth was, I was tired of thinking about what everything meant, and how to please my family.

  “Is everything okay with you and Gianluca?”

  I came out from behind the screen. “Did he say something to you?”

  “No, he was just quiet. I saw Bret here earlier,” Gram said casually.

  “We straightened everything out. Christmas Eve was a sad night for him, and he needed a friend.”

  “Bret kissed you.”

  “A mistake.”

  “But you kissed him back.”

  “Another mistake. I felt sorry for him.”

  “Pity is the ruination of women. When we feel sorry for a man, we get into trouble.”

  “I did a dumb thing.”

  “When you’re young and you marry, it’s so simple.” Gram sighed. “You have a blank slate. You have some ideas for the future. You’re pretty certain you’ll always be happy, and you hope for children and a nice home and a good life. But when you’re older, it’s more complicated.”

  “I know, Gram.”

  “I met his ex-wife, Mirella.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Tough.”

  “Great.”

  “But you know how to deal with tough women.”

  “No kidding. I have a PhD in Aunt Feen.”

  “I’m talking
about your stepdaughter. Orsola is very close to her mother.”

  “I see where this is going.”

  “I think you’ll have a great life with Gianluca, but you’ll have to deal with his first family, just like Dominic had to deal with mine, and I had to with his. It’s not always easy. There’s no shorthand. You don’t have years of observation to fall back on. Now, sometimes that’s a good thing, a little distance. But sometimes it’s not.”

  “Gram, I get it. And I wonder, with all I know, and all I’ve seen, why I’m choosing to take a chance on a man who already has a family. He’s from another country. My Italian is lousy. I’m in debt. Why would he want me with my baggage before he unpacks his own? I don’t have an answer for you. I know love is not enough, and that the passion cools, and that when a man is in his fifties, he’s different from a man who is my age.”

  “It’s wise to anticipate.”

  “I do. I can even see down the road when he’s older and he’ll need me in a different way, and I’m worried if I’m up for the task, or if I’ll even be good at it. I figure Gianluca will have a fabulous old age like his father. I mean, look at what you’ve built, and the chance you took marrying Dominic. Aren’t you glad you did?”

  “I’m so lucky. I had a fresh start when everyone I know was winding down. The golden years are better than I ever thought they could be. I can tell you something about the Vechiarelli men that might be of some use to you. Don’t keep anything from them. They like to know everything. They don’t like secrets.”

  “Well, that’s easy. I don’t have any. And if he has any, I’ll deal with it. I’ll even handle his ex-wife. I plan to make Mirella my friend.”

  “Bring your ice chipper.”

  I would remember Gram’s words when I finally met Mirella Vechiarelli Delfina, the elegant, refined Italian glacier. I would need not only an ice chipper but patience, a blowtorch, and a therapist to sort it all out.

  I fired up the new grill on the roof, placed the old iron skillet filled with glassy brown chestnuts on the flames, and put a lid over them. Soon the air was filled with the woodsy, sweet scent of roasting chestnuts. I gave the pan a shake. I could hear the muffled pops as the heat cracked the shells open.

  “Bella?” Gianluca said from the door.

  “That was quick.”

  “Newark is so close. I dropped them off without any problems.” Gianluca stood behind me and put his arms around me. “What are you making?”

  “I’m roasting chestnuts. Do you like them?”

  “No.”

  I laughed. “That’s honest.”

  “I ate so many when I was a boy, I vowed I would never eat them when I grew up.”

  “I guess we don’t have to like the same things.” I emptied the pan of chestnuts on to a platter.

  “But we do.”

  “How do you feel about fighting?”

  “I’ve done plenty of it in my life, so that’s something I could give up.”

  “Well, I hate conflict. I don’t like to fight.”

  “Why would we argue? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t always say what I’m thinking. Today, I almost got in a fight with you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Didn’t think I’d win.”

  “Oh, so you’ll fight if you win.”

  “Maybe. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I think we should talk about Bret,” Gianluca said, taking a seat on the old bench next to the fountain of Saint Francis.

  I turned the grill off and sat down next to Gianluca.

  “Bret’s been my friend since I was a little girl.”

  “Childhood playmates are one thing, but you fell in love and were engaged to marry him.”

  “But I didn’t marry him.”

  “Maybe he still loves you.”

  “Not like you do.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you don’t love Mirella in that way anymore.”

  Gianluca smiled. “I see.”

  “We remained good friends even though he married someone else and had children. We work well together. He helped save this company. He’s really smart and works well with Alfred. He keeps my brother calm and represents my point of view to him.”

  “You can’t do that yourself?”

  “No. It’s biblical with Alfred and me. You know that.”

  “I can help with Alfred,” Gianluca said.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “We’re getting married, we’re sharing everything, no?”

  “That’s the definition of marriage, Gianluca.”

  “So we agree? I can manage Bret’s workload.”

  “But, you’re my tanner.”

  “I know how to run a business.”

  “Obviously. You’ve done very well. But we’re okay here. We have enough profit to pay the salaries, maintain the building, and develop the line going forward. Why would you want to get involved with Alfred?”

  “I don’t care about Alfred and the business, I care about you. Unless you think I should stay out of your business?”

  “No, I’d love your input.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that yet.”

  Gianluca took a deep breath. “He’ll be in the shop. You’ll be in the shop. And you will still turn to Bret when you need help.”

  “It’s not like that. I don’t turn to him, exactly. He’s a money guy. I don’t have any romantic interest in him. I trust him with the big picture finances, but not with my heart. I love you, and I’m marrying you. There is no other man in the world for me.”

  “Maybe he thinks differently.”

  “Bret doesn’t love me in that way.”

  “You understand why I feel the way I do.”

  “Of course. And Christmas Eve didn’t help. You have a right to be concerned, but I’m telling you that you shouldn’t be. I’d feel the same way about your ex-wife—and I’m sure I’ll see her when we do things with Orsola and Matteo. But we won’t have to have this conversation, because I trust you.”

  “This isn’t about trust. I trust you, too.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Time.”

  “I don’t spend a lot of time with Bret.”

  “The past. He had years with you that I never will. He’s known you for thirty years. We don’t have thirty years ahead of us to share.”

  “You’re so morbid!”

  “I’m practical.”

  “How do you know how long our marriage will last? Did you stop in at Madame Chantal’s on Eighth Street and she slipped you the tragic love card?”

  He laughed. “I don’t need the tarot when I can do basic arithmetic. You’re almost twenty years younger than me.”

  “Eighteen,” I corrected him. “Why does everybody round up? I guarantee that no one does that when they weigh themselves.”

  “When it comes to age, any number over ten, you might as well round up. Now, I plan to fill every day of the time we’re given, but we only have so many years, Valentina.”

  “You’re really bringing me down. Didn’t you hear me on Christmas Eve when I told you I come from a family of deniers? Cousin Albie’s colon had to fall out on the kitchen floor before he’d go and see a doctor. We’d rather die than face the truth. And sometimes we have. I don’t want to hear another word about our age difference. It’s ridiculous.”

  “So I can’t go around bragging about my young wife.”

  “That you can do.” I put my arms around him. “You liked Bret just fine before the other night. And he just told you that it would never happen again. Other than Christmas Eve, what don’t you like about him?”

  Gianluca didn’t answer.

  “He’s not a th
reat. He grew up down the block from me. We went to school together—we thought that meant we had to get married. All our friends were getting married, and we decided we should too. But I eventually figured out it was a bad idea. He is not my fiancé, or my lover, or the father of my future children. You are.”

  “Oh, you want children?” he asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “Yes,” I answered him honestly.

  “I’m surprised.”

  My heart sank. “You don’t think I’d be a good mother?”

  “You’d be a wonderful mother if you chose it.”

  “Oh God, this is the moment when I find out you’re a traditional man who doesn’t want his wife to work.”

  “I love that you work.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I’ve noticed that in America you think you can have everything your heart desires on your own terms.”

  “Isn’t that the definition of happiness?”

  “In Italy, we look at things with a little more common sense. A sense of reality, if you want to call it that. When the baby is crying, and you’re under deadline, what do you do?”

  “Take care of the baby, of course.”

  “What happens to the deadline?”

  I was beginning to get frustrated with this conversation. “You’ll help me with the baby.”

  “Of course I would. It’s my baby too.”

  “We approach everything like a team,” I suggested.

  “I would like that.”

  “Gianluca, do you want children?” My stomach turned. I was afraid he didn’t.

  “I have Orsola.”

  My voice broke when I asked, “Do you want more?”

  “I am open to whatever life brings.”

  Gianluca closed the lid on the grill and carried the pan to the door as if the conversation that had just taken place was about what color to paint the kitchen and not the dilemma of all dilemmas for every woman ever born.