The Supreme Macaroni Company

by Adriana Trigiani

  “And what is that?”

  “That no matter what happens, the sun always comes up in the morning.”

  “How did you sleep, Valentina?”

  “I had crazy dreams. I was an old lady. And you were an old man.”

  “Too late for that. I wish I was younger, so we could see the world in the same way.”

  “Well, get over it. You are looking at the end of my youth. I’m warning you, I’m going to let myself go, get cranky, and wear sweatpants. And if I look anything like I did in the dream, I don’t want any mirrors in the house.”

  “You will always be beautiful to me.”

  “Will you say that to me every morning for the rest of my life?”

  “Of course.”

  “You know that today will be a circus,” I promised him.

  “A circus with a bakery. I just walked through your living room. Every surface was covered with a cookie tray.”

  “Twenty-five cookie trays strong. My cousins are bringing them to Leonard’s this morning. I was able to buck a few traditions, but not that one. Thirty-one different kinds of cookies. This is some kind of world record, I’m not kidding.”

  “We have traditions too, you know.”

  “Really. The native Italians. Who knew? I thought you only had vendettas, malocchio, and cigarettes.”

  “Among other things.”

  Gianluca reached into his coat pocket and gave me a blue velvet box.

  “In Italy, every groom gives his bride a gift to wear on their wedding day.”

  I opened the box, stamped La Perla Cultivada, Capri. A stunning necklace, a string of glistening pearls separated by delicate shards of red coral, was nestled on a bed of cobalt blue velvet.

  “This necklace belonged to my mother. When she was a girl, she spent her summers on Capri. The jeweler, Costanzo Fiore, made this for her from the coral in the caves of the Blue Grotto. His father, Pasquale, mined this coral himself. It was Mama’s favorite piece of jewelry.”

  I lifted the necklace out of the box. The light caught the shimmer of the pearls.

  “When I was a boy I was fascinated with these colors. I thought the coral looked like flames and the pearls like stars. When she died, my father gave it to me and I put it in a drawer. When I missed her, I’d open the box and look at it, remembering how beautiful she was when she wore it. Somehow, those thoughts made me feel less alone. And I remember when I was sent to Capri to check on you—”

  “I was horrible to you! I’m still sorry about that.”

  “You had good reason. Your boyfriend hadn’t shown up. You were by yourself, and I couldn’t understand how any man could leave you alone in Italy. I couldn’t understand how anything could be more important than you. We went to dinner, and I fell in love with you that night.”

  “I’m so glad I put on my best dress that evening.”

  “You could have worn a dishrag, I didn’t care. I want you to have something of my mother’s and also something to remind you of the memories we share. When I think of you, I imagine you high in the hills of Anacapri. I see you swimming in the Blue Grotto. And on the day I die, that’s the image of you that I will take with me.”

  I closed my eyes and buried my face in Gianluca’s neck. I remembered the grotto, and how we swam there. He seemed so serious. I was certain I was annoying him with questions about the Grotto. He seemed put off by my questions as I nagged him. It was like being a girl again, when a boy who liked me was mean to get my attention. Gianluca was trying to get my attention all right, but I didn’t see it.

  When we swam through the warm blue water to the walls of the cave, he showed me the veins of coral clinging to the rock wall, glistening ruby red against the deep blue water. I had never seen anything so beautiful, the exact point where earth and water meet, where one holds the other and an eternal connection is made.

  Sometimes before I fall asleep, I imagine the way the water felt against my skin and the way the smooth, glassy coral felt against my fingers. How could he know what I dreamed about when I had never told him? That was the knowingness of a man who truly loved me. I didn’t have to tell him because he already knew.

  “I’m going to leave you to get dressed, Signora Vechiarelli.”

  I lifted my face from his neck. “Gianluca? I meant to discuss the name change.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, I’m in my thirties, and I’m a Roncalli. Everyone in the business knows me as a Roncalli.”

  “So?”

  “I’d like to keep my name.”

  Gianluca’s face fell. His expression was a combination of hurt with a confusion chaser. “I’d like you to take my name.”

  I thought quickly. “How about I keep Roncalli in business and use Vechiarelli at home?”

  “I know who you are at home.”

  Gabriel pushed through the screen door. When he observed this private moment between Gianluca and me, he pivoted to go back inside.

  “Gabriel?” Gianluca called out when he heard the door creak.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt. But we’ve got a looming disaster with the cookie trays. They sent your geriatric cousins from Ohio to transport them to Leonard’s. One of them is on a walker. Does the name Mary Conti ring a bell? She couldn’t carry a single baba au rhum down a flight of stairs without breaking her neck, let alone a tray of them.”

  “I’ll be right down,” I told him.

  “No, no. I’ll get the cookie trays where they need to go. I’ll see you in church.” Gianluca kissed me.

  I’d marked every important moment of my life on this roof. I’d made every major decision, and all the small ones, right here. Air and sky and space, a luxury in this city, were mine anytime I wanted to climb the rickety old stairs and claim them.

  In all those years, I never had the same view twice. The sky has turned every shade of blue from the deepest sapphire to the palest aqua. I’ve learned how to predict oncoming snow, and been able to pinpoint the exact moment rain would stop before crossing the Jersey side into lower Manhattan.

  The mood of the Hudson River shifts constantly with the drift of the cloud cover, the rising and setting of the sun, and the wind as it propels the waves as they ripple toward the sea. Sometimes the surf is choppy. Foamy whitecaps rise and lap against the shore like ruffles of lace. Other times, the water is as still and smooth as the surface of lapis. But on this morning, something new. The sun peeked over the buildings behind me and my river turned gold in the light.

  The waterway was empty, barely a ripple rolling out in the distance toward Staten Island and out to sea. It was just me and my old friend, dressed up for my wedding day. The Hudson River was still and bright and clear, as if I could walk on it. It looked like a road, a simple gold path to somewhere.

  “Okay, I love the necklace, but now the belt doesn’t work,” Gabriel said as I stood on the stool in front of the three-way mirror. “Couldn’t he have given you amethysts?” Gabriel loosened the lavender ribbon belt from around my waist.

  “There aren’t any amethysts in the Blue Grotto.”

  “All right, all right. Let me think.” Gabriel went to the notions closet and opened the door wide. He pulled several wheels of ribbons out. He brought them to me. He held them up against the lace. “Green, ick. White, you look like Helen Hayes in The White Nurse. Good movie. Lousy palette. Pink, no. Coral? Too on the nose.”

  “How about no belt?”

  “You have to be cinched.”

  I studied the gown in the mirror. “I guess.”

  “No guess. You have to drape and shape. I want you to look like a woman in that dress, not the box it came in.”

  Gabriel stood next to me in his tuxedo and squinted at the image of me in the mirror. My hair was half up and half down. The loose side ponytail was very Claudia Cardinale. The curls looked like ribbons.
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  The gown was so simple, exactly what I’d hoped for. The delicate lace had a texture like frosted glass. The coral and pearl necklace hugged the neckline as though it were part of the dress.

  “When in doubt, go with Chanel.”

  “I don’t own any Chanel.”

  “You don’t have to. We’re knocking her off.”

  Gabriel went to the notions cabinet and unfurled a wide, black grosgrain ribbon from a spool. He dug around in the embellishment bin until he found an antique pearl shoe clip. He tied the ribbon around my waist, anchoring it in the back with the shoe clip.

  “Now we got pearls coming and going.” He stood back. “What do you think?”

  I squinted at the mirror. Then I lifted the hem of my gown, revealing my wedding shoes. “It works with the shoes. With the Lucite, it’s kind of deco.”

  “We knew it all along.” Gabriel shook his head. “Black and white. Cecil Beaton knew what he was doing. Whatever possessed you to go with the lavender belt?”

  “It was the first one I reached for—and you know how I feel about original impulses.”

  “I know. You live by them. But not today. This is the ticket, sister. Now you are the pop of color, not the belt.”

  My family opened the outside door. It sounded like the gate opening on the Circus Maximus when they let the lions out into the arena.

  “In here, people!” Gabriel shouted over the din.

  Tess entered first, in a ballet-length red velvet dress. Jaclyn followed her in a red satin A-line gown. My mother pulled a full-out Nancy Reagan in a long-sleeved red silk gown with a panel of red sequins draping from her shoulder and down her back. Pamela was in an adorable red sheath with a plunging neckline.

  “It’s the invasion of the candy boxes!” Gabriel said. “You look like a pack of Valentines.”

  “Forget us. Look at her,” Tess said.

  My mother held her false eyelashes up with her pinkies as her eyes filled with tears. “You’re gorgeous, Valentine. The dress doesn’t look like an immigrant tablecloth. Somehow you took my old schmatte and made it your own.”

  “You look like Audrey Hepburn,” Pamela marveled.

  “The gratitude goes to me. An hour ago we switched things up. We went from the Fashion Bug to rue Chambon with the snip of a ribbon,” Gabriel said proudly.

  “I don’t even miss the veil,” Mom said. “That necklace!”

  “It belonged to Gianluca’s mother.”

  “It’s spectacular,” Tess said.

  “You ladies look amazing. Pamela, I’m in love with your dress.” I tried to single out my sister-in-law so she felt a part of things.

  “Thanks. Your mom found it.”

  “It’s a sample. All we had to do was finish the hem.”

  “Well, it’s gorgeous.”

  “Can we get some light on the subject?” Mom asked Gabriel.

  Gabriel unfurled the security gates on the window. The bright winter sun warmed the room. “Hey, the window gates don’t squeak anymore.”

  “Gianluca replaced the old track,” I told him.

  “Wow. Smooth as ice.” Gabriel was impressed.

  “I love a handy man.” My mother sighed. “A woman can design her life when she’s married to a handy guy. You want a new porch? He pours the concrete. A fountain? He can rig a water line. Bookshelves? He can build them. Wallpaper? He can glue it up without any buckling. A man who can build things is a problem solver. Really, when I think of it, handy is the new sexy.” Mom stepped up on the fitting stool and checked her gown from the rear. “For me, at least. You’re all young, so you still enjoy the old sexy. Even though your dad and I, even with prostate—”

  “Ma! Please,” Tess shrieked. “Don’t ruin Valentine’s wedding day with that image.”

  My dad appeared in the doorway, handsome in his tuxedo. “Can we please let one day of my life go by without talking about my prostrate?”

  Usually someone corrected him when he mispronounced prostate, but we had bigger issues that morning, so we let it go. Dad pushed through the flock of women in his life, the bright red birds who filled his world with color when they weren’t pecking him to death. When he saw me, Dad put his hand on his heart. “Now that’s class.”

  “I taught you everything you know, Dutch. And you’re right. She is pure elegance,” Mom agreed.

  “May I have a moment with my daughter, please?”

  “Let’s go, girls.” Gabriel led them to the door. “I feel like I’m in the dugout with the Saint Louis Cardinals. Move it, ladies. We got the Carmel fleet outside.”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Dad kissed me on the cheek. “It’s your feast day.”

  “My feast day and my wedding day. Am I blessed or what?”

  “You’re blessed. Always have been. When you were little, I told your mother that there was something about you that was different from my other kids. Alfred is my only son and my namesake, so that’s one thing. Tess is a sweetheart, and Jaclyn is a doll, but you, you’ve always been special. I’m not so good with words. But this morning, I wanted to tell you what you mean to me. You know, plain and simple.”

  “I know how you feel, Dad.” I blushed because I didn’t want Dad to tell me his feelings. They’re too big. I’ve known every day of my life how he feels about me and we’ve gone thirty-six years without articulating it.

  “Indulge me, would ya, please? You know, when I was a boy, my grandparents were off the boat. They spoke Italian and they had the thick accents and the old-world ideas. Every Sunday we had a family dinner in the garage in Brooklyn. I used to hose the floors down and set up the tables on Saturday afternoon. Nothing like the scent of fresh manicotti and motor oil when you sit down to eat. But anyway, it was a good life.

  “All the cousins came over and we had a ball. We’d play stickball in the street, and when it was hot, we’d open a fire hydrant and run in the water. We played bocce in a backyard the size of a postage stamp. We’d yank figs off the trees and eat ’em right there.

  “All the old guys would sit around and smoke cigars and talk about women. The women would gather around a picnic table and yak for hours about whatever women talk about. This big extended family was what I knew. We were close, sometimes too close. We’d get into business with one another, fall out, and then have to find our way back to where we were before the deal went sour. There were a lot of lost years where we didn’t speak to certain relatives, and I never approved of that. I never thought money was more important than family. But I was often alone in that belief.”

  “Alfred and I are getting along just fine.”

  “I see that, and I’m proud of you. I was sick when you left teaching to come here and learn how to make shoes, but now I see you have a talent. It’s in you, like it was in your grandfather and your grandmother. Sometimes we forget that talent is a gift and we take it for granted. But it’s important. You have a gift, and you should always be a guardian of your art.”

  I nodded because I couldn’t speak.

  “Now, I was raised a certain way. And one of the things that got in”—Dad tapped his head—“was something I’m not particularly proud of. It’s a bias against my own people. My grandparents were against any of their kids, their American kids, marrying someone from the other side. I guess, in the Roncalli family, there were some problems with those marriages, and they caused permanent rifts. And I imagine that to my grandparents, marrying someone from Italy was going backward.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about Gianluca.”

  “I’m not worried about him. He seems like a stand-up guy. I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to give up everything for him. He has a family already—a grown daughter and a son-in-law. And you have everything ahead of you. Are you sure you want a life where you’re Act Two instead of Act One?”

  “I don’t look at it like that,
Dad.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t. Because that’s the kind of person you are. You always assume the best in people. And I hope you’re right. But if you’re wrong, it’s okay by me. I will be there for you no matter what. If this thing doesn’t work out, it’s not a reflection on you, but on your hope in all situations. I never saw you look down. You are always looking up, and I don’t want that to change about you. I mean, a person who can build a pair of shoes can do just about anything. You know what I’m saying?”

  I nodded.

  “When you can make something, you have a certain power. It means you can always survive by the labor of your own hands. Don’t forget that.”

  I took my father’s arm, but before we left, we stood before the mirror.

  “We look like piano keys, Val,” Dad said as he squinted at the mirror. “Black and white. Always a classic.”

  “It’s your signature look, Dad. It always works for you.”

  No one would have ever used the word noble to describe my father. Southern Italians were considered hard workers, but their reputations were made building the walls of the palazzo, not residing within them.

  My father’s gentle Calabrian roots and strong Sicilian ways might have been at war within him when he was young, but now they have etched him with character based upon loyalty and truth that sustains our family. I’m so happy that my parents stayed together when they went through the worst. It makes me think that maybe I could too.

  I didn’t know it then, but that lesson was the best gift I’d receive on my wedding day, so it was only right to give my father one. “Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to keep my name.”

  “You are?”

  “Because it’s the first gift you ever gave me.”

  Dad took my arm and opened the shop door for me. I walked through it on my way to a whole new life.

  6

  My father took my arm as we crossed the piazza of Our Lady Queen of Martyrs Church in Forest Hills. The blustery February wind cut through me. No wonder people get married in June. I pulled my mother’s borrowed winter-white cape closely around me.