Love on the Back Burner

by Barbara Oliverio

  “Whoa. Who’s that?” Elliott whistled appreciatively, causing Natalie and me to lean forward and look out the window.

  The first thing I saw was a cloud of russet hair cascading down the back of a very nice figure, dressed in a navy designer skirt suit and awesome peep-toe slingbacks. This vision had her head tilted up and was animatedly talking to our own Cam Grayson.

  “Yikes!” said Natalie. “If that’s a new employee in the tech department, I’m going to have to revise my opinion of geeks!”

  “And I’m going to have to get my degree in computer science, immediately,” said Elliott.

  I swatted both of them on the back of the head. “Seriously? I would expect that type of comment out of our playboy here, but I have higher standards for you, Natalie!”

  “Do you not see her, Alex? That is one hot girl! Oh, look, she turned around and has the most gorgeous blue eyes,” said Elliott. “I could get lost in those eyes.” “Do you think that’s Cam’s girlfriend?” Natalie proposed.

  “Lucky Cam,” added Elliott.

  What? Girlfriend? Cam never said anything to us about a girlfriend! How could I not know about this? Oh, wait. I avoid him like the plague, so of course he doesn’t have the opportunity to tell anything. And anytime he’s been with us as a group, he’s had to leave.

  Oh. Realization hit. He’s had to leave to go be with her. Duh. I thought back to the phone calls that came in and how he left us very quickly. I took another look at her. Yes, this Amy Adams look-alike seemed exactly like the type that would snap her fingers and demand that a man come running. My shoulders sagged just a little.

  No wonder he was avoiding me. I thought it was about me and Kirk last evening. Ha. It was about him and this vision. So much for Keira’s theory that HE had a crush on ME.

  “Right Al?”

  “What?” I realized that Natalie was asking me a question.

  “I said, they make a cute couple, RIGHT AL?”

  Natalie repeated with exaggerated patience.

  “I guess so.” I pulled up my smartphone and became very interested in my schedule.

  “Oh ho!” Natalie said as she tapped Elliott on the shoulder. They both leaned in toward me. “I think Miss Alexandria here might be a little bit jealous!”

  “What!” my head popped up. “Are you kidding me? What’s it to me if Slick has a girlfriend. If you recall, he’s here temporarily. TEMPORARILY! And he’s been a thorn in my side the brief time he has been here. Besides I’m seeing Kurt, I mean Kirk.”

  They looked at each other and back at me. At that moment, Felicia walked in.

  “All right, youngsters, we have a lot to cover. Let’s begin, shall we?”

  We groaned collectively. When Felicia said “shall we,” we knew we were in for at least an hour and a half.

  I settled back in my seat, but managed to peek around Felicia through the window as Cam escorted the bombshell by the elbow down the hallway, toward the exit. I ducked my head down in time, just managing not to get blinded by her toothy smile as they passed by.

  I looked through the window of the Cinema Café Friday night, looked at my watch, walked exactly six feet down the carpeted foyer, repeated my glance at my watch, then paced back to my original spot. Okay, so Kirk was late. Again. I shouldn’t hold that against him, right? I mean people can be late.

  But this was twice in a row. And again for an event that had a definite starting time. Last time, he had a pretty good reason. He was doing a favor for a neighbor. What could it be this time, though? Parakeet sitter emergency?

  I needed to calm down. I pulled out my phone and immediately hit the speed dial for my soul sister, Keira. Darn it. Voice mail.

  I had a book in my purse as I usually do, but didn’t feel like passing the time reading at that moment.

  I knew Natalie and Sam were at his parents, at a pre-wedding family gig. And Elliott was probably already chatting up a leggy blonde at a happy hour somewhere, so I didn’t want to interrupt him just because I had the need to chat.

  Someone back home, maybe? I dialed the numbers of my beloved family and kept getting voice mail until finally—

  “Nonna?”

  “Alessandrea?” Nonna always pronounced my name in the Italian fashion. “Che cosa e?”

  “Nothing, is wrong, Nonna. I just wanted to call to talk.” I rushed to assure her. It didn’t matter what time of day or night I called, if my grandmother picked up the phone, she automatically assumed it was some sort of emergency. Dad said it was the lingering effect of living through World War II in Italy.

  “Ah, bella mia!” she went on, letting loose a volley of blessings and praises, the verbal equivalent of cheek- pinching, head-patting, and giving of a peppermint. There is nothing like a loving grandmother to raise your self-esteem.

  “You eat?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, Nonna, I’ve eaten since the last time I talked to you.” This was a ritual question that could not be escaped and, quite frankly, I would have missed.

  “What-a you have?”

  “Last night, I made a nice Tiella,” referring to one of our family’s favorite peasant-style dishes.

  “Ah. Bene. Bene. Con questo il vento non vi soffiera. (Good. Good. With this the wind won’t blow

  you away.)”

  I laughed. “You’re right. I’ll be in no danger of that!”

  “Bene. Eh tu amicella, come si passa? (Good. And your little friend, how is she?)”

  “Keira is fine, Nonna. She is in San Francisco right now for business.”

  “Ah. You tell-a her that Nonna say eat more! She too skinny!”

  “Nonna, you think everyone is too skinny!”

  “No.” I could picture her swinging her head from side to side with eyes closed. “Da’ boy who beat-a you brother on-a the singing show. He was-a fat!”

  Ten years later, and Nonna still remembered the guy who had made it into the top twenty-four over Damian at the very last minute on American Idol.

  Nonna was Damian’s biggest fan then. She had me give her step-by-step instructions on how to vote and was ready to have her entire Ladies Guild at St. Mary’s vote every week. When he came back from Hollywood, she comforted Damian with endless pots of pasta and mountains of his favorite cookies. She just as faithfully now attended every Mass he presided over and still continued to be a loyal fan of his singing.

  “Oh Nonna, you always make me feel so much better when I talk to you,” I sighed.

  She must have caught the tone in my voice, because she immediately had a worried tone in hers.

  “Bella Allesandrina, something is-a wrong. Dicami. (Tell me.)”

  I didn’t want to worry her, but I knew if I didn’t say something, she would think that something even BIGGER was wrong.

  “Oh, it’s not really much Nonna. Work. We’ve had a lot of changes in direction.” I stopped, trying to figure out how to explain branding and marketing effort to my elderly grandmother.

  “You mean’a you boss, one day he say go left, an-a next he say go right?” she asked, trying to understand.

  You know. She had it exactly right. The executives didn’t know whether we were headed left or right or up or down. Sheesh. The wisdom of this old woman amazed me.

  “Allora. You the smartest girl there. I know because you MY girl. You tell-a him: Pick one way and stick with it! No waste-a everybody time.”

  “Exactly, Nonna. Pick one way and stick with it.” If only it were that easy to just tell them that. Although, I’m pretty sure that if Nonna were in the room in her no-nonsense apron and sturdy shoes, she could get the point across—and then, of course, feed everyone a hearty meal of lasagna.

  “What else, bella mia? La battisma? Tu veni, si? (The baptism. You are coming, yes?)”

  “Of course, Nonna! I’m the godmother, la madrina!”

  “Benissama! Facciama una bella festa! (Wonderful! We’ll make a beautiful party!)”

  It would be a beautiful party. Baby Elisabetta was only the second
girl in two generations in the family. You would think that my brother Anthony would be disappointed that she wasn’t a boy, but he was tickled with his blue-eyed princess. (Of course, he wouldn’t be too sad if they had a boy on the next try!)

  “Who’s on the phone, Mama?” I heard my mother enter the room.

  “La mia bella Alessandrea.”

  “Oh, let me talk to her!”

  “Va bene. Alessandrea, to voglia tante bene (I love you very much),” said Nonna, and we finished our call with her usual instructions to eat right, sleep well, and not miss Sunday Mass, before handing the phone to my mother.

  “Alexandria, love, what’s wrong?” Sheesh. My mother was beginning to sound just like Nonna.

  “Nothing, Ma. I just had a minute to spare and wanted to check in with you guys.”

  She also inquired after my recent eating history. You would think that I only spoke to my family once a year rather than several times a week and that my doctor had tasked my mother with keeping a journal of my dietary habits.

  “Oh, okay.” I heard her bustling around the kitchen, probably putting away groceries and emptying the dishwasher. My mother was the original multitasker. Who knew, she might even be simultaneously mopping the kitchen floor. Nothing would surprise me. “What are you doing this evening? I would have figured you’d be out on a date or something.”

  Oh, right. I peered at my watch. I was so engrossed in my conversation with Nonna that I forgot that I was waiting for Kirk to meet me for the movie. Yikes! It was ten minutes past the start of the movie. Even accounting for previews, we were going to miss the beginning at this point and certainly didn’t have time to scan the limited pub menu for dinner.

  “I’m just waiting for a friend at the movies.” “Who? Keira? Natalie? Elliott?”

  My mom knew almost everyone in my circle.

  “What about that new boy Damian said was in your office—Camden?”

  New boy? What were we, in third grade? And thanks again, Damian.

  “There is a new guy at work—Cameron—and there would be no reason in the world that the two of us would be out together.”

  I could hear my mother pause in the three (or four?) tasks in which she was engaged.

  “Oh? That sounded a little defensive. Did you and this Camden get in a fight?”

  “Ma! You make it sound like the time in second grade when I bopped Peter Argiro over the head with my book bag!” I laughed. “No. Cameron and I didn’t get into a fight. He didn’t steal my lunch.” Although he has had the knack of coming over to eat free food at my house. Hmm.

  “Did you like him, and another girl took him away?” Visions of a titian-haired vamp immediately popped into my head.

  “No, another girl didn’t take him away. I mean … he wasn’t mine … I mean.” I paused for breath. “We just aren’t that kind of friend, like I am with the other kids.” (Kids?)

  She seemed content with that answer and resumed her tasks.

  “All right, sweetheart.” Switching gears. “When will you be here for the party?”

  “I don’t know, Ma. I was planning to come a couple of days early, but work is just slammed so I may only get to take one day extra.”

  She stopped again. Though my parents appreciated the value of hard work and loyalty to a job, I knew they were counting on me to come in early for a nice visit and to help with the preparation of the party food.

  “Is something going on at that company? It seems that you are at work a lot these days. Do they know what a treasure they have in you?” My mom, my biggest fan.

  “Oh, you know. High tech is always crazy.” I didn’t want to worry her, so I added. “Look, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “All right, my darling girl,” she said. “Just let me know when you’ll be here. We’re all excited, especially your Nonna.”

  “Me too, Ma, me too.” I looked up and saw Kirk dashing across the parking lot. “Say, I see my da— friend coming across the parking lot to meet me. I’ll talk soon. Love you!”

  “Love you, Ally-Cat!”

  I hung up and put my phone in my bag, turning to greet Kirk.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Kirk said.

  Uh, yeah. This would have to be some really good story—I mean of the interstate-backed-up-ten-miles- both-ways-variety—for me.

  “I was practicing with Mark”—referring to one of his piano students—“and the practice room we were in had a clock that was totally wrong. It wasn’t until he looked at his watch that we realized that we were a half hour off.”

  Hmm. Sounds plausible.

  Wait. Why not call me at that point to let me know he was on his way?

  “And I tried to call you, but the battery is dead on my phone. See.” He lifted his dead phone for me to see.

  Oh. Okay. Boy, I was getting a lot of opportunity to practice patience with this guy.

  “No problem, Kirk,” I started brightly. “But we have missed the movie. Do you want to just grab a bite? Although, I’m not really familiar with this area.”

  I looked up and down the street and saw nothing but fast-food emporiums.

  “Thanks for understanding.” He was visibly relieved. “Sure! Let’s get dinner. Actually, there’s an Italian place that I like real well near here. Shall I drive?”

  Now, whenever anyone suggests an Italian place, I usually give them the third degree. It’s not that I’m snobbish, it’s just that I’m, well, snobbish. I grew up eating the best Italian food in the world made by my mother and Nonna, and I have high standards. I realize that taste is always subjective, but come on—Italian food is one area where I usually can’t compromise.

  In my new effort to be more patient and understanding, however, I said, “Um, why not?”

  Why not, indeed? What’s the worst that could happen? We drove off. Surely he wouldn’t take me to…

  Oh no …

  We pulled into the parking lot of …

  “The Olive Grotto?” “Yep.”

  “Exactly what did you order?”

  “Are you kidding me, Keira? At that point, my newfound calm had worn very thin. What with the lateness—”

  “Always a pet peeve of yours.”

  “The inexplicable incapacity to appreciate football—”

  “Alex, I remind you that not everyone is as fanatic as your family about football.”

  “What about the ‘music’ that he played the other evening?”

  “Well,” she offered, “maybe he just plays that style to help his buddy out.”

  “Hush. I’m on a roll. The biggest flag was that this man has no taste in food! Pulling into that excuse for an Italian restaurant was the last straw. I politely told him that I wanted to go back to my car.”

  “You didn’t! Why didn’t you just suggest another restaurant?”

  “What? Just the fact that he would even suggest the number-one chain in America that desecrates the name of Italian food was the nail on his coffin. Might I remind you that our first ‘dinner’ was a slice of pizza?”

  “Which, if I may remind you,” she pointed out, “YOU said was okay.”

  “I lied. It was crap. No, no, no. I can compromise on a lot of things, but NOT on food.”

  We were quiet, then we both burst into laughter.

  “Oh, Ali, to have been a fly on the wall of that car! Was it dead silence on the way back to your car?”

  “Unfortunately, for a man given to shyness, it was.

  Oh Keira, I just think I’m about over men for a while.”

  “What? You’re the eternal optimist! ‘Every pot has a lid!’ ‘There’s a match for everyone!’”

  “Oh, I still believe that.” I paused. “I don’t know, I guess I just feel like there is so much looming over me with all the chaos at work and getting ready to cook for Natalie’s wedding next week, that I can put the category of ‘men’ on hold for a bit.”

  “Honey, you’re just tired and hungry. Eat something and get a good night’s sleep, and things wi
ll look better in the morning.”

  “Wow!” I laughed. “You sound just like Nonna— who, by the way, says you’re too thin.”

  “Bless her heart, she’s great for a girl’s ego! And she’s very wise in your case. Take care of yourself. You deserve it.”

  I looked at my watch.

  “Yikes! It’s getting late.” I changed gears. “Are you any closer to being done out there and can come home so we can have these late-night talks properly over fresh-baked cookies?”

  “I’ll be back before you know it!” she answered, but I was not convinced.

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday morning I sat at my desk with resolve. I pulled out my smartphone and reviewed the brief list that I had typed in when I woke up in the middle of the night.

  1. Concentrate on the work at hand.

  2. Concentrate on the prep work for Natalie’s wedding.

  3. Prepare for brief visit to my beloved family.

  Other than that, everything else: INCIDENTAL!

  Little did I know that within a week, that compact Bridget Jones–like list would be blown sky-high.

  I overheard Natalie on the phone, sounding very flustered in a conversation with her mom. Even though the two of them were very close, tempers were escalating, and relations were straining in the last days before the wedding.

  “Mom, I think that was lovely when the Rodriguez girl arrived in a carriage drawn by four pink horses, but remember that she had a guest list of about five hundred? Don’t you think for me in this situation, it would look a bit, um, showy?”

  Pink horses? I walked over to her desk and gave her a hug. She put her phone on mute and clutched my arm.

  “Alexandria, please, please, PLEASE—you talk to this woman and see if you can get her to see reason?”

  “Oh no,” I shook my head. “I am not getting between the mother of the bride and the bride. That is a recipe for disaster, and the only recipes I’m concerning myself with on Saturday are the ones for the dinner.”

  Natalie dropped her head to the desk. Still holding the receiver to her face, she reached her hand over and unmuted the phone.