“Maybe I wasted all my steam when I was in second grade.”
He hugged me closer. “Oh, I have a feeling there’s a lot more in there. You’ve been a little off since we picked you up. Do you feel like talking about it?”
“I don’t know, Anthony, you wouldn’t understand. You’ve always done everything right.”
He lifted my chin and jokingly tapped my nose.
“Are you serious? Are you just reading some version of my life published by Ma and forgetting the reality?”
I waved away his hand.
“Alexandria, maybe it’s because you’re younger, but you obviously missed some of the big mistakes I’ve made.”
“Oh sure, mistakes like what? Becoming successful in business and happy in love?”
“Alexandria, when I graduated from high school I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, don’t you remember? And don’t you remember the fights that Pop and I had over and over about it?”
I looked back on that time. When Anthony was graduating from high school, I was in the flurry of middle school and the self-involvement that swirled those years. I dashed in and out and to and from club meetings, cheerleader practice, and yearbook meetings, though I vaguely recalled some stiffness between him and Pop.
“Not really, Anthony. I just thought you were trying to decide where to go to school.”
“I was balking at the idea of going to school AT ALL!”
I was stunned. Anthony? He had graduated valedictorian from his high school class and had gone on to high honors in college.
“But you were top of your class! I remember your speech!”
“You think those grades just fell in my lap? I’m not naturally smart like you and Damian. I had to work very hard for every grade I got. By the time graduation rolled around, I was just really, really tired and wanted to take a break.”
“But what would you have done?” I was amazed. This was the first I had heard of this.
“I don’t know. I told Pop I would just work at the nursery, and he blew up. He said that I was not going to waste the opportunity that he and Ma had provided. Of course, I told him that if working at the nursery was so bad, then what did that make him. Geesh, Alex, how did you miss all of that?”
“I don’t know, Anthony. I was probably off learning to do a double cartwheel or something. I was a self- involved preteen, remember?”
“You certainly had time to follow Damian around like a puppy dog while he was charming all your friends with his rock star image,” he grinned.
Oh. Right. That WAS about the time that Damian had begun his preparations to audition for American Idol. Twice.
“Are you mad at Damian?” I asked.
“No, no, no.” Anthony ran his hand through his dark curls, already beginning to show hints of gray. “At that time, sure, I thought that everyone took him more seriously than me because he had a ‘dream’ and I was aimless—”
“But you’re NOT aimless—”
“Hush. I said at that time. I was a teenager. I saw that he was so talented and had this amazing dream, and you were right behind him and were so bright and good at anything YOU did. I felt like the odd one out.”
“YOU felt like the odd one out? Are you kidding me?” I jumped up and started pacing. “How do you think it feels with you, Super Brother, and Damian, a priest, for pity’s sake, as siblings? How am I supposed to compete with that?”
He got up from the floor, sat on the bed, and patted the seat beside him. “Here. Listen. It’s not a competition. That’s the thing I learned, and you need to learn it too, silly. Damian is, well, Damian. He has his path to follow. You know as well as I do that the rock star dream was just a sidetrack. If you think about it hard enough, he is exactly where he needs to be.”
True.
“And me. Super Brother? Well, I like the title, and I would like a cape.” He grinned, and I swatted him.
“But seriously, Ally-Cat, once I really looked at myself, I figured out what I needed to do, and everything fell into place. I DID love working in the nursery, but figured out that I could take it to the next level if I studied how to do it. And the business end of it is really the end I love best. And it was through my studies that I met Celia—and I don’t have to tell you what a blessing that has been.”
I stared straight ahead.
“Anthony, I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you at the time.”
“But you were. You were YOU, and that’s what I needed at the time—my busy bee of a sister, learning double cartwheels, taking my mind off of things, begging me to drive her and her friends to the shopping center. I don’t think I could have dealt with one other person trying to get me to make a decision about my life.”
“Well, glad to be of service, I guess? Is there anything I can do now?”
He laughed. “Well, now, you can come downstairs and reassure Nonna that you’re not dying or anything. She’s very worried, and I’m sure that whatever is going on is more complicated than we want her to deal with tonight. Unfortunately, Celia and I have to get the little princess home to her own bed, but whenever you want to come over to our house and talk, we’ll both be happy to talk with you.”
“I think I just need to get a good night’s sleep. Things will look better tomorrow,” I told myself as much as him. “I love you, Tonio.”
“Who don’ know dat’?” he grinned and pulled me to my feet. “C’mon. Padre Damiano has to leave as well, and as we both know—”
“Mom loves HIM best,” I finished.
We strolled down the stairs with my arm around his waist and his arm looped across my shoulders. As we reentered the kitchen, I could feel the air of expectancy. I knew I owed everyone an explanation for my childish outburst, but didn’t relish the thought of being grilled about my life and my life choices at that moment.
“Are you okay?” my mother asked, with her brow furrowed.
I went to her and hugged her. “I’m fine, Ma. I think I’m just tired. Long trip, you know?”
“Che cosa e?” demanded Nonna. Her blue eyes bored into me.
“Niente, Nonna. Ho un poco mal di testa. (Nothing, Nonna, I just have a little headache.)”
Nonna tsked. “Allora, tu vai presto a dormir. Abbiamo molto lavoro domani. (Well, then, you should go right to bed. We have lots of work to do tomorrow.)”
“I know,” I laughed. “Molto biscotti da fare! (Many cookies to make!)”
Nonna turned to my brothers and Celia and gave them each their marching orders as well, pointing out that the baby needed to get home to her own bed for her beauty rest and that Damian needed to get back to his rectory so that he would be fresh to say morning Mass.
“Si, generale,” saluted Anthony.
“Of course, Nonna. I don’t want you to report me to the bishop!” added Damian with a hug.
“Let me walk you all out,” I said, as they kissed our parents and Nonna good-bye.
While Anthony and Celia strapped Elisabetta into her car seat and loaded the many accoutrements that young parents bring along whenever a child is in tow,
Damian took me aside.
“Are you okay, Sis?”
“It’s nothing, Damian, I’m just tired.”
He tilted my chin up and shook his head. “Nah. You may THINK you can fool us, but something is really going on. I’ll respect your wishes to not talk about it tonight, but you know you’re going to have to come clean.”
“He’s right,” said Celia. “But, you take your time. We’re here for you. That’s what family is for.”
My eyes began to well up.
“Come on, you guys, get out of here. You know Nonna is looking out the window making sure you pull out of this driveway. Don’t make her come out and threaten you with her wooden spoon.” I hugged the three of them.
“We’ll talk tomorrow or the next day. Now scoot!”
I stood on the porch to wave good-bye, and my mother rapped on the window, motion
ing me in.
“I’m making a cup of chamomile tea, sweetheart, would you like some?”
“That sounds great, Ma. Where’s Pop and Nonna?”
“Nonna went to her room.” After my grandfather died, we added on to the back of the house to give Nonna a bedroom, sitting room and bathroom of her own. She enjoyed her privacy, but most of the time she liked to stay out in the common areas of the house. It was usually in the evening after dinner that she could be found in her “appartamento,” crocheting, listening to music, or watching the occasional TV program.
“What about Pop?”
“Your father went to bed early.”
I glanced at my watch. “Wow. Really early.”
“Well, we’re not city slickers like you,” teased my mother.
“Oh, Ma, don’t try and fool me. I know you and Pop used to go out quite a bit in your youth!”
“Yes, in the Dark Ages, before we had three little rug rats that anchored us down.”
“Hey! I remember watching you two get dolled up to go to the Knights of Columbus dinner dances.”
My mother poured our tea and laughed.
“I forgot that you were my little lady-in-waiting. Although, I think you did it so that you could try on my shoes while I was getting ready.”
I smiled as I remembered how she allowed me to pull out her shoes, one pair at a time, to model for her as she went about the rest of her preparations.
“But you have to admit I had excellent taste even then. And didn’t I always manage to accessorize you perfectly?”
“Well, after a certain point,” said Ma. “But in your earliest efforts, I could have ended up wearing one gold shoe and one black shoe, finished off with a floral belt and straw hat.”
“Yikes! Sorry about that.”
“In time, though, you developed quite the flair. I received a lot of compliments for some of your suggested innovations.”
I batted my eyes and shrugged.
“Alexandria, I don’t tell you this often enough. Your father and I think you turned into an amazing young woman. And even though it was very difficult for us to watch you go off on your own, first to university halfway across the country, then to live even further away, we always knew you had the spirit to handle whatever came your way.”
I felt tears in my eyes again.
“Ma, the boys and I are only who we are because of you and Pop—and of course Nonna.”
I couldn’t say anything else. More than ever, though, I figured I’d better work hard at the career I had chosen so that they wouldn’t lose that faith in me.
Chapter Fourteen
When I came down for breakfast the next morning, Nonna already had the dough made for the wedding cookies that were a staple at any family gala. I barely had time to eat breakfast before I was pressed into service. Combining the sweet ingredients was second nature to me, and we soon had dozens ready to bake. Then I made the colorful confectioners’ sugar icing.
The two of us worked side by side until the cookies were complete and iced in a pastel rainbow. When the icing hardened, I stacked them in large containers and took them to Anthony and Damian’s old room, which had become the staging area for the party.
“Wow,” I said to myself as I walked into the room. I doubted that some bakeries had this many cookies prepared for an entire week, much less for one day. Nonna had already made full containers of the pizzelles, which were generally only associated with Christmas, but now she made them for Anthony for any special occasion since they were his favorite. We had not yet made Damian’s favorite, date cookies. I also knew that across town, Celia’s mother and aunts were making their special nut rolls that were Celia’s favorites.
I strolled back into the kitchen, and Nonna grabbed my hand and pressed money into it.
“We need-a more eggs. Go.”
I checked myself in the powder room mirror. Dressed in black leggings with a Steelers jersey (Troy Polamalu #43) and finished with my yellow high-top sneakers, I was presentable enough to run to the Shop and Save. I ruffled my hand through my short crop of hair, slashed on some lip gloss, and prepared to take off in Ma’s car to the grocery store. I figured I’d stop at the nursery to say hi to my parents.
“I’ll be back in a little while, Nonna. I’m going to stop at the nursery to say hello to Ma and Pop.”
“Aspetto! (Wait!) You bring them some-a lunch.”
I called my parents to tell them the plans, then helped her fix containers of meatballs, bread, and peppers for hoagies for us, along with a bag of fresh cookies.
“Nonna, you run the best restaurant in town!” I said.
She tsk’d and said, “You no find nothing this good in-a restaurant!”
I smiled at her unabashed confidence. If only I believed a quarter as much in my cooking abilities, I could have an international chain of restaurants.
As I drove, I took in all the changes along the way— some subtle, some not so subtle. It seemed like a lot longer than a few months since I had been home.
I passed the tiny corner market, where I spent so many agonizing moments deciding how to spend the candy money that my father doled out and where I invested many dollars in TastyKakes. Looked like Mr. Sabatino finally gave in to his wife’s pressure to put up a new awning. It looked sharp and really brightened up the place.
Someone apparently finally bought the Lazzaro’s house, and they were really into landscaping, based on the piles of rock and earth that were stacked in the corner of the lot. That will be pretty to see when it is done. Wonder if they bought their supplies from Pop? Oh, and they had kids, too, based on the shiny new swing set in the backyard.
I cut over to the street where my grade school was and pulled over in front of the church, which the school was such an integral part of, to take it all in. Kids were on the playground for lunch recess, school uniforms askew as they played hopscotch or jumped rope or played kickball. The older girls circled the schoolyard in clusters. I was sure they were whispering about the boys, much the way my girlfriends and I had done at that age. I was amused to note how desperately they all tried to individualize the blue-and-green plaid skirt/ white blouse/blue cardigan outfit that identified them as St. Mary’s students, and remembered our own vain attempts in my day.
What? Was that girl wearing Uggs? When did the dress code start to allow anything but a “sensible black shoe”? Wow! Times sure changed. And wait—was that eye makeup? We were not allowed even lip gloss until high school!
The bell rang, and the kids dashed indoors. Ah, that wouldn’t change. You might wear fashionable shoes, but they’d better carry you back to class on time! As soon as the school bell completed its clanging, the parish bells began ringing the hour. I listened to their beautiful melody. Although we could actually hear them from the house, they sounded more beautiful when you heard them right next to the church.
A rap on my window caught my attention.
“Hey, Alex! Your mother said you were coming to town, but I didn’t think I’d see you until the party on Saturday. Am I going to have to arrest you here in front of the church for illegal parking?”
I jumped out of the car to give a big hug to Brady Doyle, my classmate from kindergarten through graduation. Because of our last names being alphabetically similar, we usually were seated near one another. Brady had a knack of getting me in trouble and somehow protesting and always protecting his innocence. The fact that he became a police officer after high school was a great source of amusement. He maintained that he had to become a cop because he was Irish!
“Brady! You troublemaker! What are you up to?”
Still up to about six foot three with wheat blond hair and dazzling gray eyes, apparently. Decked out in a policeman’s uniform, he was certainly poster-worthy.
His face split into a wide grin, not unchanged from the devilish one that captured many hearts in high school.
“Oh, just keeping the community safe from young ruffians, I suppose.”
“Ha! And w
ho keeps the community safe from you?”
He put his hand on his chest in mock horror. “Ma’am, you cut me to the core. I am an officer of the law!”
“Ma’am!” I punched him in the arm. “I am one month younger than you, and you know it! You know that they only let you become a cop so they could keep tabs on YOU!”
However, the thought of Brady Doyle being anything other than a straight arrow was laughable. Although we kidded him based on his high jinks from elementary school, we all knew that he was one of the best policemen to graduate from the academy.
“Seriously, half-pint, what brings you in so early?”
“Oh, you know, if it’s a family celebration, Nonna’s baking a million cookies. I just wanted to be here to get them straight from the oven,” I said, hoping to deflect further questions. “Here, let me get you a couple.”
I reached into the car and pulled out the bag of rainbow-colored treats.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” he said around a mouthful of cookie. “That thing about cops and
doughnuts? That’s for towns that don’t have Italian nonnas.”
“Go ahead, keep the whole bag,” I gestured.
“What? No, you had them in there for a reason,” he said as he poked his head in my window. “Along with something else that smells pretty good.”
“No.” I pulled him away with a laugh. “Now, I’ll give you the cookies, but you can’t have my dad’s lunch!”
“Humph. Maybe I’ll just have to confiscate it.”
“Ha! Same old Brady!”
He shrugged. “Well, you can only change so much, kid.”
At that moment, a message squawked from the walkie-talkie on his shoulder, and he snapped into cop mode.
“Look, Alex, it was great to see you. Tell you what. A bunch of the gang are getting together at Pete’s later tonight. Stop by.”
“Sounds good. I’ll try to get there.”
“Don’t try. Do it. That’s an order.” He wagged his finger at me before he jumped into his cruiser and took off.
Love on the Back Burner Page 18
