A Bouquet of Love

by Janice Thompson

  “See there?” Mama gave Babbas a knowing look. “So just you hush, old man, and join us for a picnic with friends.”

  My father continued to grumble, and Yia Yia reached out to pinch him again. Before he could holler “Ouch!” my brothers emerged from Super-Gyros carrying large platters of Greek food to the tables in the center of the street.

  Babbas looked mortified. “Where are you going with that?” he hollered.

  “We’re meeting in the middle,” Darian said as he set a tray of gyros down and then headed back inside to fetch more food.

  “In the very middle,” Bella said, joining us with a large pizza in hand. She called out to Scarlet and Gabi to help her bring out more food from Parma John’s—pasta, garlic twists, tiramisu, and more.

  Alex grabbed a slice of pizza and slathered it with tzatziki sauce, then took a big bite. “Mmm.”

  “Meeting . . . in the middle?” Babbas kept his position on the Greek side of the street. He cast a furtive glance at Laz, whose feet remained firmly fixed to the sidewalk on the Italian side. The two men stared at one another, each refusing to budge.

  “Stay there if you like,” Mama said. “But the rest of us are going to share a meal together as one big happy family. I understand the pizza at Parma John’s is quite tasty.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Babbas turned to her, clearly mortified.

  “Try me.” She walked over to the table to grab a slice of the Mambo Italiano, then scarfed it down in a hurry. “Yum!”

  I couldn’t resist, so I grabbed a slice too. So did Darian. Then Filip, then Eva. Gina was the last to succumb, but when she did, her darling face lit up. “The pizza is delicious, Babbas!”

  Our father waved his hands in the air as he took a tentative step toward the edge of the sidewalk. “You are all crazy.”

  “Yes, they are!” Laz called out. “The police will shut this down in a New York minute and have all of you sent to the loony bin!”

  “On the contrary.” Mama gestured to Officer O’Reilly. “As we’ve already told Niko, I applied for a permit to meet here for two hours. I have the paper to prove it. And we’ve asked one of Galveston’s finest to join us. This is a family meal, and Officer O’Reilly is family now.” She gestured for the officer to sit and he did.

  Laz shook his head. “Have you all lost your minds?”

  “No, dear.” Rosa gave him a firm look as she took a seat and reached for a gyro. “I believe we’ve found them. Now, are you going to join us, or are we going to have to say grace without you?”

  Laz grunted something in Italian. Babbas countered with something equally as irritating in Greek. But Mama and Rosa held their ground as the rest of us—nearly forty, if you counted Greeks, Italians, Splendora folks, and O’Reilly—took our seats.

  “Rosa, would you like some tzatziki sauce?” Mama passed the bowl. “My Cassia makes it, and it’s the best on the island.”

  “Sounds divine. I haven’t had good tzatziki sauce since . . . well, since you stayed at our house last week, actually. But I can’t wait to have more.” Rosa turned her attention to my father. “Niko—do you mind if I call you Niko?—your family recipe is the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  He grunted a thank-you.

  “Almost as good as that Greek pizza recipe Cassia shared with us,” Rosa added. “I still don’t care for the name, though.”

  “Yes,” Twila chimed in. “The Venus Flytrap just sounds so . . . hokey.”

  Babbas crossed his arms and glared at me.

  “Of course, we are equally as thrilled that you have shared your secrets with us,” Mama said to Rosa. “How can I ever thank you for that recipe for your garlic twists?” She reached for one and gave it a taste. “Mmm.”

  “You gave away our family recipe for the garlic twists?” Laz’s face reddened. “Really?”

  “Well, yes,” Rosa said. “That’s what friends do.”

  Mama took another nibble. “I’ve never tasted anything as good. And your homemade sauce—divine!”

  “Gravy,” Rosa corrected. “We call it gravy.”

  “Gravy.” Mama nodded. “Well, I’ll make it every day.”

  “Over my dead body!” Laz stormed toward the center of the street and pointed his finger at Rosa. “Woman, why have you given away our secrets to the enemy?”

  “Enemy?” Rosa reached out and took Mama’s hand. Mama grabbed hold of Bella’s hand and she took Darian’s. He grabbed Marcella’s. Marcella took mine. I took Alex’s. Alex took Twila’s . . . and so on.

  Seconds later, we formed a large circle in the center of the street, all hands firmly clasped together.

  Well, not all hands. Babbas stood, feet firmly planted, on the Greek side of the street. Laz stood, arms crossed, on the Italian side.

  Only when a car came barreling down the Italian side did my father rush toward the circle.

  “Whatever it takes to get you here, dear,” Mama said, extending her hand.

  “But . . .” He couldn’t seem to finish his thought.

  “Laz, darling, please come and say grace.” Rosa’s voice rang out above the crowd. “And don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t like to pray out loud’ stuff. You do it all the time at home. Might as well pray here too.”

  I couldn’t think of a better place to pray, actually, nor could I think of people I’d rather pray with. Laz muttered a few unintelligible words, then walked toward us. He somehow managed a prayer—most of it in Italian—and then took a seat next to Rosa.

  Just as my father succumbed to the temptation to join us—and really, who wouldn’t, with all of the tasty dishes on the table?—a limousine pulled up to the curb on the Italian side of the street. My heart rate skipped to double time. I’d waited for this moment for days, after all. The driver got out and opened the back door. With the sun in my eyes, I barely made him out.

  Ah yes! There he was!

  Brock Benson—Hollywood megastar—emerged, along with a few other people I recognized as regulars on my favorite sitcom of all time, Stars Collide.

  Now, I’d dreamed of meeting these superstars all my life, but to find them here, in the middle of the Strand, seemed otherworldly. I could hardly catch my breath. Apparently all of the other ladies in attendance seemed to be struggling with their breathing too, especially Alex’s twin sisters, who looked on wide-eyed.

  Brock headed straight to the Italian side of the table, talking a mile a minute as Aunt Rosa swept him into her arms and covered his face with kisses. Then the whole crowd came alive. Laz gave Brock a slap on the back, Bella ran to embrace Brock’s wife, and Lily and Jasmine both rose with stunned looks on their faces. Oops! We’d obviously forgotten to clue those two in.

  Lily couldn’t seem to manage a word when Brock walked over to the Greek side of the table. Jasmine, on the other hand, bubbled with nervous energy and couldn’t shut up. Brock introduced the twins to his beautiful wife, and before long the ladies were seated and talking like old friends.

  Athena tapped her spoon against her water glass and hollered to get the crowd under control. “A huge Texas welcome to our guests!”

  The Greeks and Italians clapped in unison. Well, all but Babbas, who looked thoroughly confused.

  “You probably recognize Kat and Scott Murphy from their hit show, Stars Collide,” Athena continued. “And Brock’s wife Erin. I’d also like you to meet Tia, our director, and her husband Jason. He’s worked on the show from the beginning. Oh, and Lenora. Surely you all recognize Lenora. She’s been on the show from the very beginning.”

  Athena gestured to an elderly woman about Yia Yia’s age and size, wearing, of all things, a ball gown. When Mama complimented her on it, Lenora responded, “Judy Garland, A Star Is Born, 1954.”

  Of course. No wonder it looked familiar. Still, it seemed like an odd clothing choice in the middle of a summer day.

  Finally Athena introduced an unfamiliar guest—an older fellow named Rex whose arm was looped through Lenora’s. “Rex is our producer, folks. He�
��s the one who took the idea for the new sitcom to studio executives. He and Lenora are married.”

  “Nice to meet you all. Can’t wait to get to know you.” Rex glanced at my father and extended his hand. “You must be Niko Pappas.”

  “Why, yes.” Babbas rose and shook the stranger’s hand. “How did you—”

  “I’d recognize you anywhere from Athena’s description.” Lenora giggled. “Oh, this new show is going to be fab-u-lous!” She grabbed a slice of pizza. “Ooh, speaking of fabulous! This is the yummiest thing I’ve ever eaten. We just can’t get real Italian food in Beverly Hills.”

  I looked around as everyone began to talk at once. What bliss! I reached to give Alex’s hand a squeeze. He squeezed back, then kissed me on the cheek. “I think it’s going better than expected. Don’t you?”

  “Definitely.” I couldn’t get over the fact that the sitcom producer had so easily swept Babbas and Laz into a common conversation about the show. And Brock! He engaged my father multiple times, puffing up his ego with flattering remarks about all of the fun stories he’d heard.

  “Seems like you’ve made quite an impression on Galveston, Mr. Pappas,” Brock said. “People here seem to really love your family and your shop.”

  “Well, to be honest, we were toying with the idea of moving back to California.” Babbas leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting to Laz and then back to Brock. “But I think we will be staying on the island after all.” He glanced at Mama. “It’s growing on me.” He took a sip of his tea, his eyes widening in delight. “And starting Monday morning, I’m adding sweet tea to the menu! This is amazing.”

  “Wonderful news, all of it!” Brock took a bite of pizza, then swiped the sauce from his lips. “And just for the record, this show will be comedic—deliberately funny. But we don’t expect the two of you”—he pointed at Laz and Babbas—“to really go on feuding just to keep the ratings up.”

  “Not that it ever hurts to keep the ratings up!” Lenora giggled and grabbed a piece of baklava.

  Laz gave my father a sheepish look as he reached for a gyro. “I can’t really blame Niko here for wanting his business to succeed.” Everyone on both sides of the tables grew silent at this proclamation. “That’s what we all want, especially those of us with families to support.”

  Mama lifted her glass of sweet tea and hollered, “Opa!” The Rossis lifted their glasses and responded in kind.

  “Must be a guy thing, right, Niko?” Laz looked my father in the eye for the first time all day.

  Babbas took a swig of his sweet tea and nodded. “We compete because we care about those we love and want to do our best by them.”

  “Wait . . . a guy thing?” Bella crossed her arms at her chest and stared at her uncle. “What are we?” She pointed to all of the female business owners in attendance. “Chopped liver?”

  “What do you mean, Bella?” Laz gave her a curious look.

  “I run my own business, Uncle Laz. And so does Hannah.” She gestured to Hannah, who had risen to take photos of our group. “And Sophia. And Marcella. And Scarlet. And Gabi.” She pointed at me. “And Cassia too.”

  “We’re all working to keep our businesses going, just like the men,” Marcella said. “And it’s just as hard for us.”

  “Maybe harder,” Bella said. “Have you ever tried to coordinate a wedding and battle morning sickness at the same time?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” Laz said. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve got it harder because you’re female.”

  Oh. Ouch. The temperature on the Strand shot up by a good ten degrees at that statement.

  To his credit, Laz probably hadn’t meant to turn this into a battle of the sexes, but that’s just what it became. Heated conversations filled the air, most of them between Laz and Rosa, who claimed that she played a larger role in their Food Network show than he did. Laz didn’t take that news very well. And by the time Bella’s parents joined in with their two cents’ worth, I felt like scooting back inside Super-Gyros for some peace and quiet.

  Peace and quiet at Super-Gyros? Ha! For the first time ever it occurred to me that my family, loud and crazy as they might be, didn’t hold a candle to the Rossi family. They gave new meaning to chaos and confusion.

  Before I could give it any more thought, Mama stood and waved her arms to bring the argument to an end. “I need your attention, everyone!” she called out. “Attention, please!”

  When the noise level fell, she turned to Babbas and offered a mischievous grin. “I have an announcement to make, Niko, and it concerns you.”

  “O-oh?” Babbas’s unibrow slipped back into place as his forehead wrinkled in concern. I didn’t blame him, after the day he’d had.

  Her face lit into the prettiest smile I’d seen in ages. As it did, I homed in on the toned-down makeup job. She looked absolutely lovely today. I hadn’t even noticed until now.

  “Have you ever heard the song ‘Mambo Italiano’?” she asked.

  “‘Mambo Italiano’?” He let out a noise that sounded a bit like a growl. “Like the pizza?” He pointed to Parma John’s.

  “The Mambo Italiano special is named after a real song by Dean Martin,” Laz said.

  “Actually, Rosemary Clooney sang it first, I think.” Aunt Rosa dabbed her lips.

  Mama sighed. “Point is, I heard it playing at the Rossis’ house and fell in love with it. But I don’t believe I’d ever paid attention to the words until then.”

  Babbas grunted. “What about it?”

  “It’s about a fella who goes back to his hometown in Italy because he misses the scenery—the old dances and songs, that sort of thing.” Mama’s expression grew more animated. “And that got me thinking.” She clasped her hands together, eyes dancing with delight. “Now, brace yourself, Niko. What I’m about to say may come as a bit of a shock.”

  29

  I Could Go On Singing

  You might be Greek if your family has a wedding at least twice a year.

  Mama practically squealed as she made her announcement: “Pack your bags, Niko! We’re going on the trip of a lifetime!”

  “The trip of a lifetime?” He shook his head. “You mean to California? Have you changed your mind again, woman?”

  “No. To Greece.” She gestured to Gabi and smiled. “This precious girl’s mother works as a travel agent and has been helping me all week long, ever since you said we could take a vacation.”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t mean . . .” Babbas put his head in his hands.

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ve already come up with a plan.”

  “A plan?” Babbas wiped the sweat from his brow and gazed at her.

  “Now, don’t argue, Niko. I’ve been putting away a little money—”

  “You’ve been putting away money?” My father rose. He did not look pleased by this news. “And where has this money come from?”

  “My portion of the tip jar,” Mama said. “Why do you think I do my own nails? Cut my own hair? Never ask for a night out on the town?”

  “Because we’re too busy?”

  “Because I’m careful with money—our family budget and my own money besides. Anyway, I’ve saved enough to pay for our flights to Athens.”

  “A-Athens?”

  “Yes. We’re going to enjoy the rich culture and history of Greece, mainland and islands. We’ll experience the exotic beauty and romance of Athens and then witness exquisite beaches and breathtaking panoramic views on the islands of Santorini and Mykonos.”

  “What?” Babbas still looked perplexed. “Have you memorized the travel brochure or something?”

  “Yes, I have.” Mama nodded. “But before long it will be more than a pipe dream. I’m done with talking about all the things we’re going to do someday. We’re doing them now.”

  “N-now?” He looked around, as if expecting suitcases to materialize.

  “Well, next month—the fifteenth, to be precise. And that reminds me, we’re not going alone. Your brother and his wife are
going too.”

  “My brother?” Babbas crossed his arms, then relaxed them when he realized Athena was looking at him. “I see.”

  Mama nodded. “This is going to be a family trip.”

  My siblings had just started to celebrate that news when Mama put her hand up. “Older family members only.” She turned to my grandmother and extended a hand. “That includes you, Yia Yia. We’re taking you back home to Santorini. You can show us all the places you lived as a little girl, and your favorite vacation spots too.”

  Yia Yia began to wail about how she wanted us to lay her bones to rest in Greece.

  “Well, I hope you’re not asking us to do that on this trip.” Mama gave her a kiss on the forehead. “We need you to stay alive to show us around.” She turned to Babbas. “So what do you say? Are you ready to do what Cassia’s always singing about—forget your troubles, c’mon get happy—and take your wife and mother on a trip to a place you’ve been claiming as your homeland?”

  “I . . . I . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “When you put it like that, how can I not?” He looked at me. “But with Cassia so busy at the flower shop, who will take care of Super-Gyros?”

  “I’ve got that covered too.” Mama pointed to our new friends. “Rosa had the perfect solution.”

  My father looked panicked at the mention of Rosa’s name. “What about her?”

  “She and Laz have been in the restaurant business for years and know what it takes to keep a place going. They will check in on the kids every day and make sure things are going smoothly.”

  “We . . . we will?” Laz glanced over at Rosa, who nodded.

  “Over my dead bod—” Babbas clamped his lips shut. Well, actually, Mama planted a big kiss on his lips with everyone looking on. When he came up for air, his cheeks blazed a reddish bronze. I couldn’t help but laugh, and all the more when he swept Mama into his arms, tilted her back for a Hollywood-esque smooch, then lifted her back up again. The crowd roared with delight.