Invitation to Italian

by Tracy Kelleher

  “Yes, tesoro, you. I want the most important woman from my past to meet the most important woman in my future.”

  “You’re telling me that…that…”

  “I’m telling you that I love you. You didn’t think I came to your rescue only because I wanted to play with manly toys like chain saws and pumps. Though, that was really quite fun, I must say.”

  “Wait a minute. Forget the man toys. Did you say that you love me?”

  “Yes, is that a problem?”

  Julie was so overwhelmed she could feel her insides shaking. She looked at her hands. Her outsides were shaking, too. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or jump up and down. “No, no problem. In fact, it’s pretty welcome news because I also love you. Weird, no?” Even her voice shook.

  “Weird, yes.” He paused and narrowed his eyes in thought. “So tell me, does this mean we’re even disagreeing about being in love?”

  Julie scoffed. “Enough already. Can we get inside?”

  He seemed momentarily distracted. “Just a minute.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “You’re going to kill me here.”

  “Always so impatient,” he scolded, not seeming to mind her outburst in the least. He patted his pants, then glanced around the garage. He snapped his fingers. “My suit jacket. That’s right. I left it in my suit jacket pocket, and I left the jacket in Zora’s truck.”

  Julie started to back away. He wasn’t searching for a ring, was he? They had only just established that they loved each other. But marriage? That was a huge step. Huge! Shouldn’t they get to know each other better?

  Sebastiano waited politely with an amused grin on his face.

  “What? What are you not saying?” Julie asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing. I’m just taking it all in, your little internal drama. Perhaps little is the wrong word? Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?”

  “You. All the time.”

  “And just remember that. Meanwhile, I just wanted you to look at the handout for the next Italian class.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You better pray that the Adult School is cancelled tonight because by the time I finish with you, you won’t be able to make it to class.”

  “Is that a threat?” he asked.

  “No, a promise,” she answered.

  And that’s when he swept her up in his arms. “Whoa, you’re bigger than I imagined.” He staggered under the weight.

  “I thought that was the line I was supposed to say to you.”

  They made it as far as the kitchen.

  Sebastiano leaned against the counter, still carrying her in his arms. “Please tell me the bathroom is on this floor,” he said.

  “Sorry. It’s one floor up. But it’s not that many stairs,” she protested.

  He tilted his head. “You want to get there quickly, or do you want me to struggle on?”

  “Since when have I ever be known for my patience?” She pushed herself out of his embrace and dashed out of the kitchen. “Catch me if you can,” she taunted over her shoulder as she headed up the stairs.

  He didn’t need any encouragement. Taking two steps at a time, he reached her at the upstairs hallway. She was already stripping off the sweatshirt, and when she had it over her head, he grabbed her and kissed her.

  She pulled back, more aroused than ever. “I thought you wanted a shower?” she asked playfully. She pulled down her track pants, and tripping over the hem of one leg, hustled to the bathroom, giving him a perfect view of her naked derriere.

  “You’re killing me,” he called out.

  She laughed and skidded into the bathroom, an ode to fifties décor—powder-pink ceramic tile and a row of frosted-white makeup lights over the vanity mirror. She bent to run the water in the matching pink tub, and he joined her—naked, as well. The warm water splashed through her fingers, and she stared at him openly. Her breath came in short spurts. She pressed the lever to switch the water to come down from the showerhead. “Are you ready?”

  “You have to ask?” He swooped her up again and carried her over the side of the bathtub.

  The water from the shower beat down on her shoulders and back, and she ran her hands through his hair, raking the short locks against his scalp. The steamy vapor intensified the smells—his subtle woodsy cologne, the lingering perspiration from manual labor and heat. Male Heat.

  He balanced her weight on his hips, his hands moving to her shoulders, kneading and caressing. The water streamed down over their faces as he kissed the side of her mouth, then angled and kissed the other side.

  She tasted his chin and tugged at an earlobe. And as she leaned back to admire the dark swirl of hair that arrowed down his chest, he braced her against the wall.

  “I’ll never think of pink tiles in quite the same way again,” she confessed.

  His eyes were hooded with desire, but he still managed a toothy grin. “Just tell me one things. Do we need to worry about protection?”

  She shook her head. “I’m on the Pill.”

  “Thank goodness for small miracles.” And then he was inside her with one stroke.

  Immediately she forgot all about the tiles.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  November, two months later

  HER PARENTS’ PLACE was packed. Nonna had ceded her usual golden upholstered chair to La Signora, as she had insisted on addressing Mrs. Fonterra, Sebastiano’s mother. Sebastiano’s mom, an elegant middle-aged woman who did more for a sweater set than Julie would have thought possible, encouraged everyone to call her by her first name, Fabiana. Nonna wasn’t everyone. She had also insisted on having the head chair from the dining room placed right next to Fabiana so that they could gossip together in rapid Italian.

  Julie thought it was probably a good idea that more than half the people in the room didn’t speak Italian, the way the two women commented on everyone—in the nicest way possible, of course. But the few times she was in earshot and caught a word here or there, most of the conversation seemed to be centered on her and Sebastiano. Was she even surprised?

  She felt hands grab her waist from behind. Then a brush of lips to her earlobe. She smiled. She turned her head in the direction of those lips. “For someone who prided himself on his reserve, you’ve become very demonstrative in public,” she murmured. She moved a step to the side, nodding hello to Matt, Katarina and Ben’s teenage son, who was headed for the food laid out on the dining room table.

  It was nominally a cocktail party, but that hadn’t stopped her mother and Nonna from producing loads of antipasto, bruschetta and enough garlicky dips to ward off an army of vampires.

  Sebastiano reached out and entwined his fingers in hers. He brought her around to his side. “You’re objecting, tesoro—you, who was never so restrained in public? And looking exceptionally beautiful wearing a lovely shade of blue, I might add.”

  “I’ll have you know that I own lots of clothes that are not black,” she protested. In point of fact, she had made a special trip into New York to the Babette boutique in Soho to pick up her crinkly dress in Yale blue. She told herself it was in honor of Matt’s acceptance to the Ivy League college. She told herself a lot of things these days that she knew weren’t totally accurate.

  “And as to my reluctance regarding any public displays of affection, I just want you to know that your mother, my mother and my grandmother are watching us with eagle eyes.” She also noted Iris and Rufus, sipping champagne by the picture window, smiling in their direction. “Oh, God, I might as well take out an ad in the Grantham Courier, declaring my love for you,” she said with exasperation.

  “You think everyone doesn’t know already? Admit it. They all knew it before we did,” he said.

  Julie smiled. “You’re right.”

  “What?” He put his hand on his chest in mock horror. “You say I’m right?”

  “Probably,” she qualified and planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth without the slightest regard for everyone else in the room—including Sarah and K
atarina and their husbands, her parents, her brothers, their wives and their countless children.

  It seemed as if her parents had invited the whole of Grantham to their party to celebrate all the good things that had happened since their return from Italy. Of course everyone came from her office, including her new partner in the practice, Olivia Blanchford. Then there was Carlotta Sanchez, the woman whose baby she had delivered in the E.R. oh, those many months ago. She was there with her husband. He was standing in the corner, proudly holding his baby daughter, Ramona, who was dressed in a sparkling-white lacey dress. Julie saw her father hone in on him and attempt to make conversation in half broken Spanish, half Italian. Soon the proud young father was beaming. Paul Bedecker was also there, drinking ginger ale and talking fly-fishing with Ben, while Lena was insisting Paul try the potato croquettes. Julie had heard she was determined to put some weight on his bones.

  Even Zora had sent an email, thanking Julie’s parents for the invitation but explaining that her talk at the geology conference in Bologna was scheduled the same day. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to attend, but she was planning to be back in time for Christmas. That would be after Paul’s trip to Rome in the first part of December. Rumor had it he would be looking for an apartment, but no matter what, he had promised Julie’s mom he would be back to speak at their high school reunion. Katarina had confided to Julie that life as an extended family was not always easy, but at least everyone could sit together in a room and make polite conversation without arguing for maybe forty-five minutes.

  “That’s a lot better than my family most of the time,” Julie had replied.

  But as she surveyed the house groaning under the weight of friends and family and heard the clink of glasses and murmur of conversations and the laughter and the squeals of children chasing each other, she freely admitted this was definitely one of those special moments. Was that her baby nephew really sitting under the table eating away at a stack of crespelle, Italian pancakes? And didn’t she just hear Fabiana praise the fine handiwork of the needlepoint tray that Julie had given her as a present, while Nonna displayed her bolster pillow, which had Iris joining the conversation and speaking in her personal version of Italian, liberally flecked with dialogue from Mozart’s operas? And her dad—holding and jiggling Carlotta’s baby in his arms? Was there ever a man alive who loved babies more?

  Julie stole a glance at Sebastiano, who had bent down to tickle one of Dom’s twins, Rosy, who’d stolen a piece of salami off his plate. The little girl was beside herself with paroxysms of laughter.

  Is it possible to feel happier than now? she wondered.

  Then from the dining room, she heard the loud clinking of cutlery against glass. One of the wineglasses that Sebastiano had saved in the flood, she couldn’t help thinking.

  “Tutti a tavola per il brindisi!” her mother announced before translating for all the non-Italian speakers. “Everybody to the dining room table for the toasts!”

  Dom was at the ready with champagne, making sure everybody had a filled glass, even a little for the children. “Dad,” Dom said, handing a glass to his father.

  Lou nodded thanks and eased his way to the head of the table. He clutched the stem of the wineglass in his hand and dropped his head to gather his thoughts. Then he lifted his face, smiled with contentment and held out a hand to his wife, Angela, who stood proudly at his side.

  “Everyone, family, friends, welcome to our house,” he said warmly. “It is a wonderful occasion that we have here today—a celebration of so many things that we can be thankful for.”

  He held up his glass. “First, to our wonderful daughter, Giulietta, and Sebastiano—we have come to realize from tales that others have told us, that your efforts saved our house and possessions. We can’t thank you enough. When you called to explain what had happened—though I think you may have left out the worst—all we could think was at least no one was hurt. Things can have meaning, but they can be replaced. People, that’s another story. Giulietta, having you as our daughter has been a joy. We are, and always have been, so proud of you. So thank you for making sure we had our home to come back to, safe and sound. Mille grazie. Many thanks.”

  “Mille grazie,” Angela echoed and blew her a kiss.

  Julie felt a lump in her throat. She bit down on her lip and glanced at Sebastiano. “Kick me if I start crying,” she whispered.

  He rubbed her arm.

  “Non dimentare che Caruso sia sicuro. And don’t forget Caruso was safe,” Nonna added for all to hear, a pronouncement that was greeted with laughter.

  “How could anyone forget that dumb bird,” Dom said none too softly. For once, Julie thought her brother was right on the mark.

  “But that’s not the only reason we are celebrating,” Lou went on. He searched out the faces. “To Matt, congratulations on your acceptance to Yale. To think a Yale man in my household! Not that we won’t still root for Grantham at the basketball games, of course.”

  Matt blushed. “I understand. Thank you.”

  “Also,” her father went on, “we want to thank Iris Phox for matching the anonymous gifts to fully fund the new Ramona Sanchez Community Center and Clinic that will be a major part of the new Grantham Hospital. You are one of the people who makes Grantham so special.”

  “And I, for one, owe you, Iris, a great deal for insisting I take Italian at the Adult School,” Julie added.

  “It was the least I could do for the only person who has been able to teach me how to do the Turkey Work stitch in needlepoint,” Iris replied.

  “Hear! Hear!” Rufus raised his glass, and everyone joined in.

  Iris nodded with appropriate understatement.

  Julie could tell she loved it. She whispered again to Sebastiano. “So who were the anonymous donors?”

  “My lips are sealed,” he said softly, though she saw him give an appreciative look in the direction of Iris’s son, Hunt, Sarah’s husband, as well as Ben.

  “Speaking of the clinic, we are very lucky to have with us Rufus Treadway and my own daughter, Dr. Giulietta Antonelli, who have agreed to be co-directors,” Lou announced.

  “I think I was only given the title because the Nighttime Bar is the future home of the facility,” Rufus said modestly.

  There was applause, more drinking.

  “And we should toast little Ramona, the namesake for the clinic here with us,” he added. He held his glass in the direction of Carlotta’s baby. “To the future of Grantham,” he proclaimed.

  “To the future of Grantham,” everyone joined in. Ramona’s parents beamed.

  “Hey, if there’re any more toasts, I’m going to have to give refills,” Dom complained.

  “We have plenty of champagne,” Lou reminded him. Lou bent over as Angela whispered in his ear. He nodded, then looked at everyone again. “I have been told that I have hogged the stage long enough, but I can’t end before giving a hearty welcome to Julie’s new partner in her medical practice, Dr. Blanchard. And to Fabiana Fonterra, Sebastiano’s mother, who is visiting the United States for the first time and, we hope, not the last. Ben venuti nella nostra communità e nella nostra famiglia.”

  “Hear! Hear! Chin, chin!”

  “Grazie, I am most delighted to be here, specialmente with my son,” she said in fluent but accented English.

  “And finally—”

  “Thank goodness,” Dom muttered.

  Nonna shot him an evil look.

  “Last but certainly not least, to Sebastiano, our newest American.” Lou raised his glass extra high. “To those who might not know it, the Italian word for citizen is cittadino, which also means city dweller or member. Sebastiano, your work and spirit prove you are a true cittadino of Grantham—not to mention your fondness for my daughter.”

  There was loud, sustained clapping.

  “Lou, I am proud to be considered a friend and fellow neighbor,” Sebastiano said.

  “Cake? Cake time?” Teddy wailed.

  Everyone laughe
d, especially Nonna. “Dalla bocca della verità. Out of the mouths of babes!” she said. She got up from her chair and immediately started ordering Angela to get the sheet cake from the kitchen. She shooed the children away from the end of the table to give herself room.

  Julie watched with amusement, wondering how many times she had witnessed similar scenes and how many more she would probably enjoy—or sometimes not really enjoy, but survive—in the future. At the same time, she realized that without Sebastiano’s help none of today would have been possible. Not only did he help her get the house back together, but he also helped her get her life back together. Her memories might still be intact, but she could accept that, knowing that they would no longer control her future.

  She was smiling, content, when she felt a tug on her arm.

  “Come. I figure we’ve got about five minutes while they first serve the kids. I need to show you something,” Sebastiano said. He grabbed her hand and squired her out the front door, down the steps and over to the garage. He lifted up the wide door.

  “The garage? You want to show me the garage?” Julie crossed her arms, nonplussed.

  “Actually, I’m taking you to the basement. I feel a certain kinship with that space.”

  Julie shook her head. “If you say so. Only go slow. I’ve got on three-inch heels, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Sebastiano spun around. He had to lift his chin to reach hers. “You think I haven’t noticed?” He took her hand again and led her down the stairs to the basement. He flicked on the switch. He raised his face and marveled at the bare lightbulb overhead, “Something, isn’t it? I’ll never take light for granted again.” Then he turned around and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  Julie made a face. “Please, tell me that you’re not asking me to look at next week’s handout for Italian conversation class?”

  Sebastiano stopped with his hand inside his coat. “I hadn’t thought of that. But if you insist?”

  She growled.

  “All right, if you don’t want to look at the handout, I guess this will have to do.” He took out a small satin-covered box.