It Had To Be You

by Janice Thompson

  “Just pretend you didn’t hear that,” I said. “He’s a stupid man who still thinks he’s a young playboy. You know he doesn’t speak for Laz, so don’t believe a word of it.”

  Rosa drew in a deep breath and tried to compose herself. With the hem of her apron, she dabbed the moisture from her eyes, then marched into the kitchen under the guise of cooking. She began to reach for several pots and pans, making a tremendous amount of noise as she went. Relieving stress, no doubt. Getting some of her emotions out in the open. Beating them to death with a frying pan.

  “A-are you okay?” I asked as she swung a skillet around and then put it on the counter.

  “Mm-hmm.” More clanging and banging took place as she reached for the large silver mixing bowl. “I have work to do. I will cook now. It’s best if you give me some time alone, Bella. I need to think.”

  “No! That’s exactly what you don’t need to do,” I said. “Don’t give a second’s thought to what Sal said. It’s not true, anyway. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”

  “Humph.” She began to sift flour over the bowl, her hands moving so erratically that the white powder went flying all over the countertop.

  “It’s true, Rosa. You are.”

  She stopped sifting and pushed her work aside, staring me in the eye. “Look, Bella, I’m not blind, and I don’t like to lie to myself. I know I’m not a pretty woman, and I know I’m not young. So you don’t need to lie to me about either.”

  “I … I’m not lying.”

  She wiped the flour off her hands. “I consider myself fortunate that a man like Lazarro would look twice at me, let alone want to marry me. And I know him well enough to know he genuinely loves me, despite my appearance. He loves me … for me. And vice versa.”

  “Well then—”

  “But I also know that this has to be difficult, seeing Emilio marry such a beautiful young woman. Maybe Laz is having second thoughts about marrying a woman his own age. Maybe he thinks he deserves better. Younger. Prettier. It’s possible Sal is just voicing what Laz was already thinking.”

  “Rosa!” I stared at her, unsure of what to say next. None of this made sense. If she really knew Laz like she said she did, she would have to know this was ludicrous.

  I took a couple of deep breaths, determined to cool down. Surely this would all fade away once we got our emotions under control. In the meantime, I just had to check for collateral damage. Had to make sure Rosa wasn’t permanently wounded.

  If she would let me.

  “I really need some space, Bella,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You go spend some time with Deanna. Or Jenna.”

  “I can’t find Jenna. She’s been missing for days.”

  Rosa’s eyes narrowed to slits at this news. Not that she looked at me for long. Instead, she opened the pantry door and came out with some Crisco. I didn’t know if she planned to use it to remove her makeup or to make a piecrust. Rosa pulled off the top and measured out a half cup, then tossed it in the mixing bowl. Okay, so she was baking. At least she hadn’t lost all control of her senses. And surely, if I gave her the space she craved, she would calm down. Eventually. In the meantime, I had a little talking to do … with Sal.

  As I headed to the front hallway in search of the man in question, the front doorbell rang. I could hear Aunt Rosa crying off in the distance. No wonder she wanted to be alone. On the other side of the house, Laz started yelling at someone again. Likely Sal. Guido bellowed, “Wise guy!” then shouted, “Go to the mattresses!” over and over, occasionally interjecting a few lines of “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” Francesca and Emilio made their entrance at this point, hollering at both Sal and Laz to calm down. All of this in Italian, of course.

  The doorbell continued to ring. I heard Precious yapping upstairs. She came bounding down the steps in attack mode. I reached to pick her up, trying to quiet her down, but she would not be stilled. I’d never seen her quite this worked up, but who could blame her? The whole house had gone crazy, after all. After a few words of reassurance from me, the frantic pup finally settled down.

  With my nerves completely frayed, I yanked the door open, ready to snap off the head of whoever happened to be standing on the other side. Strangely, there was a man about my own age dressed in an amazing Italian suit and holding a bunch of red roses in his hand—a shockingly handsome man with chocolate brown eyes and rich, tanned skin. Mama mia.

  “Ciao!” He nodded and offered a welcoming smile.

  Precious let out a low growl and tried to lurch forward. My guest—whoever he was—took a step backward.

  “Ciao.” I managed one word but didn’t know what to do next because I was distracted by Rosa’s wails, which now shook the house. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Mama running down the stairs with a panicked look on her face. She paused at the door, probably curious about the young man standing in front of me. When she realized she didn’t know him, she hollered, “We gave at the office!” then went tearing toward the kitchen. She was met by Rosa, who came barreling out of the kitchen with a frying pan in her hand and tears streaming down her face. The half-crazed look on her face did little to calm my nerves.

  Or our guest’s. The poor fellow—who reminded me for all the world of Tony DeLuca—took a giant step backward. I didn’t blame him. He probably thought Rosa was coming after him, the way she carried on.

  “It’s okay,” I assured him, stepping out onto the veranda and shutting the door behind me. “She’s harmless.”

  A shattering of glass from inside the house spoke otherwise. Precious continued to growl, now baring her teeth. I could see the fear in the young man’s eyes, and he hugged his roses tight. Had he come to deliver those flowers, perhaps? To Rosa, the happy bride-to-be? If Marcella had hired a new delivery guy, he sure was worth whatever she happened to be paying him.

  Nope. The poor fellow began to pour out his heart—in Italian—about someone altogether different. Only when I heard the name “Deanna” did I realize who I was dealing with.

  “Rocco?”

  “Si!” He nodded, his eyes filling with tears. Another long string of words in Italian followed. I couldn’t exactly make out the translation, what with the words flowing faster than water, but I gave it my best shot. Something about being in love. Something about making a fool of himself for taking so long to admit it. Something about how love conquered all.

  Welcome to America!

  A shout from Uncle Laz in the front hall let me know that the party inside hadn’t yet come to its fateful conclusion. Poor Rocco! He’d come halfway across the globe to make his peace with Deanna and had landed in the middle of a major world war.

  “Excuse me,” I said, stepping back inside.

  I caught a glimpse of Mama trying to reason with Rosa, who stood with the frying pan waving in her hand. Mama tried valiantly to wrestle it away from my aunt, but Rosa would not be reasoned with. What she planned to do with that skillet was anyone’s guess. Mama looked my way, wide-eyed and clearly terrified. I tried to mouth the word, “Rocco,” but she didn’t get it. Not at first, anyway.

  At this point, Bianca came bounding down the stairs with Bertina on her heels. By now, Rocco had stepped inside. When he saw the twins, his face lit into a smile.

  “Mama!” He threw his arms open wide and raced to Bertina’s side, giving her a warm hug.

  “Rocco?” She gazed at him, clearly bumfuzzled. “What are you doing here?” She welcomed him in Italian, then promptly burst into tears. Bianca reacted by wrapping her arms around both Rocco and Bertina, and together the three of them celebrated with tears and shouting.

  At this point, Sal made an unfortunate entrance, stage left. Rosa caught a glimpse of him and began to run, waving the skillet. So, this was her plan of action. If she couldn’t win him over with her stunning looks, she’d do so with her effervescent personality. Nice choice.

  Rocco’s eyes grew wider still, and he took a giant step backward from the twins. “I c
ome at bad time?” he asked.

  “Si.” I nodded. “But don’t go anywhere.” I knew at least one person who would be deliriously happy to see him, and I wouldn’t ruin this for her for anything in the world. Even if it meant putting my life at risk by crossing the battle lines.

  I gazed at him with a sigh, wishing he’d shown up at any other time than this. On the other hand, was there ever really a bad time to tell a woman that you loved her? Probably not.

  I set Precious down on the entryway floor and hollered out Deanna’s name, hoping she would hear me above the chaos. She appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair pulled back in a headband and Pepto Bismol hardened all over her face. Through the paste, I saw two dark brown eyes popping out. I glanced down at her feet, swallowing hard as I saw the little toe separators we girls use when painting our toenails.

  “What is it, B—” She never got my name out. The minute she saw Rocco standing next to me, she came tearing down the stairs, heel-and-toe, shouting her greetings in Italian.

  To his credit, he didn’t run for the hills. I half expected him to, what with the chaos and the Pepto Bismol. No, Rocco stood firm, holding his roses in one hand. As she ran into his arms, everyone in the house came to a halt. The screaming stopped. The arguing ended. Everyone gathered in the front hallway to watch this go down, including Rosa, who still gripped the frying pan as if her life depended on it.

  Mama appeared with a washcloth, passing it off to Deanna, who looked for a moment like she didn’t know what to do with it. She must’ve forgotten about the thick pink paste all over her face. As the realization kicked in, Deanna covered her face with her hands and let out a scream that almost frightened Aunt Rosa right out of her teeth. The bloodcurdling yell continued as Mama grabbed the washcloth and wiped off all—well, most—of the Pepto Bismol. Then, pasting on a smile as bright as sunshine, Deanna flung herself into Rocco’s arms and kissed him a thousand times. Approximately.

  When she finally came up for air, he handed her the roses, gushing in Italian about how much he’d missed her. How he loved her more than life itself. How he’d been a jerk for not seeing it sooner. She clutched the roses, lifting them into the air with a victory chant. I got the meaning. Red roses, not pink. She and Rocco had officially crossed the line into true love, and they took to smooching once again. Precious responded by taking Rocco’s pants leg in her teeth and pulling on it, still making a growling noise.

  Yep. These two were on a roll, but they didn’t need a houseful of folks looking on while they got reacquainted. I nodded at Mama, and we gestured for the audience to seek entertainment elsewhere.

  Rosa slipped off to the kitchen, and the ladies headed that way too. Grabbing the roses from Deanna’s outstretched hand, I passed them off to Bertina, who carried them into the kitchen, chattering the whole way in Italian. Laz stormed into Pop’s office and slammed the door. Sal pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and made a call as he headed toward the door. I couldn’t help but wonder who he was calling. A hit man, perhaps? As he walked out onto the veranda, he passed Phoebe Burton, my mother’s best friend, who gave him a curious look. At my bidding, she entered the house. I pointed her in the direction of the kitchen, hoping she could be of help.

  Emilio and Francesca decided this would be a good time to take a walk around the block. And Pop—poor Pop—stood in the middle of the hallway, looking to the right and the left, as if trying to figure out where to go. Thankfully, Joey happened in at that same time and asked him if he wanted to shoot a few hoops. I’d never seen my father so relieved.

  Only at the end of all of this did I realize I’d lost D.J. I looked around, wondering where he’d gone. I found him seated in the dining room at the big family table. I walked in the room, overcome with emotion. Plopping down in a chair, I leaned my elbows on the table and sighed.

  D.J. looked my way with a crooked smile and a completely relaxed expression on his face. Either he’d gotten used to my family or he’d slipped off into some sort of parallel universe. Surely he had heard all of the chaos just a few feet away. Still, he looked calm, cool, and collected, staring around the dining room as if he had nothing else to do.

  “Um, D.J.?”

  “Yeah?”

  “W-what are you doing in here?”

  “Oh.” He smiled as he gestured toward the table. “Just thinking about how I want to design the dining room in our new house. If we’re going to have a table this size, we’ll need a pretty big room.”

  “And we need a table this size because … ?”

  “Because, Bella.” He reached for my hand and gave it a kiss. “Your family will be coming over for dinner a lot.”

  I heard Aunt Rosa wailing again, followed by Mama’s voice trying to comfort her. Precious started yapping again, and Laz hollered, “Somebody calm that animal down!”

  I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the dog or one of the people.

  I looked at D.J. once again, shaking my head. “My family? Coming over for dinner? You sure you’re up for that?”

  “Well, sure.” D.J. looked at me and shrugged. “Why not? I love your family.”

  From Pop’s office across the hall, Guido continued to sing. He was down to eighty-seven bottles of beer on the wall and still going strong.

  And me? Well, I was up to about ninety-nine reasons why I couldn’t wait to put this chaotic week behind me and get busy planning for my own big day!

  12

  Praise the Lord

  and Pass the Ammunition

  There’s an old Italian saying: Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio! “I can protect myself from my enemies; may God protect me from my friends.” The same is true of families. Sometimes we just need to protect ourselves from them. But who do we run to when folks inside our own household snap?

  The Lord, of course.

  I spent Thursday morning doing just that. The Lord alone knew how to solve this conundrum with my aunt and uncle. I had tried … to no avail. Rosa and Laz had spent last night in strained silence. Sal had made a hasty departure for the Tremont after his battle with my uncle and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. I had to wonder if he’d skipped town.

  No, I realized as I heard the sound of Guido’s voice ringing out across the Rossi household, Sal would never have left the island without his precious bird. His precious, unruly bird.

  And so I spent Thursday morning pleading with the Lord to somehow take this mess and mold it into something usable. I couldn’t picture Rosa coming down the aisle with a scowl on her face, swinging pots and pans. And I certainly couldn’t picture Laz standing in front of the crowd with despair written all over him. Perhaps, with a little persuasion, I could talk them through this. Not until after I showered, though. I needed the hot water running over my head to calm my troubled thoughts.

  An hour later—showered, dressed, and made up—I sucked in a deep breath and headed for the stairs. Mama passed me, coming up as I went down.

  “Have you seen Rosa and Laz this morning?” I asked.

  She nodded and sighed. “Yes. Rosa’s in the kitchen. Laz is trying to talk to her.”

  “Good! Is he making headway?”

  Mama grunted, then continued up the stairs.

  Alrighty then.

  I made my way down the stairs and entered the foyer, hearing voices in the distance. At least they weren’t shouting. That had to be a good sign. I stopped short of the entrance to the kitchen, not wanting to interrupt if they were in the middle of something—say, reconciliation.

  Laz’s voice caught my attention. “Rosa, listen to me. Rosa. Please.”

  Silence from her end.

  “Rosa, you know that Sal does not speak for me. I am a grown man. I speak for myself. And I love you, Rosa. I am a blessed man now that you have agreed to be my wife.”

  “Humph.”

  I sighed, wishing she would play along. Come on, Rosa. You’ve already spent years fighting with this man. Don’t make him fight for you now. I heard the soun
ds of pots and pans again. Surely she wasn’t thinking of using them as weapons. Right?

  All of my wedding plans—every bit of work—slipped right through my fingers as I listened to the two of them go at it. He tried to convince her to listen to reason. She slammed things around, making more than a little noise.

  Rosa, what is your problem? This isn’t Uncle Laz’s doing! Listen to him!

  Thankfully, my cell phone rang, distracting me from the conversation inside the kitchen. I answered the call, thrilled to hear D.J.’s voice.

  “Things any better on the home front today?” he asked.

  “Nope. Worse.” I made my way into the living room and plopped down on the sofa.

  D.J. sighed, and I could almost envision the look on his face. “What’s going to happen next?”

  “I have no idea. But the world has gone crazy.”

  “More so than usual?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I lowered my voice, not wanting to be overheard. “I saw Uncle Laz swinging a baseball bat out in his garden this morning. Watched him from my bedroom window.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “He doesn’t play baseball. I think he’s practicing taking a swing at Sal. If Sal ever shows up again, that is. And you’re not going to believe this …”

  “Try me.”

  “He ripped up all of the tomatoes in his garden. Threw them all over the place. I’ve never seen such a mess.”

  This got a gasp and a “You’ve got to be kidding!” from D.J. But I wasn’t kidding. Oh no. The backyard was awash in Romas, their red juice now turning putrid and drawing flies.

  Pop—who had finally talked Laz into calming down—was fit to be tied.

  “So, is the wedding up in the air?”

  I contemplated my answer, finally coming up with, “Yeah. That’s the understatement of the year.”