by Cora Brent
Dominic made a noise that could have been a cough or a laugh. I couldn’t tell which. I was curious as to why he would discuss me with his grandmother.
As I shook her hand, I noted that her grip was stronger than one would think. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Esposito.”
“You have to call me Donna,” she said. “The boys even call me Donna because when they came to live with us so many years ago, little Giovanni couldn’t say Grandma.”
“I still can’t,” Gio deadpanned, and his grandmother laughed at him before turning her attention back to me.
“So you will call me Donna, too,” she insisted. “Because you’re family, Melanie.”
Dominic cleared his throat loudly. “Think it’s time for the tour,” he said, shepherding his grandmother away.
Gio shot me an apologetic look. “She gets confused sometimes,” he explained.
I nodded. “Sure, I understand.”
Tara arrived a minute later, minus the baby, who was with Tara’s mom, who’d volunteered to watch the baby so Tara could enjoy an evening out. She gave me a hug.
“Hey, baby,” said Gio as he approached with a brilliant smile.
“Hello, hot stuff,” she answered playfully.
When Tara leaned toward her husband to accept a long, tender kiss, I took a step back, admiring the simple perfection of a couple in love. I even felt a small prick of envy, although I hated myself a little for it.
Gio called the staff on the floor for a final, two-minute pep talk. I felt a few butterflies as I watched a crowd start to gather at the door. This was the first time in a long while I’d really felt like I truly played an important role in something special. It was almost like being included in a real family.
Almost.
We hadn’t been sure how many people to expect, but after an hour it became clear that we’d have our hands full. I quickly lost track of time as I divided my efforts between taking orders and serving food. At least there were no register transactions to worry about since tonight, everything was on the house.
There was a steady line of Esposito’s friends and family on a quest for free food. All the running around I was doing made me grateful for the tennis shoes on my feet as opposed to toe-crushing heels. Enthusiasm for the food was universal, and many patrons paused on their way out the door with a promise that they would return for the official opening. I was in the middle of refilling some napkin holders when the reporter from the Sun Republic arrived. Gio pulled me aside and asked me to keep her busy until he managed to free up a few minutes.
The reporter introduced herself as Becky Baller, and apparently she wasn’t kidding about her name. As soon as a booth opened up, I seated her and whispered to Aimee that she needed to expedite Becky Baller’s order of avocado and pineapple pizza.
“How long have you worked for the Esposito family?” the reporter asked as she daintily unfolded a white napkin in her lap.
“Only about a month,” I answered. “It’s been a very exciting time, though.”
Becky took a shrewd look around the busy restaurant and then turned her attention back to me. Her eyes were odd, amber colored. In fact they seemed vaguely reptilian, and I had the uncomfortable feeling she was combing my every move to uncover secrets I did not know I’d been keeping. Maybe journalism schools taught mind-probe tactics. Or maybe I was just paranoid.
She suddenly smiled, blinding white teeth flashing between puce-painted lips. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s kind of a riches to rags back to riches story, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. Dominic had never mentioned rags as part of his life story.
“I suppose,” I said carefully and glanced around to see if Gio was anywhere in sight. He wasn’t.
Becky Baller took a sip of water. She arched a beautifully manicured eyebrow as she started talking. “Let’s see if I’ve got the story straight. The brothers moved out to Phoenix after the closure of the original Esposito’s under rather dishonorable circumstances. It split the family apart and bankrupted them.”
She paused for a beat to see if I would confirm or deny her version of events. I said nothing.
“It was an interesting beginning,” she continued, “and certainly renders the opening of this downtown crown jewel as more than a simple family business tale. After all, the first Esposito’s was famous, once a destination favored by presidents, movie stars, and even royalty. To watch it all vanish in such disgraceful fashion must have been a bitter pill, I’m sure.”
Becky Baller was getting at something. I just wasn’t sure what it was. If she was pumping me for information, she was wasting her time because everything I knew about the Esposito family’s New York history could fit into the tabletop shaker of dried red pepper flakes. There’d been a family fight. But the brothers were just teenagers at the time. They couldn’t have been involved in anything sordid.
While I was busy trying to categorize my own thoughts, Becky pounced with a revelation.
“As you probably know, Frank Esposito is deceased, but Steven Esposito lives on Long Island. I’m waiting for him to get back to me with a comment.”
This information meant nothing to me. Where was this all leading? This chick was supposed to be writing a short publicity piece in the Food and Entertainment section, not dissecting the family’s personal soap opera.
I decided it was better not to examine the reporter’s intentions. So I changed the subject.
“Your pizza should be here any moment,” I said, impulsively adopting an artificially chirpy voice in an effort to redirect the conversation. “You know, Ms. Baller, every one of Esposito’s pizzas are wood-fired in an authentic stone and brick oven imported from a tiny town on a Sicilian hilltop. All our fresh toppings are organic, obtained from local Arizona farms, and the olive oil we use is milled right here in the valley. I’m sure you’ll agree that there is nothing quite like the experience of biting into an Esposito’s pizza.” I grinned brilliantly at the end of my commercial spiel and was met with a flat stare.
I could have gone on for a while about the finer qualities of our locally grown basil or the authentic sauce that was a family recipe carried from Italy in the head of some Esposito great-great-grandfather. Luckily Gio himself floated over, deposited a pizza in front of Becky Baller, and gave me a nod that freed me to apply my talents elsewhere.
Tara beckoned me over to the table where she sat with Donna Esposito. I took a chair at Tara’s insistence. Donna kept touching my hand and looking up into my eyes. I didn’t know why, but I thought I saw an expression of hope there. But then, as Gio had explained, Donna was very old and often confused. She had no reason took at me like I was a rare gift she’d been waiting for.
“Oh no,” Tara exclaimed suddenly. She rose from her chair while staring worriedly at her phone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Tara was furiously tapping the screen of her phone, visibly upset now. “My mom texted. She thought Leah looked a little flushed, so she took her temperature. Gio!” She waved her arms at her husband, and he took one look at her face and practically vaulted across the crowded room to get to her side.
“Leah’s sick,” Tara explained in rush. “My mother said she’s running a fever of a hundred and two. She already gave her a dose of Motrin. I said I’d be there in twenty minutes to take Leah straight to Urgent Care . . . Wait, where’s my purse? Damn, it was just here.”
I found the black Kate Spade bag underneath the table and handed it over.
“Calm down, babe,” Gio said, although as he read through the texts on Tara’s phone, I could see his wife’s worry mirrored in his face.
Tara was now fishing through her purse for her keys. She found them and took two steps toward the door before freezing.
“Wait,” she said, “I was supposed to bring Donna home.”
“I’ll take care of her,” I said. I patted my friend’s arm in comfort. “Just go to your baby. Donna will be fine with me.”
Tara gave me a grateful smile and kissed her husband quickly on the lips. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”
“Wait a minute,” Gio called, “I’m coming with you.”
Tara gestured to the busy restaurant. “But what about all this?”
“All this will be fine without me.”
“Gio—”
“I’m coming, Tara,” he said sternly. “I won’t be any good to anyone here if my baby girl is in bad shape.”
“What’s wrong?” Dominic asked. I hadn’t even seen him emerge from the kitchen, but there he was, regarding his brother with obvious concern.
“Dom, I’ve got to go,” Gio said. “Leah’s sick and—”
“Go,” Dominic said. He clamped a hand down on his brother’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “Go,” he said again. “Don’t think twice about it.”
Gio nodded, put his arm around his wife, and led her straight to the door. Dominic watched them until they disappeared.
“Tara’s mother texted,” I explained to Dominic since Gio hadn’t had a chance to give him the full story. “The baby suddenly spiked a high fever.”
Dominic didn’t say anything. He just kept staring toward the door where Tara and Gio had disappeared.
I reached out to gently touch his arm. He showed no sign that he even noticed. “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I said, even though I knew nothing about babies and fevers. But I saw the anxiety in his face and felt like I needed to say something, anything.
“Did Tara leave?” asked Donna in confusion. She was twisting up an embroidered handkerchief in her thin hands and blinking rapidly.
“Yes, Donna,” I said, sliding into the seat beside the old woman. “Tara and Gio had a small emergency, but don’t worry. I’ll get you whatever you need.”
“And I’ll take you home when you’re ready,” Dominic said. Then he fastened his intense stare on me. “Thank you, Melanie.”
I felt the heat of a blush crawl across my skin.
Donna gazed at me wistfully. “Marie should see you,” she said. “She would be so proud.”
Marie.
The blood rushed to my head, and I nearly fell out of my chair.
My mother’s name had been Marie. But there would be no way for Donna Esposito to know that. She’d just met me. She had to be talking about a different Marie.
Donna didn’t realize her words were at all unusual. She unfolded her handkerchief on her lap. The letters LE were artfully embroidered in dark-blue in the upper corner, and it actually looked like a man’s handkerchief. Her fingers traced the edges as she hummed tunelessly.
“They don’t really leave us,” she said with sudden confidence. Then she turned my way and beamed. “Melanie, may I have another glass of wine?”
“I’ll get it,” Dominic spoke up, and began walking away. When he reached the threshold of the kitchen, he turned around and looked right at me.
There was so much going on, what with all the restaurant chaos and the sudden family emergency that had unfolded moments earlier. Tonight I’d seen Dominic’s face run a gamut of emotions, and I had to admit the reason why I recognized them all—I’d gotten into the habit of watching him so damn closely. But as he held my gaze before disappearing into the kitchen, I glimpsed a raw expression that caught me off guard—tenderness and gratitude and hungry passion all rolled into one. The kind of look that could alter the future and redirect the flight plan of the stars. Had I been standing, my knees would have buckled under the weight of its promises.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DOMINIC
At a quarter after nine the last guests straggled out, and I switched the front door sign to “Closed.” The evening had been busy but successful, and it was time to thank the people who helped make it happen. Gio always had the softer touch when it came to people skills, but I could make the effort when I had to. In the seconds before I stood in front of the staff and started talking, I just kept hearing my brother’s voice in my head, saying, “Don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick.”
“Excellent job, everyone,” I said, meaning it. “Really, amazing night all around. Now clean up and go home. Some of you will be at Espo 1 tomorrow for a final training shift. Everyone else, I’ll see you here in two days for the grand opening. If you have any questions about anything, feel free to reach out.” I paused and looked at the collection of expectant faces. “Honestly, I couldn’t be happier with this team. I thank you and I applaud you.”
For a few seconds I was the only one clapping, but Melanie quickly joined in, and the rest of the staff followed. Relieved smiles spread across the staff, and a few approached me for a handshake. Melanie wasn’t one of them. She returned to the table where my grandmother had sat all evening, observing everything with bright, shining eyes. It was past the time she usually turned in for the night, and for the last two hours, I’d been trying to get her to agree to go home. But my grandmother’s stubborn streak still burned strong, and she insisted on staying until the end.
I saw Melanie lean across the table and whisper something to Donna that made her throw her head back in laughter—the way she used to do when she was younger. In my early memories Donna Esposito was the quintessential hostess, forever occupying her post near the entrance of the old Esposito’s and offering an animated greeting to all who entered. My grandfather had been much quieter, always busying himself in the kitchen and emerging only at the insistence of his sociable wife. She used to know how to talk to anyone; the grumpiest old bastard didn’t stand a chance when confronted by Donna Esposito’s charm. But lately, as age clouded the edges of her mind, she’d become more wary of strangers. Her memory for names and faces wasn’t what it used to be. I was surprised by the fact that she’d taken to Melanie immediately. Vaguely, I remembered mentioning her, but I didn’t think I’d said anything too outrageous. Then again, she might have had Melanie confused with someone she’d met decades ago. She’d said something odd earlier, something about Melanie being a member of the family.
“We were just talking about little Leah,” Melanie said when I approached. “Tara texted me. The doctor diagnosed the baby with an ear infection, poor thing. But she’s already had her first dose of antibiotics, and the fever’s under control.”
“I know. Gio called me.” I checked my watch. “Hey, Donna, we should really get you home.”
My grandmother primly wiped her eyeglasses with a clean napkin. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It’s pretty late for this old-timer.”
I smiled. “You’ll never be an old-timer. So what did you think of the restaurant? Have we done the Esposito name proud?”
Donna settled her glasses back on her face and beamed. “It’s like coming home, Dominic. You boys have really worked a miracle here.” Her smile became melancholy. “I almost feel like if I stepped back into that kitchen, your Grandpa Leo would be back there rolling out pies and bellowing at Frankie to feed the oven.”
The mention of Uncle Frank, my mother’s only brother, brought an involuntary surge of loathing in me. He’d always been a weasel. When I was a kid, I once saw him empty the tip jar into his pocket. When he saw me looking, he tried to buy my silence with a wink and a greasy quarter. I didn’t take the quarter, but I didn’t rat him out either. Even though I’d already figured out that Frank was a shithead, I knew my grandparents worshipped him. He was their only son, the presumptive heir to their life’s work. There was no way to guess that someday my lousy uncle and his son would bring down the whole house of cards.
Of course no matter what my uncle and cousin had done, nothing excused my behavior when I found out the restaurant was going down the tubes. Only years later did I understand that I was angrier at myself than anyone else. My grandfather’s death had set off a chain reaction, and I never stopped feeling like that was my fault.
As I helped Donna out of her seat, I noticed Melanie was watching me.
“You mind sticking around for a little while longer?” I asked her.
“Not at all,” she said. I could see she was pleased by the request. She looked fresh and casual tonight, hardly a trace of makeup. She’d had her hair tied up while she was working the dining room, but now it was loose and tousled. I could easily imagine rolling over in bed and seeing her look exactly like that. Only my fantasy included fewer clothes.
I gestured to the kitchen. “Go ahead and usher everyone out of here in half an hour and lock up. I’ll be back later and I’ll finish the cleanup.”
Melanie stood up and started collecting dirty plates from tables. “I’ll stay at least until you get back.”
“No,” I said, a little too forcefully. “Don’t do that.” She looked startled, so I smoothed the comment over. “You’ve been working so hard to make all this happen. It’ll make me feel less guilty if you get out of here at a reasonable hour.”
“But I really don’t mind staying, Dominic,” she said, but I cut her off with a wave of my hand.
“No need,” I said. “Good night, Melanie.”
I didn’t want to see Melanie’s reaction. I didn’t want to think about how right it seemed to have her in my world or how much more I wished I could share with her. The day I met this girl I knew I wanted to back her into a wall, wrap her legs around my waist, and get sweaty. But I hadn’t. I wouldn’t. I’d made promises long before I met Melanie. Promises to my brother, promises to myself. I couldn’t allow anything to interfere with what Gio and I had been working toward for so long. Every time I turned on the kitchen lights at the start of the day, I thought of my grandfather working endless hours in the old restaurant. He’d given everything he had for the family. I hadn’t appreciated that when I was young. I appreciated it now. If I started something with Melanie, I’d inevitably fuck it up somehow. So for her sake—and for mine and for Gio’s and for the future of Esposito’s—I could keep ignoring the way my heart jumped every time I saw her sitting behind an absurdly large desk when I stormed into her office to carry on about something that wasn’t even important. I could pretend it was no big deal that she kindly tended to my eighty-two-year-old grandmother and had even paused in all her busy tasks to escort Donna to the restroom earlier without thinking twice. Yes, I could disregard every natural instinct I had where Melanie Cruz was concerned.
