Silence.
“I think I hate Thanksgiving,” she muttered.
“As do I.”
She told me what happened, and I shook my head. “Such a pussy.”
“Don’t say that word.”
“What word? Pussy?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “That one. Noah is not… that.”
“Yeah, he is, giving another man that much power in his own house. Then storming out like a woman. If he likes his job, then he should have stopped answering stupid questions.”
“Either way,” she rolled over me. “Thanksgiving is ruined. His parents made up an excuse and left. Sheryl doesn’t like confrontation.”
My smile fell. Ruby never comes to my family events, and if Noah left… “Where are you?”
“Home, just cleaning up,” she said.
“Alone?”
“I’m planning to go read a book.”
“Nah, be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.”
“Why?”
“I’m coming to get you. My mother is having Thanksgiving dinner,” I checked my watch as I started walking to the car.
She was quiet, and then she asked. “Can I bring pie?”
When I showed up at her place, I was surprised to see her a little dressed up. She was wearing a navy dress that stopped at her ankles, but better fitting than her usual attire. I always knew she was petite but, in the dress, I can see just how petite.
She was standing by her gate with her purse over her shoulder, and a pie in her hands.
I got out of the car and opened her door.
“You have a car?” she questioned.
“This is my sister’s,” when I got in and we drove off, she sat back and sighed. Usually bursting with positive energy, I disliked seeing this deflated version of her. “I gotta warn you, my family is a lot to take in.”
She moved her head sideways against the rest to see me. “How so?”
“Loud, lots of food, no body space, worrying…”
“I don’t mind.” She watched me drive. “Were you with Ruby at all today?”
“We had lunch with her father.”
She made a face of distaste. “Was it awful.”
“Awful.”
“Was he mean?”
“His usual dick-ish self.”
She gave me a mischievous smile. “Noah’s dad Mike… is… a dick.”
At hearing her say the word, I slowly turned my head toward her. “I’m impressed.”
“Did I say it right?”
“Perfetto.”
She looked satisfied with herself now.
“How have you survived— how old are you?”
Lydia moved her head toward me again. “I’ll be thirty.”
“Thirty years without profanities?”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
“You’re not that much older than me and you’ve done ten times the things I’ve done. I bet you even dated a ton of people before Ruby.”
I just nodded. I wouldn’t call all my dealings before Ruby as ‘dating’ but I don’t feel like explaining that.
We drove without too much noise for a while. My curiosity got the better of me the more I turned over her last statement. “You have never been with another man?”
She watched the sidewalks we passed out her window as she answered. “Nope.”
“Not even a kiss?”
“When I was seven, a boy in my school kissed me, but it was just lips pressing and it was quick. He didn’t just share a kiss, though. I caught the Chicken Pox from him.”
“When you were a teenager you kissed too?”
“No, I had something called a Silver Yardstick, a purity ring, and a hope chest.”
“A Silver what?”
“It was a list of qualities I wanted God to send me in a man. My dad and I both had a copy.”
“Alright…” I took a turn. “Let’s hear it then.”
“I don’t remember all of it.”
“Try.”
She looked out the windshield, thinking. “My future husband had to love God first and foremost. He had to have a good steady job, brown eyes, be tall, love children—”
“This was mail order?”
She smacked my arm. “It was very special, and I got all of what I asked for.”
“Was cheating on the yardstick?”
“No, that was an unforeseen bonus.”
“And the ring?”
She showed me her left hand. “It was like a marriage band. I was married to God until Noah came. That’s how I stayed pure.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I had a friend growing up, she got her ring the same day as me. We decided to wait together.”
“And she’s happily married or dried up in a basement somewhere?” I asked.
“Well, she didn’t wait for marriage. She ended up having sex in the back of a minivan on graduation night.”
I paused at a light and sent her a look.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Lydia lifted her chin. “She took her purity ring off first.”
“That makes it okay, then. I’m sure God couldn’t see inside the minivan as long as the ring was off.”
She looked out her window to hide the smile she was fighting.
“And what is the hope chest?”
“A chest filled with stuff for a girl’s future home and children. It’s all to make waiting more appealing.”
I had to admit that though I saw her ways strange and cloistering, I also admired her self-control. She was able to be devoted and that was a beautiful thing.
“Noah and I shared our first time together,” she said. “Both virgins, learning as we go.”
“The blind leading the blind.”
“It was,” she laughed. Then she stopped. “I guess he isn’t clumsy with Ruby…”
I dare not tell her I’ve seen them fucking and that by the looks of it, she’s broadened his horizons.
“What about you? How many women have you…” she let the question hang.
My smirk was hard to hide.
“That many?” she asked.
I kept my eyes on the road.
“Three?” she asked. “Four?”
“Double digits would be a better place to start.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s a lot of women! Is this all through America or just here in New York?”
“Are we only counting the women in the States—?”
She smacked me again. “Why so many?”
“I didn’t wait, I practiced. Practice makes perfect.”
She held her pie close. “I waited and I got to know Noah first.”
“No red flags while you dated?” I asked.
“We didn’t date, we courted.”
“What is that?” I’m not sure I want to know.
“You only see each other with other people present, as a chaperone.”
“You were never alone together?”
“No, we wanted to stay pure for our wedding night.”
“Jesus.” I pulled us into Mom’s.
Getting out, she adjusted her dress as I stood with her door open. “Is my slip showing?”
I laughed.
She glared at me. “Hey! What?”
“You wear a slip?”
“Of course, it’s appropriate. What if the sun shines through my dress and the lines of my legs show through?”
“What the hell’s the matter with you, huh? Your ankles are showing and I’m not humping your leg, am I? You’re not going through the ghetto at two in the morning. My mother doesn’t even wear slips.”
She stared at me with a lifted chin but then came down from the high horse. “What do the women in your family look like?”
“You’ve met Giada.”
She chewed her cheek. “Hold my pie,” she handed it to me, and I took it. With her hand on my arm for balance, she reached under her dress and took down her slip. It was white. Jesus.
I pointed
to her bodice. “Undo one button.”
“That’s just rude.”
I waited.
She folded and undid the first button of her dress. Then she took her hair down from the tight bun it was in, shaking it out so it would lay over her shoulders. She was pretty when she wasn’t trying so hard to be perfect. Her hair is beautiful, silky and wavy.
“Better?” she asked with an edge to her voice.
I shut the car door after she tossed her slip in. “Much better.” I handed back her pie and walked her to the door.
“Thank you,” she said just before I opened it.
Then she moved forward and hugged me. It was as awkward as the first time. Me just standing there letting her do it. But I can’t deny the warmth that spreads from her arms to my chest. Even if it’s not in me to hug her back, I don’t necessarily mind the connection.
Chapter Thirteen
LYDIA
The minute we parted from our hug (my hug), the door flung open and out poured noise like I’ve never heard it, along with incredible aromas from very fresh food.
“Lorenzo!” A woman screamed.
Lorenzo’s face, usually so schooled, broke into surprise. “Donna?” he opened his arms in time for her to throw herself into his arms. “When did you get here?”
“While you were out!” She stepped back and looked up at him with shining eyes as we came inside.
“Donna, this is Lydia,” he introduced us. “Lydia, this is my sister Donna. The only one of us that lives far away.”
Donna was gorgeous. A head full of dark curls, flawless skin, big brown eyes. Behind her, a bunch of people piled into the hall, all talking, all arguing maybe. I couldn’t tell by their many hand gestures and raised voices.
“You brought someone new?” one asked.
“Who is she, she from work?” asked another.
It went on.
“I love your hair.”
“What’s your name?”
“How do you know Lorenzo?”
“Enzo met her at Cibo Degli Dei, I told you that.”
“You hungry?”
“You from here?”
Lorenzo motioned for them to slow down. “Alright, alright, alright, one at a time. Lydia, these are my brothers and sisters. We got, in order, Angela, you met Donna already, Rocco, Dante, Mia, Milo, and you know Giada.”
I was overwhelmed for a second. “Wow, all these siblings,” I laughed. “And all I had growing up, was my imaginary friend Jane.” They laughed.
As nervous as I was, they all seemed so warm or curious about me that their energy bounced onto my skin.
“Hello…” I said in a smaller voice than I hoped.
Mia took my pie. “Welcome, come in, come in.”
“I got the pie,” said Milo, trying to take it.
“Don’t eat it,” Donna yelled over the rest as he weaved out of the hall. “Eh! Milo don’t eat that. Take it to Ma! To Ma!”
“I love your hair, you’re gonna have to tell me what you do to make it so soft,” Angela fawned, testing the feel of my hair. “And no split ends. I can’t tell you what an epidemic split ends are at my salon.”
Lorenzo’s brothers, aside from young Milo who had run off with my pie, kept looking me up and down like I was walking on my hands, not my feet.
“She’s good-looking,” Dante whispered to Lorenzo.
“Meh,” said Rocco. “But she dresses like our grandmother.”
“Stop,” Lorenzo drew out the word like a threat.
“Too skinny…” Dante’s evaluation reminded me of when Lorenzo first came over.
“I said, shut up,” Lorenzo growled. “I’m gonna hit you.”
Soon his sisters were steering me out of the foyer and into the living room. “Lydia,” Mia linked our arms. “This is Auntie Irene, and Auntie Teresa, and that there, that’s Grandma, but Grandma don’t speak English, okay? Only Italian. That over there, that’s Liam. Say hi, Liam!”
Liam looked up from where he was drinking wine with one of the Aunts. He waved at me, “Hello.”
Liam is handsome. Not the way Lorenzo is… I blushed thinking about it. I don’t know why I compared him to Lorenzo and not Noah.
But Liam is the odd man out like I am. He looks nothing like the rest of the family. I’ve seen him at the restaurant plenty of times, but we never talked. All I know is that he got Giada pregnant and Lorenzo dreams about filleting him.
When I looked back, Lorenzo was gone. I don’t know where, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable or abandoned. When I got to the kitchen, I was in awe of all the food. There are so many people in this family, but I still think there’s more food than people, and all the dishes look irresistible.
There were kids running in and out, all no taller than my hips. They were beautiful children, belonging to beautiful people. They all introduced themselves to me. I stopped counting at twelve. Each face was unique from the rest, but all of them shared a common likeness. Brown eyes, dark hair, olive complexions like Lorenzo and his siblings or fairer.
Hovering by the stove is a woman dressed to the nines. Her dress is red with floral print, fitting on a full-figured and curvaceous body. She had dark auburn hair and bright red lipstick on. She was gorgeous, even after seven kids.
“Ma,” said Angela. “Look, meet Lydia, Lorenzo’s friend.”
The woman looked up from her task and smiled at me, coming right at me as though we were old friends, and embracing me. I was kissed on both cheeks and my hands were held with enthusiasm. “Welcome! Hello, Lydia! You may call me Lavinia. Alright? Are you hungry?”
Before I could answer, she nodded. “Molto bene, sit, sit!”
I was herded to a chair and there I had the most colorful and enriching interactions of my life. The women in Lorenzo’s family were so real, so bold, so empowered. They talked about everything, sometimes three things at once.
“I don’t like when Alberto pulls my hair,” ranted Donna. “I like it a little bit, but it’s like he’s mad at me, and sex is when he can express that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mia moaned around a mouthful of bread. “Mine does that. So annoying.”
“I like it,” Giada shrugged. “Liam does that, never bothers me.”
“Liam isn’t Italian,” Angela shook her head. “He doesn’t have the rage to pull that hard.” Her hand gestures were so dramatic, she knocked over her drink.
They all started laughing.
“Your papa pulled my hair many times,” said their mother.
“Ma! No, Ma!” They all screamed at her.
“My face,” Donna complained, pulling at the sides as though to tighten it. “I saw a line, in the corner, Ma. A line… right here, look, by my eye.”
“Banana, honey, and yogurt, you mix it, you mix it up,” Lavinia instructed.
It went on, and the laughter was contagious, so much humor in the everyday.
“Don’t eat that!” Lavinia and Donna yelled at the same time as Dante snuck in to taste one of the meats. He was smacked at by almost all of them until he left.
“I put it on Craigslist and the Facebook,” Donna told them as the Aunts came in to join us. I missed half the conversation. “Milo says that things sell better on the internet.”
“No, no, no,” Aunt Irene waved her off. “You do not tell people to come to your house. Have strangers come to your home, that is how young women die.”
“They die,” Lavinia agreed, lifting her wooden spoon.
“We had yard sales, all the time growing up,” Angela defended Donna.
“They was outside!” Their mother reminded. “Not inside. People came as far as the yard. Your father never let them in the house. This is New York, piccola.”
Donna rolled her eyes.
“Your hair looks wet,” Aunt Teresa felt Giada’s hair. “Never go out with a wet head!”
“She knows that!” Lavinia snapped.
“How does she know that, if she sits here with a wet head?” Teresa argued.
“It’s not wet,” Giada explained. “It’s gel.”
“Gel?” Aunt Irene came to feel it. “Why are you using gel? Are you a boy, now?”
“Lydia,” Lorenzo’s mother called me over. Standing next to Lavinia is like standing next to a Diva. It’s intimidating but intriguing. “You like pasta?” she whispered.
I nodded. “I love it, but I try to watch my carb intake.”
I just spoke another language, because I can tell she doesn’t get what I’m saying.
She ignored that one. “So,” she explained over the large pot of boiling water. “You never use oil to boil water, you use salt,” she taught. “Salt.”
“Salt,” I repeated just as Lorenzo came to lean against the doorway to the tiny kitchen. His reappearance filled up my chest with a good feeling.
“sì.” His mother looked at me as if I just appeared in her house. “Where’s your wine? Didn’t I pour you some wine?”
“You did, I’m still sipping it…”
Lorenzo narrowed his eyes at me, knowing the truth behind my abstinence.
Dinner was served an hour later, and it was one of the best tasting meals I’ve had outside of Lorenzo’s restaurant. Once again, I ate like there was no tomorrow, not once feeling guilty about the intake.
There was a beautiful blend of culture at the table. Antipasto salad was served first, nine-million fixings for it, all spread out. Different cheeses, prosciutto, olives, of course, more wine. There were massive trays of lasagna, and then came the meats. A humongous Turkey, a gorgeous ham.
There was so much conversation, a few arguments, mostly shouting, but I’m not even sure what the shouting was about.
“Eat, Lydia,” Lorenzo’s mother pushed the bread in front of me with a knife and motioned to it.
“I’m a little full, actually,” I said with regret.
She and the Aunts looked at me with pure shock, and Lorenzo hid his smile behind his hand from where he sat at my side.
“Are you sick?” his mother asked me.
“Oh, no,” I said.
“Check her head, Lavinia,” Irene insisted with a worried frown.
A second later, Lavinia’s hand was pressed to my cheek and head. “No, she’s cool to the touch. You are not sick, do you like the food? You don’t like it?”
“It was amazing, I feel like I haven’t had real food until I met your son or this family,” I said honestly.
The Affair (The Relationship Quo Series Book 5) Page 16
