by Brandon Witt
“Do you still want this office, Mr. Bivanti?” Sylvie left her perfectly manicured mother-of-pearl-tipped fingers folded on top of her desk.
Kevin’s voice caught in his throat. He knew she didn’t mean the question as any sort of challenge. It was an ongoing blunt conversation between them. Sylvie had made it clear to him over a year ago that she was grooming him to be her successor.
Her tone softened. “You were quiet in that meeting. You disappeared halfway through. Like you gave up. And for you not to keep fighting about that ridiculous formula campaign….” She paused, giving him time to answer.
In all honesty, she was rather hard to hear. Kevin’s heart was beating so fast, and the pounding blood in his ears drummed out all other sounds.
Sylvie reached forward, stretching out one of her hands to place over his left forearm. “Kevin, honey, are you okay?”
Kevin nodded, then shook his head. “No. No, I’m not.” He lifted his gaze from her hand to her warm hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, Sylvie. I have to quit.”
KEVIN
THE FOLLOWING day at work was nearly as much of a blur as the formula meeting had been. No aspect seemed real or familiar. Things Kevin had done a billion times in the past as easily as second nature were suddenly foreign. Breathing was enough of a challenge, let alone trying to function at his normal breakneck pace.
Kevin had texted Noelle after he’d left Sylvie’s office the night before. She’d called instantly, but he hadn’t answered, instead texting her back that he needed time. Even nearly three hours at the gym hadn’t brought him back to normal. It had helped him fall asleep quicker. His stomach, growling from the solitary apple he’d eaten for dinner, had tried to keep him awake, but a glass of Malbec formed a winning team with his exhaustion.
By the time lunch rolled around, which involved an avocado and a few slices of turkey, Noelle had texted him, telling him to come to dinner that evening. He couldn’t say he was surprised. They had family dinner every Sunday evening, but there was no way she would be able to wait until then. Considering he hadn’t heard from his mother, Noelle had yet to break the news. And Kevin was in no mood to rush into that. However, by two in the afternoon, and at no less than fifteen text messages from Noelle, he caved and said he’d be at dinner by seven.
Typically, driving the twenty minutes to his moms’ house in Jamaica Plain was a relaxing experience. He would have just showered and shaved, and though dressed casually, he would be nearly as flawlessly put together as his mother. This evening, though, having come straight from the office, there’d not been time. His suit was crumpled and his nerves had brought on an unusual case of sweating. He had left half an hour early to stop in for an emergency manicure, but it wasn’t enough.
Kevin couldn’t recall a time before living with his moms in JP, though he assumed that was normal. Not many people remember their first three years. In spite of being a downtown city boy at heart, the “street car suburb” had become a place of safety, at least within the walls of their home. Jamaica Plains itself had changed greatly over the years, gentrifying after he’d already been an adult. As a kid, JP had been a touch more… well, there was good reason his moms had been able to buy such a large home with a small house budget. In actuality, the old chaos outside of his childhood home seemed to fit the emotional state he used to live in. Still. Home was home. And if home also came with a healthy dose of pressure, he didn’t hold it against it. After all, what didn’t?
Driving up the curvy South Street lined with simple Victorian and colonial homes, instead of falling into the peaceful state of mind they normally induced, his anxiety spiked. He had to pull over into one of the few parking spots left on the newly updated Hyde Square shopping district, to try to regain control. He turned the BMW’s air conditioner on full blast. Putting his face close to the stream, he let the air simultaneously fill his lungs and cool his skin. He could do this. He could. Sure, it wouldn’t be fun, but he could do it. It was just dinner. Just his moms. It wasn’t like he was breaking huge news to both of them. And Noelle was already on his side.
Right, like she would be the reason to be nervous anyway.
Just as his brain began to enter a deeper level of freak-out, he put the car back into drive and pulled out of the parking spot without looking. He took little notice of the blaring horn behind him.
At least there would be wine with dinner. He didn’t love his mother’s favorite Chianti, but it would do the trick.
Taking a right onto Jamaica Street, he passed St. Thomas Aquinas Parish, looking every bit of a tiny castle. Boston was full of stunning cathedrals and churches, and JP, despite its heavy influx of gays and lesbians, was no different. Maybe he could go in and pray. It was still ten minutes until seven. It would be a quick prayer.
Too bad he didn’t pray.
With each sloping turn of Jamaica Street, Kevin began to get greater control of himself, to the point he turned the air conditioner back down and was actually able to breathe without assistance.
Until he saw the driveway of the narrow three-story home.
“Goddammit, Noelle!” And like that, the sweating was back and the air conditioner was switched to full power once more. He knew a scheme when he saw one.
He recognized the three cars filling up the driveway, and he also knew the three that were missing. Despite his panic, he could almost make the connection, and knowing Noelle, there had to be one.
He could go home. Call and say he’d gotten sick.
Hell, he could intentionally get into a fender bender. They couldn’t argue with a car wreck.
Sure they couldn’t….
He drove a few more blocks looking for a free space. Might as well get whatever torture Noelle had planned over with. Postponing it would only make it worse.
AFTER PARKING and nearly slipping twice on the icy sidewalks, Kevin made his way up the front walk of his childhood home. It looked like Noelle had added more Christmas lights since last Sunday, though how that was possible, he couldn’t fathom. The lawn had already been lit up like a tacky runway at the airport.
Kevin paused at the front door, letting the crisp air soothe him. Or at least trying to. Before he was ready and before he could knock, the stained-glass front door opened, and Noelle joined Kevin on the porch, then shut the door behind her.
“What have you done?”
Noelle wrapped Kevin in a warm embrace, ignoring his accusing tone. “What I needed to. And don’t fight me about it. Just go with the flow, and it will all be all right, you’ll see.”
He pulled back from his mother’s embrace to look at her pretty face, which appeared to be flashing red and green from the glow of the lights dripping from the porch. “Like I have a choice?”
She patted his cheek. “Good boy.”
The front door opened again, and an Italian version of Ann-Margret stuck her head out. “Get in here, you two.”
Noelle patted his cheek once more, then followed her wife’s directive. Kevin entered dutifully behind.
Renata Bivanti hugged him in an embrace as loving as that of Noelle, if a little more stiff. “Good to see you, love, even if it is last minute.” She shot an icy olive-hued glare at Noelle before leaning back to inspect him. She pursed her full lips. “You look tired, dear. A little puffy around the eyes. Are you okay?”
Without waiting for a reply, she began to slip Kevin’s jacket over his shoulders. “Goodness, Kev, you’re wrinkled and overdressed. Quite the combination, I must say.” She motioned to the banistered staircase that ran up the left side of the entryway. “Go upstairs and change.” She turned to walk away, then glanced back. “Put on that light blue Burberry shirt I got you. I don’t think you’ve taken it to your place yet. It will soften those bags under your eyes.” Again she began to turn away and paused. “Oh, and please ignore the mound of Christmas decorations on your bed. Apparently Noelle decided we need an Elf-inspired mantel this year.” She gave a shudder.
Sure enough, the bed was laden with thick p
iles of garlands and a host of Elf characters. The narwhal ornament was fairly cute, but Kevin had to second Renata’s reaction. He loved Noelle, even her fanatical obsession with all things Christmas. Her obsession over the movie Elf was completely lost on him. The pile of tacky Christmas crap covering his bed was a testament of how much Renata adored her wife. Kevin wasn’t sure if he’d be able to be quite that supportive, no matter how many years of marital bliss.
As always, his mother was correct. The blue of the Burberry lessened his tired appearance. Kevin pressed a cold washcloth over his eyes a minute or two longer and then inspected his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Better. Not good enough that the others wouldn’t notice, but hopefully to the point that they wouldn’t comment. After patting his face dry, and one final deep breath, he made his way back downstairs and entered the recently remodeled kitchen and dining room combo.
“There he is! My most handsome nephew!” Anthony set his glass of Chianti on the table and came over to give Kevin a bear hug. He was the youngest of the Bivanti siblings and came in a close second to being the most attractive. Renata held that distinction.
“Hi, Uncle Tony.” Kevin glanced over Anthony’s shoulder. “Your husband’s not here?”
“Nah. Rick already had plans this evening. Well, we both did, but I know better than to not show up when Renata calls.”
“Don’t you drag me into this!” his mother called out from behind the stove, where she stood over a pot of gravy, flecks of the tomato sauce speckling her apron. “This is all Noelle and Kevin’s doing. I dare say, you all knew about it before I did!”
Before Noelle or Kevin could respond, his aunts, Beatrice and Francesca, came over to give massive hugs of their own.
For the next ten minutes or so, the conversations were the typical getting caught up and checking in with one another. Most of the talk was easy to navigate through on autopilot, and despite his nerves, the familiarity of it all began to lull Kevin into a state of comfort. As had been the case when he was a kid, the older generation buzzed among themselves, gossiping about the siblings who weren’t there to defend themselves.
There were seven Bivanti siblings in all. All stair-stepped with two years between each one, now ranging from sixty-six to fifty-four. The ongoing joke was that Kevin’s grandfather Gino would give his wife a year off between each baby to “recuperate” before trying yet again for a child to carry on the Bivanti name. When Anthony was born, Ines retired from her fourteen years of acting as a “baby factory,” as Donna, the oldest sibling, called the time period. She’d always said it was a blessing that Anthony hadn’t come out as gay when he was a child, or Gino might have found it necessary to keep trying.
Dinner was less opulent than was normal. Noelle admitted to calling in sick to work that morning to begin cooking, but she didn’t have Renata’s talent in the kitchen, so she’d opted for stromboli and meatballs instead of a plethora of main dishes.
The easy conversation lasted throughout dinner and made it all the way through the siblings cracking open nuts for half an hour after. It wasn’t until rum cake and coffee that things took a more serious turn.
Kevin had felt Beatrice watching him during dinner, but when he kept pushing bits of his dessert across his plate, she finally spoke up. “Kevin, darling, you’re barely eating anything this evening. Are you sick?”
He cursed himself mentally. He should have forced the food down, like he always did. You didn’t show up to dinner with an Italian family and not eat. It wasn’t worth the explanations and fighting off his aunts and mothers shoving more food onto his plate, regardless of the hours at the gym he’d have to put in as compensation. “Actually my stomach is a bit upset tonight. I’m sorry. Eating just seems to make it worse right now.”
His mom latched on to the opportunity. “Sounds like a guilty conscience to me. Maybe it would be a good time for you and Noelle to admit to whatever evil you two have come up with.” She took a dainty sip of her coffee and leaned back in her chair in anticipation.
Noelle came to his rescue, in a manner of speaking. “Kevin is just as much out of the loop as the rest of you, at least as far as this dinner is concerned. But he does have an announcement of sorts that I thought you all might want to hear.”
All gazes turned toward Kevin, sucking all oxygen from the room. Kevin glanced at his mother, then quickly away.
Noelle spoke up once more. “Would you like me to tell them, dear?”
God, yes.
Actually, no. He didn’t. He wanted to run away. Call Sylvie and tell her he’d lost his mind the day before and he was feeling better now. He stared at the patterns on the china dessert plate. How he’d love to get lost in those blue swirls. “I quit my job.”
Renata’s ironclad composure slipped for a moment, her raised voice cracking in an atypical shriek. “What?”
Kevin jerked up to face her, cringing as he did so.
Her eyes were wide, but her tone was back under control. “You quit your job? You just walked out? After all these years, after all your work?”
He shook his head. “No. Sylvie asked me to stay for six weeks, help train someone to take my place. I’m not leaving until mid-January.”
His mother’s shoulders relaxed somewhat. “Oh. Thank goodness. Then it’s not too late to change. Maybe even renegotiate for a larger salary.”
The thought brought an immediate calm. That would work. Though he was already making more than he could really comprehend, he knew Sylvie would happily increase his pay in order to keep him. “Yes. I guess that could be true.”
“Kevin!” It was Noelle’s turn to raise her voice. “What in the world are you saying?”
Renata glared at her wife. From the corner of his eye, Kevin saw Anthony lean back from the table, as if getting out of firing range. “Noelle, I’m not sure what you’ve got up your sleeve, but I think you should leave our son’s future out of it.”
Noelle looked over at Kevin expectantly. When it became clear he had no plans or ability to speak, she let out a huff and rose to a standing position, the chair legs scraping across the wooden floor. “There is a perfect location coming on the market in the South End. Right across the street from the Boston Center for the Arts. It’s in this charming little brownstone.”
Francesca spoke up timidly. “Perfect for what?”
With a little gasp, Beatrice rescued both Kevin and Noelle from having to answer. “Your wedding dress shop!”
“Oh, for….” Renata slumped at the table, resting her forehead against her hands, all the puzzle pieces apparently falling into place. She didn’t look up as she addressed her wife. “Little brownstone? I know exactly which one you’re talking about. There’s nothing little about it.” She finally looked over at Noelle through the gap in her fingers. “I can only imagine how you found out about it. And since you did, you obviously know the price tag.”
Noelle sat back down at the table, admirably keeping her head high and her voice tremble-free. “I do. And I dare say it’s worth every penny.”
Renata straightened, her voice low. “And this dinner was what? So you’d have witnesses as you encourage our son to throw away all he’s worked for?”
Now Noelle did look nervous, and like Kevin, her gaze flitted down to the empty dessert plate in front of her. “In part. But there is another reason as well….”
“Got it!” Anthony’s sudden cry caused every other person around the table to jump, which then made him chuckle. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare everyone.” He grinned at Noelle. “But I do. I got it. I’ve been trying to figure out why you invited us. Why Donna, Carmela, and Elena aren’t here. At first I thought you were just including all queers of our family, but Beatrice is here, so that didn’t make sense. Well, that, and Donna isn’t.” He chuckled again.
Beatrice smacked her bother on the arm but didn’t hold back a chuckle of her own. “Quit being mean!” Donna was the oldest of the siblings, and the only one on whom the large family meals seemed to have sho
wn its effects. Although she had a husband and children, the rest of her siblings were convinced she was truly a lesbian, which would have tipped the number of homosexual Bivanti siblings to outnumber their straight counterparts.
Anthony continued to smirk but kept his attention focused on Noelle. “But that wasn’t it, was it? Beatrice, Francesca, and I are the only ones without children.”
Renata let out an exasperated groan. “Oh, no. Noelle, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Francesca piped up, though still timid. “I still don’t get it.”
Kevin braved a look at Noelle. “Neither do I.”
“I do.” Beatrice nodded at Noelle. “And I think it’s a wonderful idea.” She turned her attention to Kevin. Though at sixty-four, she was the same age as Noelle, her superthin appearance made her look older. The lines around her mouth deepened as she smiled in a motherly way at Kevin. “Francesca, Tony, and I don’t have children. Therefore, we can invest in you. Isn’t that right, Noelle?”
Though her voice quavered slightly, there was tentative confidence in Noelle’s tone. “That’s my hope. Yes. I thought if we could all take a second mortgage out on our homes, and I’ll take one on my hair salon…. I know it would be tight for everyone and probably still barely make it where we could get approval for a loan, but it’s worth a shot, right?”
The impact of what she was suggesting nearly brought Kevin to tears. Partly due to the love his family was showing, but even more so from the spike of terror it called forth. The thought of opening a shop on his own was daunting enough, and having the added pressure of his mothers’ and his aunts’ and uncle’s finances on his shoulders was beyond terrifying. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t ask that of all of you. I had no idea that—”
