The Queen of Minor Disasters (26 page)

           
I stand up. “Calm down, Mom.”

           
“You calm down, Stella. My son, my youngest son is marrying a
puttana
. How can I be calm?”

           
“Mom, they love each other. They’re getting married. They’re having a
bab…”

           
She puts her hand up to stop me. “I don’t even want to think about it. My
first grandchild, a bastard.”

           
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say and turn my back.

           
“Stella. I’m worried about your father. This will kill him.”

           
“Then you better start dealing with it in a different way,” I snap, my
heart pounding. “Because it’s happening Mom. There’s nothing you can do to stop
it.”

           
I close the door behind me and instantly regret being so harsh to my
mother. Instead of smoothing things over, I pushed her away.

           
Still, she’s being unfair.

             Lucy
sniffles. “How’s your mom?”

           
“She’ll be fine,” I say swiftly, though I’m not so sure.

           
We hear keys in the door and for a moment, we’re all paralyzed. Mario
stands. Pietro and Gina take Mario’s hint, and they all walk out towards the bay.

           
“Good luck,” Dante mutters and follows them.

           
My dad opens the door and smiles at us. He’s carrying five Wal-Mart
plastic bags, and I see that he’s bought two kinds of soap, bug spray, and some
toilet paper. I can’t tell what’s in the other bags. “Hello,” he chirps, taking
his keys out of the door.

“Hi Dad.” Lorenzo starts
walking towards him. “We have something to tell you.”

           
“Where’s your mother?” my dad asks in a panic. He can see that Lucy’s
crying and Lorenzo looks on edge.

           
“She’s upstairs,” I say quickly.

           
“Is she okay?”

           
“Yeah, she’s… fine.”

           
“What’s going on then?” my dad asks placing the bags on the dining room
table. He takes his wallet and cell phone out of his pocket and places them
next to the bags.

Lorenzo doesn’t waste any
time. “Dad, Lucy is pregnant,” he says as if ripping off a Band-Aid.

           
My dad steps back for a minute. “Lucy.” His eyes soften as he looks at
her. “Are you all right? Can we help with anything?”

           
Oh God. He doesn’t understand.

           
She nods her head and looks at Lorenzo.

“Who’s the father?” my dad
asks looking at me. He expects that since I’m her best friend, I’ll have the
answers.

           
“I am,” Lorenzo says quietly.

           
“What?”

           
“I am, Dad. Lucy and I have been dating for a few months now.” He goes
and stands next to her chair, placing his hand on her shoulder.

           
“Dating?” my dad booms.

           
Lorenzo speaks calmly. “Dad, we really love each other. We’re getting
married.”

           
Dad sits in the chair next to Lucy. He looks pale.

           
I feel like I should leave the room but I can’t.

           
“We already talked to Fr. Jim. He agreed to marry us next week. We’ve
been doing Pre-Cana with him in the mornings.”

           
My dad looks at Lucy and then up at Lorenzo. He takes a deep breath. “Let
me go and check on your mother.”

           
We wait in silence for my father to return. Lucy continues to cry and I
take her hand. “Luce, don’t get yourself all worked up. They’ll come around.” I
squeeze her hand.

           
“I wrecked everything. Your parents hate me and my dad won’t even speak
to me.”

           
My heart breaks for her. Instead of feeling joyful about her marriage and
baby, my best friend is suffering inside. “Be strong,” I say though I wish I
could think of something else.

           
Lorenzo paces back and forth nervously.

           
About an hour later, my father comes downstairs. “I need to ask you both
to go. Your mother doesn’t want to see you.”

           
Lucy stands, her head down. She walks out of the kitchen and through the
screen door.

           
“This is fucking bullshit.” Lorenzo yells. “After all I do for the family
this is how I’m treated?”

           
“Lorenzo, go,” my father demands.

           
“You know what? You guys can have fun cooking in the restaurant tonight
because I’m not doing it.” He walks out of the door, slamming it as he exits.

Yields 3 dozen

Even though things didn’t go
exactly as I planned these cookies are still damn good.

Maybe if my parents would have
eaten a few more, they wouldn’t be so angry with Lorenzo.

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) butter,
softened

3/4 cup granulated sugar

3/4 cup packed brown sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 large eggs

3
       
cups chocolate chips

1)
     
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2)
     
Combine flour, baking soda, and salt in small bowl.

3)
     
Beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and
vanilla extract in large mixer bowl until creamy.

4)
     
Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each
addition.

5)
     
Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in chocolate
chips.

6)
     
Drop by rounded tablespoons onto ungreased baking
sheets.

7)
     
Bake for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown.
Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes.

8)
     
 Place on wire racks to cool completely.

           
Despite my attempts to call him, Lorenzo doesn’t answer his phone. It’s
2:30 p.m. and as of now, we have no chef. The phone is ringing off the hook
with reservations and I don’t want to take any more. But it wouldn’t matter
anyway. It’s Saturday; we’re already booked.

           
Mario is good, but there’s no way he can handle all the reservations for
tonight.

           
Maybe I can help. Ok, so I’m not exactly Wolfgang Puck, but I can hold my
own. That’s it. I’ll just ask Lucy to come in and hostess, and I’ll don an
apron and help Mario out.            

Just as I’m about to call
Lucy, I see my mother walking towards the restaurant. She’s wearing her chef
jacket and kitchen clogs. She takes all her frustrations out on the door as she
swings it open.

           
“Does he think I can’t handle the kitchen?” she screams at me. “I taught
him how to cook!”

           
She walks past me and through the swinging doors to the kitchen. Her head
is held high and her back is straight. She’s all business and ready to tackle
every order of the night.

           
The phone rings.

           
“Hello Lorenzo’s, how can I help you?” I say, my eyes still on the
kitchen door. I wonder how Mario is taking this one. She’ll probably
micromanage him the entire night.

           
“Is this Stella?” a man’s voice says knocking me back to reality.

           
“Yes. Who’s this?” I look at the caller ID but the information is
blocked.

           
I wait for a minute.

           
“Hello?” I’m getting ready to hang up.

           
“It’s Roberto. Lancetti.”

           
Ugh. This is
so
not what I
need right now. I wait for him to say more.

           
“I heard about Lorenzo and I was wondering if you guys needed some help.
I’m not doing anything tonight.”

           
How the hell did he hear about Lorenzo? I swear this town taps its phone
lines or something.

           
“We’ll be all right,” I say and twirl the phone wire around my finger.
For a second, I think of telling him to come on by. He can cover the front for
a few hours while I smooth things over with my brother. Plus, if we add a third
party to the mix my mother will be less likely to explode. But just as quickly
as the thought enters my head, I push it away. The last thing I need right now
is his pity.

           
“Ok, well if you need anything, just give me a call.”

           
When I hang up, I can’t help but think how kind he is. I mean honestly,
Drew would have never offered to roll up his sleeves and pitch in. Still, I’m
fairly certain that Mrs. Lancetti has something to do with this. After the
whole fiasco with the flowers, I can’t really trust her or my mother.

           
The waiters file in, one by one. Dante comes in last, buttoning his shirt
as he walks into the dining room. “How’s Mom?” he asks.

           
“I don’t know.”

           
I follow him in the kitchen and we see my brother Mario looking like a
seven-year-old who’s been scolded. She must have unleashed her fury on him.
Thank God for soundproof doors.

           
My mother methodically slices tomatoes for bruschetta. She and Lorenzo
are exactly the same.

           
“How are you doing?” I ask her.

           
“I am fine. Can you give me the breakdown of the night?” she snaps. Is
she mad at me or something? What the hell did I do? Besides try to hold this
damn family together.

           
By 6:00, I can already tell that the kitchen is slower than normal. I
glance around the restaurant and see tables that have been here an hour only
just eating salads. That’s not good. If it stays like this I’ll have crowds of
angry people at the front door by 7:00, complaining about the wait time on
their reservation. And to be honest, I can’t handle that. Not tonight.

The phone rings. I reach for
it, hoping it’s Roberto offering to help again.

           
“Hello Lorenzo’s.”

           
“Stella, honey, it’s Dad.” He sounds tired.

           
“Hi Dad. How are you?”

           
“I’m doing good. I talked to Lorenzo.”

           
I sigh happily. My dad cannot stand fighting with his sons. Since Mario
won’t let up, my dad was forced to make peace with Lorenzo.