The Queen of Minor Disasters (3 page)

“Nice,” I say politely, though
I could care less what fabulous job her daddy got her.

 “Are you still dating Drew?”
she asks suddenly and I feel my face get hot. I know that at twenty-seven I
should be more secure and not let petty things like that bother me but I can’t
help it. Trisha and Drew went to this uber-exclusive private school in
Philadelphia, and were prom king and queen or something. Apparently, they were
the “it” couple in high school, and even though that was ages ago, it still
makes me uncomfortable. The fact that Trisha is the one who introduced me to
Drew makes it all the worse.

“Of course,” I snap.

“I guess you’re just waiting
for a ring then?” she asks in the bitchy-but-friendly tone that she’s mastered.
One of her friends snickers a little.  I give her a tight smile. Just wait
until I get that ring, then I’ll flash it in her face.  I grab the menus and
begin walking them to their table.

As I walk back, I look around
to see what people are eating.  People love specials and tonight, Lorenzo made
two terrific ones: Chicken alla Patria, a chicken breast topped with fresh
tomatoes, spinach and melted mozzarella cheese, and Filet Mignon topped with a
wild blueberry sauce.

God, the boy is talented.

Sometimes he makes me feel
inadequate. I mean, we
are
twins
and all. Actually, all four of my brothers are talented. Dante is an awesome
teacher, Pietro is a big lawyer in New York City, Mario is the general manager
of the restaurants, and Lorenzo is an amazing chef. Then there’s me.

***

Two hours
later, as I’m counting the money in the office, Lucy arrives, flustered.

“Five hours
in traffic,” she whines in the doorway of the office. “You almost done? I need
a drink.”

“Yeah.” I
divide twenties into swift piles. “How are the waiters doing out there?”

“It looks
like they finished all their side-work. They’re all folding napkins.”

“Good. Can
you tell them I’ll be out in a minute?”

“Sure,” she
says, leaving the office.

I gather up
each waiter’s pile of tips and write it all in my book.  I look at my phone as
I walk out into the dining room. No calls from Drew. He must
still
be working. Or maybe he’s on his way
down. He probably changed his mind and decided to blow off work and surprise
me. Not that he’s ever done that, but you never know.

The waiters
are all sitting in chairs, folding napkins to restock the side stations. They
look like a strange bunch of businessmen, ties loosened or removed and crumpled
into balls on the table, shirts unbuttoned and untucked.  Lucy is right in
there with them, folding napkins with precision and chatting with Dante about
some school stuff.

“Great job
tonight guys,” I say. They all look up and shuffle around for their things. I
hand them each their tips and say goodbye.

 “Where’s Drew?” Lucy asks
when all the servers are gone.

“He’s not coming. Did you
bring the wine?”

“That sucks,” she says and
stands. She moves over to her purse and lifts out a brown paper bag. “I did
better than wine,” she removes the bag dramatically. “I brought Andre.”

I laugh. Andre is the cheapest
of all champagnes, good for nothing except maybe cooking, yet the two of us
love it. It’s our little secret. I stand and take the bottle from her hands,
hugging it. “The only man who never lets me down.”

“It’ll go perfect with some
chocolate.”

“I like the way you think,” I
say and move towards the dessert case. Since Drew is not coming, I may as well
scarf down an extra-large piece of Chuck’s chocolate cake. Not that I’m
heartbroken or anything.

By the time I return, Lucy’s
already put the bottle on ice and cleared away the place settings from the
table. She looks so at home in the restaurant that it’s hard to believe that
we’ve only been friends for four years. She just fits into my family, which is
not an easy feat. Plus, she’s a natural beauty, with long lean legs and wavy
chestnut hair. No wonder my mom has been trying to get her and Dante together.            I
sit down next to her and place the cake in the middle of the table.

“Why isn’t Drew coming down?”
she asks taking a fork.

“Work” I wave it off and take
a sip.  The champagne instantly makes me feel better.

She smiles sympathetically.
“It’s just temporary. Drew’s a great guy and he loves you.”

I take a bite of cake. She’s
right. I really did luck out with Drew but sometimes I get impatient about the
whole marriage thing. “Luce, I thought tonight was the night,” I confess.

“Don’t worry Stell. It’s
coming. I can feel it.”

I smile but a small part of me
can’t help but wonder if it is true. I stab another forkful of cake and shove
it in my mouth.

Yields 8 servings*

If you’re following Food
Therapy, this is the Tylenol of Cakes. It can fix just about any ailment you
might have, from a hangover to a heartbreak (which, by the way, usually go hand
in hand).

*If, by chance you see that you’ve
eaten the entire cake, don’t worry. Just don some elastic pants and nurse
yourself back to health. You can always diet tomorrow.

8 oz semi-sweet chocolate

1 oz unsweetened chocolate

1 3/4 sticks of butter

2 oranges (zests and juice)

1 teaspoon vanilla

5 large eggs

1
       
tablespoon flour

1 tablespoon dark cocoa powder

1)
     
Preheat oven to 375. Butter an 8” cake pan and line
with parchment paper. Butter the paper and set prepared pan aside.

2)
     
Using a double boiler, melt together chocolate,
butter, orange zests, orange juice, and vanilla. Stir to incorporate.

3)
     
Remove chocolate from the double boiler and allow
to cool for 5 minutes.

4)
     
Add eggs, one at a time, stirring well to
incorporate. Add the flour and cocoa powder and stir until dissolved.

5)
     
Pour batter into prepared pan. Place pan in middle rack
of the oven and bake for 20-25 minutes, until set.

6)
     
Removed pan from oven and allow to cool for 15-20 minutes.
Gently invert the cake onto a serving platter. Remove parchment paper and dust
with powdered sugar.

This cake will keep in an airtight container at room
temp for 5 days. It also freezes nicely.

As much as I normally love my
bus rides, I do not like getting stuck sitting next to people, and if I time
things correctly, I can usually get my own seat. The trick is to sit relatively
close to the driver, so as people board the bus, they see the empty seats in
the back rows and move towards them. The other trick is to sit in the aisle
seat, making it difficult for people to get to the free window seat. As selfish
as it sounds, it’s the
one
area
when I think of myself before others. A relaxing three-hour bus ride can be
hellish if seated next to someone who is

a)
     
Weird

b)
     
Extremely
overweight and thus requiring more room than normal,

Or

c)
     
Talkative.

The Atlantic City to New York
busses are usually full of all the aforementioned folks, so I stick to my guns.
If all else fails and someone is still trying to snag the seat next to me, I
usually breakout it an uncontrollable fit of coughing. Even the freaks and
degenerate gamblers are scared of germs nowadays.

But today I hardly care at
all. My stomach is in knots and my mind is racing. Luckily, the bus is pretty
empty, so I’m able to get a good seat. Before boarding, I bought a bunch of
gossip magazines at Quick Mart, but not even Brad and Angie’s new baby can hold
my interest for very long. Still, I open a magazine to distract myself.

Things have been so awkward
since Friday night that I’m a little nervous to see Drew today.  He’s been sort
of weird. I don’t know how to explain it, but something is off. I can tell.
He’s been pretty short on the phone the past couple days and he didn’t really
sound too excited when I said I was coming up to visit.

Of course, this could all be a
plan to distract me.

Maybe he wants me to think
he’s working all day, but really he’ll be waiting for me in his apartment.

I can imagine it already.

I’ll unlock the door and make
my way into the apartment only to see flower petals strewn all over the floor.
Then I’ll look up and see him, kneeling on the floor, ring in hand…

I must have fallen asleep in
the midst of my fantasy because before I know it, we are pulling into Port
Authority Bus Terminal. I look at my watch. It’s 2:45, which gives me plenty of
time to go grocery shopping and get a head start on dinner before Drew gets
home.

I step off the bus and take a
deep breath of the city I love. New York feels like an entirely different world
from the Island, though I suppose Manhattan is actually an island too. Anyway,
it’s a different kind of island, and the rushed pace of people around me is a
nice change.

Yes, this is where I
need
to be. This is our city. It was made
for Drew and me.

And the other eight million
people here.

I make my way through the
labyrinth under Port Authority without getting lost and walk towards the
subway. I only have to wait two minutes before the 1 train arrives.

I ride the train up to 72
^nd
Street and Broadway. I get out there, forty blocks away from Drew’s Harlem
apartment, but only two blocks away from Fairway Market, where I can find the
best olives and cheese in the neighborhood.

I don’t want to waste too much
time in Fairway, so I walk right over to the cheeses and pick up some fresh
Parmigiano Reggiano and ricotta salata. There’s nothing better than being able
to make my boyfriend’s favorite pasta dish to surprise him.

He’ll probably think I want to
go out for dinner, but tonight I feel like staying in, because if tonight is
the night, I want him all to myself.

I walk back towards the
produce and pick out seven Roma tomatoes, an onion, and an eggplant. Before
walking to the check-out I grab a box of penne and some sparkling water.

Don’t worry; I haven’t
forgotten dessert.

I walk a few blocks and pick
up some crisp Riesling on 79th Street. Then I trek up to Café Vola, my favorite
spot in the entire city. It’s pretty much the happiest place in on earth.
Always brightly lit, the café sticks out like a Christmas tree in a street full
of dimly lit trendy bars. The brick walls are covered with vintage posters
filling the ambiance with bright orange, bursting red, and sunny yellow hues.
This place exudes happiness.