A Bouquet of Love (21 page)

“Good luck convincing my father of that.”

“I'm pretty sure I can,” she said. “We'll hire him as a consultant. He can help with story ideas. We want this to be as authentic as possible.”

Good grief. I could almost see it now. Before long Babbas
would be sitting in the director's chair, calling the shots. Or worse. Maybe he'd want to star in the show.

“You know he'll want to play the role of the Greek father, right?” I gave her a knowing look.

“I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But we'll be filming mostly in L.A., so I don't think he would really give it serious thought, do you? I mean, you guys just moved here. Surely he's not ready to trade it all in just yet.”

Strange, I would've jumped on the idea of going back to California just a few weeks ago. Now the idea of leaving made me feel queasy. So much had changed, so very much.

“No. He would never leave the shop, trust me. Once Mama comes back and things get back to normal, I think we'll be planted here forever. Especially now, with the sitcom idea brewing.”

I couldn't help but smile as I thought it through. Staying here forever sounded very appealing now that Alex and I were a couple.

Alex! I needed to call him and fill him in on the day's events. He would be shocked, no doubt. I was still reeling myself. In one day my whole world had changed. I'd been asked to link arms with Bella and the other Galveston wedding vendors, Brock Benson was coming to town to film a commercial that would benefit all of the island's businesses, Mama had run away from home, and my father was about to become a lead character in a sitcom that could very well change all of our lives forever.

Other than that, it had been a pretty normal day.

You might be Greek if your guests get out of their car and the first thing they say is, “How did you find this place?”

T
he following morning I found Babbas pacing the shop, looking completely bewildered.

“What do I do, Cassia?” he asked. “Without your mother here to do the baking, I'm lost.”

“I can stay home from the flower shop today,” I said. “But I have a better idea. Why not close up the shop for a couple of hours?”

“Close up shop? Never!”

“Even if it meant going to see Mama to try to talk some sense into her?”

“What?” He took several steps toward me and reached
for my hands. “You know where your mama is, Cassia? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just found out last night, and you were already sleeping when I got home. I went to see her, Babbas. She's . . . well, she's not keen on coming home just yet. I think she has a lot to work out in her heart and mind.”

“I will go to her. I will close the shop.”

At that last proclamation, I felt pretty sure I heard a heavenly choir singing “The Hallelujah Chorus.” My father never shut down the shop, no matter what. Stranger still, he insisted that the whole family come along. Maybe he felt safer with the little ones gathered around him, or maybe he thought Mama would take one look at Gina's little face and melt.

We made the drive to the Rossi home, all of us weirdly silent. I could read the fear in my father's eyes as we pulled up to the beautiful Victorian mansion.

“This is where your mama is staying?” he asked.

When I nodded, he fell silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his words sounded strained. “She'll never want to come home after this.” He dove into a discussion about how a woman as good as my mother deserved a lovely home like this one, how he should have given her all she wanted and needed.

A strange surge of affection coursed through me as I thought about what he must be feeling. “It's not about the house,” I said. “It's about the people in it and how they treat you.”

“Do you think I need to treat her better?”

I think you need
to treat us all better.

But I would never say that aloud, at least not during such a vulnerable moment. “I think she needs to hear how much
you love her and how much she's missed. Every woman wants to be missed, Babbas.”

Eva chimed in, and so did Darian, who surprised me with his candor.

We got out of the car and crossed the beautifully landscaped front yard, then climbed the steps to the veranda. When I rang the bell, my father ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair as if trying to groom himself. “How do I look?” he whispered.

“Fine. Just fine.”

He did too. Until Bella's uncle Laz opened the door. Oops!

No one said anything for a moment. Laz finally offered a nod and ushered us inside with a gruff, “They're in the kitchen.”

Babbas didn't say a word as he made his way past Laz Rossi. Must've taken a lot of restraint to keep his thoughts inside. What would he say, anyway? “Thank you for taking care of my wife”?

When we arrived in the large modern kitchen, my father paused to take in his surroundings. I could tell from his expression that the room impressed him. Apparently so did the woman standing behind the trays of garlic rolls. Mama looked even prettier today than yesterday, and that was really saying something. The new hairdo and makeup job made her look a good ten years younger, and the dress she wore took several pounds off of her.

Babbas took a tentative step into the room and cleared his throat. Mama looked up from her work and her eyes grew wide. “So . . . you're here.” For a moment I thought she might hide behind Rosa, who looked as if she could take my father down at a second's notice. But no, Mama held her own. Still,
Rosa hovered nearby with a spatula in her hand, which no doubt she would use against my father's backside should he come any closer.

“Yes, I'm here, Helena,” Babbas managed. “I've come for you.”

“Well, thanks for stopping by, but I won't be leaving. Some big changes will have to take place before that can happen.”

Rosa let out a grunt and smacked the spatula into a pan filled with ground beef.

“Helena, what are you trying to prove here? What is this?”

“I'm living my life, Niko. That is all.”

“But . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You already have a life.” He pointed to us kids, but we were all too busy taking in the fabulous home. I heard Eva let out a little sigh.

Mama muttered something under her breath, then put both hands on the countertop and glared at him. “Remind me again why you've come?”

“I've come to . . .” He hesitated and looked around the Rossi kitchen. “Is that a double oven?”

“It is.” She nodded. “I've used it several times since they invited me to stay with them. I've always wanted a double oven.”

“I know, Helena. And maybe someday we can—”

“There are a great many things I've always wanted, Niko. Things I've done without so that we could have a restaurant.”

“Are you sorry I brought you to Galveston?”

“I'm sorry you never asked my opinion. You told me what we were doing, and I went along with you to keep from stirring the waters.”

“You are unhappy here?”

Darian cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. My other brother and sisters looked uncomfortable too. Still, what could we do but pray at a time like this? Well, pray, and drool over the garlic twists on the large tray in front of us. Yum.

“You brought us to this God-forsaken place. Hot. Humid. And you won't even let us befriend our neighbors. We have to hate them just because they have a restaurant.”

“But Helena—”

“At home I had friends. People I could call on. Here I have customers. People who see me as an outsider.” She pointed to Rosa, who blanched and took a step back. “Do you see this woman here?”

“Of course I see her,” Babbas growled. “I'm not blind, woman.”

“You are blind, Niko. That's the problem. You see her as an enemy. I see her as someone willing to open up and share her life, her home, her recipes with me. That sort of person, Niko, is called a friend. You wouldn't know because you don't believe in them.” Mama slung her arm around Rosa's shoulder.

“Well, I . . .” Babbas seemed at a loss for words.

“And I'm not allowed such friendships, am I? At least in California I had a few acquaintances who met with your approval. Here my hands are tied. I have to hide my friendships from you.” Her hand slid off Rosa's shoulder. “Or worse yet, give up on them altogether and pretend I'm okay when I'm not.”

“Are you saying you want to go home to California?” Babbas flinched as he spoke the word
home
. Surely he'd said it by accident.

“I don't even know where home is anymore.” Tears filled Mama's eyes. “I miss my old life. I miss being a normal family. I miss relationships with other women, talking about things that women talk about. And I miss spending time alone with you.”

“You . . . you do?”

“The old you. The one who talked to me about life. Things that mattered. Not just questions about how many trays of baklava I'd baked and how many gallons of tzatziki sauce I'd made. Remember when we used to talk about retiring? Taking a trip to Greece?”

“But we must keep the business running,” Babbas said. “How could we possibly leave when there's so much to do?”

“The business, the business, always the business!” Mama huffed across the room, then turned back to face us, eyes brimming. “That's the problem, Niko. The business is the main thing with you. When are the people in your life going to be the main thing?”

The silence that followed was deafening, but not nearly as deafening as the intense sobs from my father. I'd never heard a grown man weep like that, so it caught me off guard. Must've scared Rosa too, because she scooted out of the room. Gina rushed to Babbas and threw herself around his legs, then began to weep with him. Mama looked equally as shocked.

“Niko, what is it?”

For a moment he didn't answer. When his words finally came, I could barely make them out. “I . . . I . . . love . . . my . . . family!” This sentence was followed by a string of words in Greek. Or possibly pig Latin. I couldn't really tell through the emotion, but I got the gist of it. The man didn't like being accused of putting business before family. That much I got.

“I do not question your love, Niko. I question the way you show it. You are harsh to those you love and even more so to those you don't.” Mama's voice softened. “This sets such a bad example for the children.”

“Bad example?” He looked her way and dabbed at his eyes.

“You say one thing and do another. You go to church on Sunday and even spout the Scriptures from the sermon, but then you bark out orders to your family. This is not the best way to show us that we are loved or appreciated. Worse still, you teach the children to hate their neighbor. This is the opposite of what the Bible says we should do.”

“It's not hate.” He shrugged. “It's marketing.”

“Marketing schmarketing.” Mama walked over and placed her hand on Babbas's arm. “I'm sick to death of that word. What ever happened to winning people over with love? With real relationships? This is what being a Christian is all about, Niko. Not letting your anger and your jealousy get the best of you.”

His eyes puddled again and he shifted his gaze to the floor. “So, I am a hypocrite?”

“I'm just saying you're a temperamental man, Niko, and it hurts your testimony.”

“Hurts my testimony?” Tears trickled down his cheeks and his voice quivered. “Because I get emotional, you doubt my faith?”

“I'm not doubting your faith.” Mama's voice lowered. “Just the example you are setting. You can call it emotional if you like. I call it anger. Temper.” She raised her index finger to silence him before he could interrupt. “And before you go telling me it's because you're Greek, just know that I've heard that line before. If we're going with that theory, then
we have to also say that our heritage controls our emotions, and I refuse to believe that.”

“B-but—”

“You need to take a look at your temper and stop making excuses for it, because the way you act confuses people.” She gave him a compassionate look. “I know your heart. You're not a mean man on the inside.”

“I'm not.” Tears dampened his red cheeks again, and he swiped them away with the back of his hand. “If people really knew me, they would know that. I guess I just . . .” His words drifted off, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

“You just get carried away in the moment and start bossing people around,” Mama said. “It comes naturally.”

Obviously.

“Someone has to be in charge,” Babbas said. “Every ship needs a captain.”

“A captain, yes,” she countered. “Not a tyrant. Sometimes I feel like you've forced the rest of us onto the ship without consulting us first. Then you set out to sea and make us swab the decks while you bark orders. It's not a fun way to live.”

Babbas sighed and slid down into a chair at the breakfast table. He looked at my siblings, then his gaze shifted to me. “Do you feel the same, Cassia?” he asked. “Do you think I'm a tyrant?”

Wow. Talk about being put on the spot. Still, I couldn't help but speak the truth, hard as it might be in the moment. “I think sometimes you react out of emotion, Babbas. We all do.”

“But you think I'm . . . mean?” This question was directed at all of us.

Gina answered it best by scooting behind me to avoid his gaze. The rest of us just stood in silence.

Is
there an exit nearby? I need a clean getaway, Lord
!

“I'll take that as a yes.” Babbas brushed his hands on his slacks and drew in a deep breath. “And do you all agree that I've kidnapped you on my pirate ship and set out to sea without consulting you?”

More silence.

His shoulders rolled forward and he looked tired. “I've made a mistake coming here.” His words came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Coming to the Rossi home, you mean?” Mama crossed her arms at her chest and gave him a pensive look.

“No.” He stood and looked into her eyes. “Coming to Texas. It was a mistake. We were doing fine in Santa Cruz. I brought the whole family here on a whim, and look at the trouble it's caused.”

Actually, I could name any number of good things that had come from that decision, but this probably wasn't the time or place.

Babbas leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. For a few seconds he said nothing. I wondered if he might be praying. With his face now hidden from view, who could tell? He finally came up for air and faced us all, tears still trickling down his cheeks.

“I must change my ways. I must come up with a new plan. Will you pray for me? I need God's help in this . . . and yours too.”

You could've heard a pin drop in the room. Surely the idea of our father changing his ways had sent a shock wave around the room. Possibly the planet.

Gina broke the silence by stepping out from behind me and flinging herself into our father's arms. “It doesn't have to be a
big change, Babbas,” she said, and then the tears flowed like flower petals down her precious pink cheeks. “J-just a little b-bitty one in your heart. Th-that's what my Sunday school teacher said last w-week.”

My baby sister had a good point. A little bitty change would probably go a long way in a situation such as this. If Babbas really opened himself up to the possibilities, it could change the entire dynamic of our family. Maybe we could be more like Alex's family—calm, cool, collected. Or maybe we could meet in the middle and be more like the Rossis. Either way, I could sense changes coming, and not the kind that would make for wacky television.