A Bouquet of Love (25 page)

“Niko is the same way.” Mama sighed. “But I don't care about any of that. I'm done with feuding.” She turned to Athena. “I'm sorry if that ruins your sitcom idea, Athena. It's all fun and games for TV, but in the real world we just can't live like this. We are called to love our neighbors, to live together in harmony.”

“Right, right.” Athena looked a bit dejected. “Should we . . . I mean, should I call my producer and tell him we're not moving forward with the idea?”

Mama shook her head. “No, I'm not saying that either. It would destroy Niko's ego to have that show stolen away from him. He thinks he's going to be famous.”

“Uncle Laz would be devastated too,” Bella said. “He loved the idea. And I think the people at the Food Network are pleased too. This will draw even more people to
The Italian
Kitchen
.”

“So what's the answer, Mama?” I asked. I could tell from the look on her face that she had some sort of a plan brewing.

“I've been giving this a lot of thought,” she said. “I believe Niko and Laz need to meet in the middle.”

“Meet in the middle?” Bella, Athena, and I spoke the words in unison.

“Yep. Meet in the middle.” Mama's eyes gleamed as she looked at the cobblestone street. “And I've come up with just the right way to make that happen.”

“Oh?” This certainly captured my interest.

“Yes.” She continued to stare at the middle of the street, a devilish gleam in her eyes. “But I can't do it alone.” She homed in on the three of us, her voice lowering to a hoarse whisper. “To bring these two men together . . . well, it's going to take a village.”

You might be Greek if you are summoned to meals by the sound of a shofar.

A
week after my world-rocking conversation with Mama, we braced ourselves for the implementation of her big plan.

Okay, so it wasn't just Mama's plan. By the time it all came together, it pretty much involved every woman in the Pappas family and the Rossi family. And heavens, there were a lot of women in the Rossi family! They all chimed in with their thoughts, and before long our “wow, I hope this works!” plan was set.

Midmorning Saturday, we all gathered at the shop. Athena, Stephen, Alex, his sisters, the Splendora ladies . . . everyone.
Well, everyone on the Pappas side. Keeping things a secret from Babbas proved slightly problematic with Alex's aunt Twila in the mix, but we managed to contain her before the cat slipped out of the bag.

Mama kicked off the action at 11:45 with a proclamation: “Niko, I want you to put the Closed sign on the door.”

“The Closed sign?” He looked perplexed. “But we're not officially closing for another week and a half.”

“That's not what I mean. I want you to close up shop today. Right now.” She pointed to a couple of tables where guests sat eating. “As soon as these last customers leave. You must trust me. No arguments.”

“But why? Saturday is our busiest day!” He started to rant in Greek but then stopped himself, a sheepish look on his face. “I will do it, Helena. For you. Anything.”

Wow. He really had changed.

At noon, just as Mama rushed the last customer out the door, she hung the Closed sign and gestured for the rest of us—minus Babbas, who still worked in the kitchen—to join her on the sidewalk. We met up with Officer O'Reilly, who gave Mama a thumbs-up. Perfect. Good to go.

I glanced to the middle of the street to make sure everything was in place, then giggled as I reached for Alex's hand. “You ready for this?” I whispered.

He gave me a sound kiss and then responded with a boisterous, “Yep! Can't wait! It's gonna be quite a day.”

We exchanged a subtle look of amusement, followed by a high five.

Mama called out for Babbas to join us, and he stepped out onto the sidewalk just as the entire Rossi family flooded out of Parma John's across the street.

For a moment no one moved—not the Greeks, not the Italians. A lot of staring took place, but no forward motion. Kind of felt like a scene from one of those old Westerns, where the good guy and the bad guy face each other down at the O.K. Corral. Except there weren't any bad guys in our story. Well, not of the shoot-'em-up variety.

“What in the world?” Babbas remained in his Greek statuesque pose, gazing at Parma John's and then at the obvious setup in the center of the street. “What is this?”

“This, my dear, is where we're having lunch.” Mama gestured to the long line of picnic tables running down the center of the Strand.

“Lunch? In the middle of the street?”

“Yes, but before we eat, I have something I need to say.” She put her hands on her hips and faced him dead-on. “You can go back to California if you like, Niko Pappas, but you will go without me.”

“Without you?” He stared at her and then shook his head. “But I'm going
because
of you.”

“No. I will not be the reason you flip this family upside down. We love it here in Galveston.”

Babbas began to rant in Greek about women and their inability to make up their minds, at which point Yia Yia took hold of his arm and pinched it.

“Already you slip back to your old ways, boy? I raised you better than this!” She wiggled a bony finger in his face. “If you know what's good for you, you will speak to others with kindness, especially the wife God has blessed you with.”

“I am kind!” Babbas grunted and muttered in Greek once again. “Did Gina not say just the other day that I'm
too
nice?”

Mama rolled her eyes. “Impossible.” She placed her hand
on my father's arm. “Now, Niko, we don't want you to lose your personality—heaven forbid—but there's no such thing as being too kind. Remember what the Bible says about loving your neighbor.”

“Loving my neighbor?” He grunted again as he looked across the street at the Rossis, who stood on their sidewalk arguing with Laz. He looked about as happy as Babbas did.

“We will meet in the middle,” Mama said.

Babbas looked confused. “Meet in the middle?”

“Yes. You will meet me halfway. I will stay, and you will lay down your battle with the Rossis . . . forever.”

“But—”

“No buts. And just to reiterate, I'm not going anywhere. You can leave if you want, but I'm staying put, even if you decide not to share a meal with our new friends.”

“Helena, surely you don't think that we should—”

“We're having a picnic with the neighbors.” She pointed to the beautifully decorated tables, then took a step into the street. “Join us if you like. Or don't. It's your choice.”

He looked at the line of picnic tables running down the middle of the Strand. “Are you crazy? Cars have to get through here. And the trolley.”

Officer O'Reilly approached and handed Babbas an official-looking piece of paper. “Your wife applied for a permit, Niko. I've coned off the area, as you can see. Plenty of room on either side for cars to get by. And before you start fretting over the trolley, let me put your mind at ease. It's shut down for servicing for the next two hours. Won't reopen until two o'clock, so this little get-together will have to end before then.”

“See there?” Mama gave Babbas a knowing look. “So just you hush, old man, and join us for a picnic with friends.”

My father continued to grumble, and Yia Yia reached out to pinch him again. Before he could holler “Ouch!” my brothers emerged from Super-Gyros carrying large platters of Greek food to the tables in the center of the street.

Babbas looked mortified. “Where are you going with that?” he hollered.

“We're meeting in the middle,” Darian said as he set a tray of gyros down and then headed back inside to fetch more food.

“In the
very
middle,” Bella said, joining us with a large pizza in hand. She called out to Scarlet and Gabi to help her bring out more food from Parma John's—pasta, garlic twists, tiramisu, and more.

Alex grabbed a slice of pizza and slathered it with tzatziki sauce, then took a big bite. “Mmm.”

“Meeting . . . in the middle?” Babbas kept his position on the Greek side of the street. He cast a furtive glance at Laz, whose feet remained firmly fixed to the sidewalk on the Italian side. The two men stared at one another, each refusing to budge.

“Stay there if you like,” Mama said. “But the rest of us are going to share a meal together as one big happy family. I understand the pizza at Parma John's is quite tasty.”

“You wouldn't dare.” Babbas turned to her, clearly mortified.

“Try me.” She walked over to the table to grab a slice of the Mambo Italiano, then scarfed it down in a hurry. “Yum!”

I couldn't resist, so I grabbed a slice too. So did Darian. Then Filip, then Eva. Gina was the last to succumb, but when she did, her darling face lit up. “The pizza is delicious, Babbas!”

Our father waved his hands in the air as he took a tentative step toward the edge of the sidewalk. “You are all crazy.”

“Yes, they are!” Laz called out. “The police will shut this down in a New York minute and have all of you sent to the loony bin!”

“On the contrary.” Mama gestured to Officer O'Reilly. “As we've already told Niko, I applied for a permit to meet here for two hours. I have the paper to prove it. And we've asked one of Galveston's finest to join us. This is a family meal, and Officer O'Reilly is family now.” She gestured for the officer to sit and he did.

Laz shook his head. “Have you all lost your minds?”

“No, dear.” Rosa gave him a firm look as she took a seat and reached for a gyro. “I believe we've found them. Now, are you going to join us, or are we going to have to say grace without you?”

Laz grunted something in Italian. Babbas countered with something equally as irritating in Greek. But Mama and Rosa held their ground as the rest of us—nearly forty, if you counted Greeks, Italians, Splendora folks, and O'Reilly—took our seats.

“Rosa, would you like some tzatziki sauce?” Mama passed the bowl. “My Cassia makes it, and it's the best on the island.”

“Sounds divine. I haven't had good tzatziki sauce since . . . well, since you stayed at our house last week, actually. But I can't wait to have more.” Rosa turned her attention to my father. “Niko—do you mind if I call you Niko?—your family recipe is the best I've ever tasted.”

He grunted a thank-you.

“Almost as good as that Greek pizza recipe Cassia shared with us,” Rosa added. “I still don't care for the name, though.”

“Yes,” Twila chimed in. “The Venus Flytrap just sounds so . . . hokey.”

Babbas crossed his arms and glared at me.

“Of course, we are equally as thrilled that you have shared your secrets with us,” Mama said to Rosa. “How can I ever thank you for that recipe for your garlic twists?” She reached for one and gave it a taste. “Mmm.”

“You gave away our family recipe for the garlic twists?” Laz's face reddened. “Really?”

“Well, yes,” Rosa said. “That's what friends do.”

Mama took another nibble. “I've never tasted anything as good. And your homemade sauce—divine!”

“Gravy,” Rosa corrected. “We call it gravy.”

“Gravy.” Mama nodded. “Well, I'll make it every day.”

“Over my dead body!” Laz stormed toward the center of the street and pointed his finger at Rosa. “Woman, why have you given away our secrets to the enemy?”

“Enemy?” Rosa reached out and took Mama's hand. Mama grabbed hold of Bella's hand and she took Darian's. He grabbed Marcella's. Marcella took mine. I took Alex's. Alex took Twila's . . . and so on.

Seconds later, we formed a large circle in the center of the street, all hands firmly clasped together.

Well, not all hands. Babbas stood, feet firmly planted, on the Greek side of the street. Laz stood, arms crossed, on the Italian side.

Only when a car came barreling down the Italian side did my father rush toward the circle.

“Whatever it takes to get you here, dear,” Mama said, extending her hand.

“But . . .” He couldn't seem to finish his thought.

“Laz, darling, please come and say grace.” Rosa's voice rang out above the crowd. “And don't give me any of that ‘I don't like to pray out loud' stuff. You do it all the time at home. Might as well pray here too.”

I couldn't think of a better place to pray, actually, nor could I think of people I'd rather pray with. Laz muttered a few unintelligible words, then walked toward us. He somehow managed a prayer—most of it in Italian—and then took a seat next to Rosa.

Just as my father succumbed to the temptation to join us—and really, who wouldn't, with all of the tasty dishes on the table?—a limousine pulled up to the curb on the Italian side of the street. My heart rate skipped to double time. I'd waited for this moment for days, after all. The driver got out and opened the back door. With the sun in my eyes, I barely made him out.

Ah yes! There he was!

Brock Benson—Hollywood megastar—emerged, along with a few other people I recognized as regulars on my favorite sitcom of all time,
Stars Collide
.

Now, I'd dreamed of meeting these superstars all my life, but to find them here, in the middle of the Strand, seemed otherworldly. I could hardly catch my breath. Apparently all of the other ladies in attendance seemed to be struggling with their breathing too, especially Alex's twin sisters, who looked on wide-eyed.

Brock headed straight to the Italian side of the table, talking a mile a minute as Aunt Rosa swept him into her arms and covered his face with kisses. Then the whole crowd came alive. Laz gave Brock a slap on the back, Bella ran to embrace Brock's wife, and Lily and Jasmine both rose with stunned
looks on their faces. Oops! We'd obviously forgotten to clue those two in.

Lily couldn't seem to manage a word when Brock walked over to the Greek side of the table. Jasmine, on the other hand, bubbled with nervous energy and couldn't shut up. Brock introduced the twins to his beautiful wife, and before long the ladies were seated and talking like old friends.

Athena tapped her spoon against her water glass and hollered to get the crowd under control. “A huge Texas welcome to our guests!”

The Greeks and Italians clapped in unison. Well, all but Babbas, who looked thoroughly confused.

“You probably recognize Kat and Scott Murphy from their hit show,
Stars Collide
,” Athena continued. “And Brock's wife Erin. I'd also like you to meet Tia, our director, and her husband Jason. He's worked on the show from the beginning. Oh, and Lenora. Surely you all recognize Lenora. She's been on the show from the very beginning.”

Athena gestured to an elderly woman about Yia Yia's age and size, wearing, of all things, a ball gown. When Mama complimented her on it, Lenora responded, “Judy Garland,
A Star Is Born
, 1954.”

Of course. No wonder it looked familiar. Still, it seemed like an odd clothing choice in the middle of a summer day.

Finally Athena introduced an unfamiliar guest—an older fellow named Rex whose arm was looped through Lenora's. “Rex is our producer, folks. He's the one who took the idea for the new sitcom to studio executives. He and Lenora are married.”

“Nice to meet you all. Can't wait to get to know you.” Rex glanced at my father and extended his hand. “You must be Niko Pappas.”