The Queen of Minor Disasters (19 page)

“Stella,” my dad greets me as
I pull into the driveway. “You ready for some Baltimore crabs?”

Now I know the real reason he
offered to drive. My dad is a sucker for crab cakes. “Sure,” I say. “But let me
try on the dress first. I don’t want to be bloated for my first fitting. It’ll
throw everything off.”

He gives me a look like he has
no idea what I’m talking about.

Within minutes, my mom is
trying to feed me. It’s just before nine and she’s headed to the restaurant to
start the day. Unlike Lorenzo’s, La Cucina is open for lunch, which means her
hours are much longer than ours. I can’t help but notice how tired she looks
lately, and even though I don’t want to admit it, maybe selling the restaurant
really is the best thing.

She thrusts an English muffin
in my face. “You don’t eat enough,” she says. Ironically, she’s right. I tend
to slim down in the summer because Lorenzo is not as generous with his food as
my mother. He could care less if you’re fed or not.

I take the toast out of her
hand and reach for the raspberry jelly on the counter. I take a seat at the
breakfast nook and butter my toast.

“You ready?” my dad says,
coming into the kitchen.

“Yep,” I jump off the barstool,
ready to roll.

We get to Bella Sposa’s just
before 11:00 a.m. Maria and Charlene greet us at the door.

“How’s my girl,” Charlene asks
giving me a hug.

 “You’re going to die when you
see this dress!” Maria exclaims.

Charlene leads my dad to the
couch in the lobby and talks to him about the drive while I follow Maria
upstairs to the dressing rooms. My dress is waiting in its plastic garment bag.
She unzips it. I take off my top and fold it neatly on the chair.

“You’ve lost weight.” She
scans me with her eyes.

“I’m down the shore. There’s
no time to eat.”

“That’s funny,” she says walking
towards me with the dress. “Whenever I walk into your restaurant I gain five
pounds. It’s those damn gnocchi. They’re so good though, I don’t even care.”

The gnocchi at our restaurant
are legendary because they’re handmade and unlike any you’d buy. I laugh. “Well
I don’t get to eat those too often.” She slips the dress over my head and lets
it fall dramatically to the floor.

“Beautiful. You look
beautiful.” She’s right. Besides the length, the dress is an almost perfect fit
and won’t require much work at all. I step onto the platform for fittings and
realize I’ve forgotten my shoes.

“Crap,” I whine. “I didn’t
bring my shoes.”

“Cinderella, you came to the
right ball. What size are you?”

“Six.”

“How high were your heels?”

“About six inches,” I say. She
raises her eyebrows. “I’m short; I can get away with it.”

“I don’t want you dancing
around the reception in flip flops because your feet hurt.”

Does she know who she’s
dealing with?

“I won’t,” I reply with a
smile. “Trust me.”

She shakes her head and goes
to fetch me a pair of shoes. I turn to look at myself in the three-way mirror.
The dress accentuates all the right places, making my bust look big, my hips
small, and my butt round. I envision Drew and me dancing at my brother’s wedding,
and then suddenly, Roberto comes to my mind.

Eva the seamstress comes in to
start pinning me, and Maria watches her approvingly. “If your dad wasn’t
waiting, I’d bring up some wedding gowns for you to try on.” She winks.

I smile and refocus on getting
Drew back.

“It’s only a matter of time
before that hot little boyfriend of yours pops the question.”

I relax my shoulders. My
thoughts exactly.

Vince’s crab shack is packed
with a lunch crowd. People are rushing by us and the hostess doesn’t greet us
when we walk in the door. She seems frantic and stressed. My dad and I look at
each other and smile. She’s broken the dream, but luckily, we’re pros. We don’t
dine for the ambiance, or the service like others, because that will almost
never satisfy us. We dine solely for the food and Maria assures us this place
serves the best crabs in Baltimore.

We both order crab cake
sandwiches and unsweetened iced tea. My dad and I are so similar that sometimes
it’s scary. I stare at the servers in their workstation and think about the
long night ahead of us. My dad reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“What are you thinking about?”
he asks.

“Nothing. The business.”

He nods his head, as he
understands.

“Your mother is excited to
finally retire,” he says. I look at him and can see that he is also excited by
this. It’s strange to think of my parents without the restaurant. I wonder what
they’ll do with all of their time, but more often, I worry about what I’ll do.

“It’s weird to think about not
having the restaurant,” I say.

“I know, but it’s too much
damn work. Besides, you have the shore.”

“But what am I going to do the
rest of the year? And what about Lorenzo and Mario?” Without even meaning to,
I’m getting angry.

“Lower your voice,” my father
says sternly.

“Sorry.”

“Your mother and I talked
about that, we know it’s going to be hard for you guys but you’re young. You’ll
figure something out.”

Is that really his
explanation? We’ll figure something out? That hardly seems fair.

“What if I don’t?”

“You will. You’re exactly like
Grandmom Stella. You’ve got her spark.” My dad’s eyes moisten. “You can do
whatever you want Stella. You’ll always be a success.”

I’ve never heard my dad talk
like this and I feel myself getting emotional too.

Our food arrives just in time.
We eat quickly, and in silence. I’m comforted by my dad’s words. I just hope
he’s right.

On the way back to the shore,
I decide to ditch my master plan and just give Drew a simple call. The last
time we talked wasn’t so successful, but my dad is right. I can do whatever I
want. Which means that I don’t need some elaborate scheme to get Drew back. I
just need to be my amazing self.

The phone goes right to
voicemail.

I try three more times during
the drive, and each time is the same. Honestly, you’d think a big marketing executive
would keep his phone turned on.

On my last try, I decide to
leave a voicemail. “Hi Drew,” I say casually. “It’s Stella. I just wanted to
say hi and see if maybe you wanted to come down the shore. It would be so great
to see you. It’s been so long and I think we have a lot to talk about since
that night…”

Damn. The voicemail cut me
off.

I call right back and leave a
second message. “Hey. I must have gotten cut off or something. Anyway, give me
a call.”

That could have gone a little
better, but oh well.

Even though it’s a Wednesday,
there are twenty-seven messages, so by the time I finish checking them and
returning the calls, it’s past five and people are starting to come in.

I seat the first two top in
the front section, and then walk towards the waiters’ station to talk to Lucy.
She’s not there.

“Where’s Lucy?” I ask Ryan.

He points towards the bathroom
so I walk back to the hostess desk. The smell from the flowers is so strong
that it’s making my head spin. Funny, I didn’t notice that yesterday.

By 5:30 there’s already a
crowd at the door. The restaurant fills up quickly, and I’m running around
trying to make sure everyone is fed, happy, and working efficiently. Lucy has
been sluggish and avoiding me all night, but I’m too busy to care.

“Can you rush the entrées to
table thirteen?” I say to her as we pass each other near the desserts.

“I’ll try,” she says and
hurries into the kitchen. I follow her to make sure she’s calling in their
order.

She walks right past Lorenzo
on the line, and moves through the kitchen like a whirlwind. In the dish area,
where Ivan and Stefan are scrubbing pots and pans, she leans into the trashcan
and throws up. They cringe and look away.

I don’t believe this. If she
wants to have a boyfriend and not tell me about it fine, but I’m also her
manager, and I won’t tolerate her showing up hung over.

Stefan runs to fetch water and
by the time he gets back, Lucy straightens up. She accepts the glass from him
and wipes her mouth with a towel.

“Nice,” I snap sarcastically.
“Drink too much vodka last night?”

She shakes her head and bends
towards the trashcan again, ready for round two.

I leave her there and walk
through the kitchen. “Fire Lucy’s table thirteen,” I yell to Lorenzo. “And when
she’s done vomiting I’m sure she’ll pick it up.” I walk past the line and out
to the dining room floor.

Her three tables are all at
different stages of their meals. Table eleven is eating appetizers, table
thirteen is waiting for entrées, and table fourteen is ready for dessert. I
pull Brittany aside. “Do you have a minute to show table fourteen the dessert
tray?”

She shakes her head and
continues walking. “Sorry.”

I rush to the dessert area and
grab the tray out of the fridge, slamming the door a bit too loudly. I take a
deep breath, collect myself, and walk towards the table. They decide on
cannoli, which are, of course, the most complicated dessert, and as I walk the
tray back to the fridge I get even madder. I fill their cannoli with sweet
cream in seconds, piping it into the shell with precision and speed. Then I
dust powdered sugar over the pastries and deliver the dish. “Enjoy your
dessert.”  I smile before storming back to the kitchen.

Lucy is sitting on a dish
rack, a wet kitchen rag on her head. Lorenzo is standing next to her, talking
to her in a low voice.

“Are you done?” I ask.

She looks at me with watery
eyes.

“Can you deliver the food to
table thirteen?” my brother asks me.

“Sure. I’ll do it because Lucy
is too irresponsible to do her own work. Anyone else need me to do something?
Why don’t I just start cooking too?”

I grab the hot plates off the
line and nearly burn the skin off my fingers. “Shit,” I scream.

“They’ve been sitting there
for five minutes,” Mario snaps.

I grab a napkin to guard my
hands. “Yeah well if someone wasn’t
hung-over
,
I’m sure they’d be out on the table by now.”

I kick open the swinging door
and walk towards the table.

 “These plates are extremely
hot,” I say placing the food in front of the guests with a smile. “Please be
careful.”

The man asks for cheese and I
tell him it’s on its way. I motion for Frankie to bring some and walk back into
the kitchen.

Lucy is standing up, walking
towards the back door. Lorenzo is still with her.

“Where’s she going?” I yell.