The Queen of Minor Disasters (27 page)

           
“He’ll be coming there in a few minutes. He just left now.”

           
“Really?” I’m delighted.

           
“Yeah, just make sure your mother doesn’t kill him until all the orders
are served.”

           
Like clockwork, my brother arrives a few minutes later. He comes in the
front door and sees the crowd of diners eating slowly.

           
“Thank you,” I say to him.

           
He smiles at me and I know that my dad patched things up. Lorenzo walks
into the kitchen and I can’t help but follow him. I need to see my mom’s face.

           
She doesn’t look up as Lorenzo takes a spot next to her. My mom is
normally hard to please, and she’s so mad at him that Lorenzo’s peace offering
is not going to be enough.

           
He reaches for a ticket and scans the burners. When he sees that it’s
already been started, he reaches for a different ticket and starts the order.

           
No one says a word, and I wonder if they’ll ignore each other all night.

           
I return to the hostess desk to see a line of people. I smile at the man
in front of me.

           
“We have a reservation for Johnson,” he says leaning over my reservation
book. He points to his name, as if I am illiterate.

           
Doesn’t he know that I have a degree in English? I’m almost a teacher for
God’s sake.

           
“Ok sir, it’s just going to be a few minutes for your table.”

           
“How much is a few. It’s already 6:
35
.”

           
I peak around the corner and it looks like we’re backed up about fifteen
minutes. I know that is way too much for this man, but I really don’t feel like
flirting. I take a deep breath, reach out my hand and lightly brush his and
say, “About five more minutes. Maybe ten maximum.”

           
His wife looks at me as if I’m trying to steal her husband.

           
“Did you just touch my husband’s hand?” she asks coldly.

“No, no, why would I do that?”
I stumble for words. “I was swatting away a fly.”

           
She looks unsatisfied.

           
I give her a huge smile. “I love your…” I look at her and try to find
something
to compliment. “Bag,” I say with
a grin. She’s carrying a faded black carryall, more suitable for a workday than
a dinner out with friends.

She huffs as he turns to his
friends. “Let’s go wait outside, it’s too crowded in here.” The six of them
move out the door. Her husband turns back to look at me and gives me a wink.

Oh God. I’m
never
flirting with an old man again.

           
Once they’re seated, I greet the next couple in line and lead them to a
table right next to the dessert case.

           
“These look amazing,” the girl coos and I realize she’s talking about the
cakes.

           
“Thanks,” I mumble and start to turn away. I glance at the cakes and I
have to admit, they do look pretty incredible. Not to brag or anything, but
I’ve gotten really good at the whole baking thing. It’s like the worse things
are in my life, the better focused on baking I am. It’s Food Therapy without
the calories (although, I do splurge on a piece of cake every night, but that’s
for quality control).

           
“Where do you buy them?” she asks.

           
I smile, proud of myself. “I make them actually.”

           
“Oh wow,” the girl says. “I can’t wait to try a piece. What’s your
favorite?”

           
I think for a minute and then tell her about the Money Cake, pointing at
it for emphasis. Then I smile at her and make my way back to the crowd at the
hostess stand.

           
When they finish
their meal the woman approaches me.

           
“That cake was amazing,” she squeals with a big smile on her face, thanks
to my cake and Food Therapy. “Can I order a whole one for next

week?”

By10:30
the dining room has slowed down, and when I look at the reservation book, I’m
amazed at how many people we’ve served. I go into the kitchen, to see my mother
waving tongs at Lorenzo.

           
“No matter what you’re still my son,” I hear her yell.

           
“We’re dealing with it. You don’t control my life, Mom,” he shouts back.

           
“You made that clear this morning.”

           
“Mom, seriously, what else do you want him to do? What’s done is done,”
Mario pipes in.

           
“You should talk, Mario. You’re crucifying your father for the decision
to sell the restaurant. Now he wants to back out of it. But if we do, we’ll
lose a lot of money.”

           
“He does?” Mario asks.

           
“Yes, because he can’t stand
you
being
mad at him.” She’s flailing the tongs around like a crazy woman. I can only
imagine what the Russians think. “But I told your father today that we’re
selling the restaurant no matter what. I’m going to be a grandmother.” She
turns towards Lorenzo. “Who else can help you babysit that baby?”

He throws his arms around her
and I can see her start to cry. “I’m still mad at you,” she says. “But it’s not
the baby’s fault. And Lucy is going to need help, poor girl. She doesn’t have a
mother of her own.”

           
“Thanks Mom,” Lorenzo sighs.

           
“And you,” my mom points to Mario. “I’m tired of your bullshit. Go make
up with your father.”

           
Slowly, Mario takes off his apron and walks out the door.

***

           
When we lock up the doors to the restaurant at night, my mother links her
arm through mine. “I still can’t believe Lorenzo and Lucy,” she says shaking
her head. “I’m really disappointed in them.”

           
I loop my arm around her back. “Thanks for making peace, Mom.”

           
“He’s my son. What else can I do? And that poor girl. I’m her only hope.”

           
I widen my eyes. “Well she has a great best friend.”

           
“A sister,” my mom corrects me.

           
I like the ring to it. I always felt that Lucy was my sister anyway, but
now, in one week, she really will be.

           
“Let’s throw her a bridal shower,” I say without thinking.

           
My mom looks at me as if I’m nuts. “I don’t think your father would want
any of our friends to know about this, until after they’re married.”

           
“I’m not talking about inviting
other
people. I’m just talking about Lucy, us, and Gina. We can have a little lunch
and maybe buy her a few things. We can even do it tomorrow, so Gina’s still
here.”

           
My mom thinks for a minute. “That would be nice. She needs to relax.
She’s had a rough day.”

           
As we walk the rest of the way, we plan to take her to Cindy’s for
brunch. I want to make her some zuccherini cookies, because no Italian bride
can get married without them.

           
The next morning I wake up early to get started on those cookies. The pillow-like
confections topped with fluffy coconut flakes are the perfect cookies for a
bridal shower, even if there are only four women attending. When we got home
last night, we informed Gina of the plans. She got the idea to bring her laptop
so Lucy can look at Saks online to choose a few gifts for us to buy her. “It’ll
be like she’s registering,” Gina said. Her face lights up at the thought of
anyone going through the wedding planning process, even a rushed one.

 I’m excited to get started
and I reach for my phone to text Lucy. Before we plan all of this stuff for
her, we may as well make sure she’s free this afternoon. I shoot her a text.

Me:
Meet me at Cindy’s, we’ll do brunch.

Luce:
Ok. See you at one.

I still can’t believe we
pulled all this together in one morning. As I was baking the cookies, Gina and
my mother went to order the flowers. Then they both went off shore to buy a
small gift bag full of home stuff that you’d normally give a bride. When they
called to say that they found the cutest kitchen towels and matching mugs, I
almost squealed with delight.

           
I rush to meet Lucy at our restaurant. My mom and Gina will be going
right to Cindy’s and should be there when we arrive. Lucy is going to be so
surprised when she sees my mom and Gina sitting there. But here we are, the
DiLucio girls—for better or for worse.

 I sit in front of the
restaurant and catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection from the window. My
hair is pulled into a high bun, and my turquoise dress is neatly pressed, but I
look like I’m faking something. As I look at my façade I start to wonder what
I’m really made of.

 Who is Stella DiLucio?

Sometimes, I’m not quite sure.
 

           
“Hey Stella!” Lucy waves as she walks towards me. “You look so cute!”

           
I look up at her and see that she’s also dressed up. She’s wearing a pale
yellow tea-length skirt and white tank top. She still wears the Tiffany’s
necklace that I gave her, and her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders.
“You look great too.”

           
“Thanks, we had to meet with Fr. Jim before Mass this morning. We had the
last of our PreCana sessions today. This was the only thing that didn’t make me
look like a cow.”

           
She can’t be serious. Lucy is the skinniest pregnant girl I’ve ever seen.

           
“How were they?” I say changing the subject.

           
“What?”

           
“The PreCana classes?”

           
“Oh. They weren’t that bad. We thought it would be weird since Fr. Jim
knows I’m pregnant, but he’s been really cool about the whole thing.”

           
I smile. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for a
short stack.”

           
“Get the large one, you’re eating for two,” I laugh.

           
She laughs. As we cross the street a tiny flash catches my eye.

           
“Is there something you want to show me?”

           
“Oh my God, yes,” she squeals and holds up her left hand. My brother has
given her a beautiful diamond solitaire ring. I take her hand and inspect it.

           
“Stunning,” I say. “Did you pick this?”

           
She laughs. “No, Lorenzo did a good job. I wasn’t expecting a ring at all
actually.”

           
For some reason, the ring reminds me of Drew and for a minute, I think I
might cry. I take a deep breath. “I’m so excited for you.” I smile and open the
door to Cindy’s.