The Queen of Minor Disasters (31 page)

           
“You shouldn’t have.”

The organist begins to play
and my parents process, arm in arm down the aisle. I’m next and as I walk down
the marble floors of St. Luke’s I feel as though I’m in a dream.

Is this really happening?

Is my best friend
really
marrying my twin brother?

I see Lorenzo at the altar,
anxiously awaiting his bride.

           
I take Mario’s arm and bow at the altar, and then walk off to the side
and watch as my friend walks down the aisle, unafraid of what the future holds.

           
The ceremony lasts about an hour, during which I go from crying (when I
saw my brother Lorenzo tear up) to laughing (when Fr. Jim cracked a joke about
the honeymoon at the beach) and crying again (when they finally say their vows
and become husband and wife). I’m thankful that I’m standing on the altar with
them.

           
We follow the bride and groom out of the church, and even
though the only people in attendance were family members (and Roberto), there’s
a feeling of relaxation in the air. I hand out the small paper cones of rose
petals that Gina and I made in the morning, and we all throw the flowers in the
air as Lucy and Lorenzo kiss on the church steps.

           
Everyone claps and Roberto takes my hand in his. I
feel a surge of electricity run through me, but I quickly pull away. No use
getting excited over him when he’s only here because my family is trying to get
us together.

           
Roberto wasn’t lying. It becomes evident that he
really is my chauffer when everyone scurries to their cars without even
offering me a ride. I mean, honestly. Fortunately, the ride is not awkward at
all. We spend most of the time talking about Rome, and what an amazing city it
is.

           
“I wish I could just pack up and move there,” I say as
we enter Atlantic City. Roberto gives me a strange look and I know exactly what
he’s thinking. It’s a stupid idea. I should grow up and focus on my life.

           
By the time we pull up to the Villa it’s dusk and the
neon lights shine brightly in front of us. The building’s façade changes from
purple to green to gold, and looks more luxurious than ever on this wedding
night.

           
The restaurant is equally as breathtaking.

Now I understand why Chuck
would leave us to come work here. It’s decorated with sparse, modern furniture
and luscious blue suede couches fill the bar area. Blown glass chandeliers hang
every few feet and low votives light the tables.

 “Oh my Gawd,” says Gina in
her nasal voice.

           
“DiLucio, party of thirteen,” my father says to the maitre’d.

           
“Ah yes,” the man replies and instantly I can tell he’s a little ‘light
in the loafers’ as my dad would say, so instantly I want him as my friend and
fashion consultant. “We have a private room for you, please, follow me.”

           
My brothers glance at each other. Gina raises her eyebrows and
straightens her posture. After all, there could be celebrities lurking around
every corner.

           
“Stella,” I hear Lucy call and I turn around. She is standing in the
entrance of the restaurant, holding hands with her new husband. A warm glow
fills me and all I can think to do is clap my hands. Other diners take the cue
and start clapping as well, and Lucy’s face lights up. Lorenzo kisses her and
the entire restaurant breaks into applause. Some people even clink their knives
on their glasses, and both the bride and groom smile so widely.

           
They walk towards us and most patrons continue to clap as we file into
our private dining room.

           
The room is decorated the same as the restaurant, except a long table
fills most of the room. The flowers from Dots and Bows look like they were
custom tailored to this room. Gerber daisies and soft colored roses fill the
bulk of each vase, and to match the décor, Dotty, the owner, tied huge navy
blue organza ribbons and tucked them into each vase. Even Gina raises her
eyebrows.

           
Votive candles run down the center of the table, and the room is so dimly
lit that Lucy’s white dress sticks out like a shining star. She’s glowing.

           
To the left of the table, the cake is on display, and when I see it I can
hardly believe that Chucker made such a spectacular work of art. Its three
tiers are each covered with white fondant and filled different color roses,
white and pink peonies and huge gardenias. The topper is two L’s intertwined to
form a heart shape. I
need
to see
the cake up close.

The white fondant is decorated
in an intricate beaded pattern all around the edges of each layer and the
flowers spill out. For a moment, I think that he’s cheated and used real
flowers, but I touch one and see that it is actually made of sugar. Each one is
crafted by hand and must have taken him hours. From up close, I can see the
cake topper is made of pure sugar, and stretched to resemble transparent glass.
Suddenly I feel bad for getting mad a Chuck for leaving us. He had no room to
grow at Lorenzo’s. Here he can really be the artist that he is.

           
Roberto comes up behind me. “The cake is amazing, huh?”

           
I turn around and my heel wobbles. Before I can stop myself, I fall in
his arms, which he wraps around me. It feels so comfortable there, that for a
minute, I can almost picture us together. I pull away and adjust myself, but
can feel Roberto staring at me. “Sorry,” I mumble.

           
A waiter approaches us with a tray of champagne glasses. Roberto takes
one for me and one for himself. He hands me the glass and we wait for the
toast. Once everyone receives a glass, Lorenzo taps on his glass and raises it
in the air. “Lucy and I want to thank everyone for all your love and support in
these past couple weeks. We appreciate and love all of you, and are so happy
that you’re here to share this wonderful day with us.”

           
My brother has always been a man of few words, so his speech hits me
hard. I glance at my mother who is dabbing the corners of her eyes, and I look
away before I
completely
lose it.

           
We all clink glasses and take sips of the champagne. The sweetness tastes
so good, and I realize that I haven’t eaten a thing since Cindy’s pancakes this
morning.

           
Mario raises his glass. “As the best man, I need to make a toast.”

           
We all look at him.

           
“I never imagined that my little brother would get married before me…”

           
“Neither did I,” Pietro calls out and we all chuckle.

           
“… But I can’t imagine a person more perfect for him than Lucy. Luce, you
were already like a sister to all of us, and now you really are. Welcome to the
family.”

           
We all clink glasses again and I notice I’ve already drunk most of my
champagne.

           
I need to slow down a little.

           
A waiter comes around with a tray of beef tartar on fried wontons. I take
one from the tray, and a cocktail napkin from the waiter’s hand. The tartar is
both sweet and savory at the same time and I think they’ve added some soy
sauce, which is typical to modern restaurants. It seems like everyone is always
adding an Asian-inspired theme to everything nowadays.

I glance at my parents and can
tell right away they don’t like it. They’re more traditional and would probably
prefer clams casino and baby lamb chops. It’s a wedding after all.

           
The next tray contains oysters on the half-shell. They’ve simply been
shucked and topped with a spicy cocktail sauce. I’m not the biggest fan of
oysters, but these are pleasant, not too briny or salty. I wash it down with
the rest of my champagne and before I am even able to look around, a waiter
pours more into my glass.

           
“Thanks,” I say as he walks away. “Great service here.”

           
Roberto looks at me and nods. Honestly, since I mentioned moving to Rome he’s
barely said two words to me. I know it was a stupid idea, but I was just
daydreaming.

           
“Kobe beef,” another waiter says holding a tray for me to see. “Seared
rare.”

           
My mom approaches us. “These fancy restaurants don’t seem to cook
anything,” she says. As talented as my mother is, she’s still old school when
it comes to temperature and is a strong believer that all meat and fish should
be cooked through. “Poor Lucy can’t eat any of this.”

           
I realize she’s right and I look around to see Lucy talking to her
father. She’s sipping on club soda. I’m sure she hasn’t eaten anything.

           
I grab a menu card off the table. Who planned this anyway? Did Lorenzo
and Lucy forget to mention that she’s
pregnant
?

Ok, honestly, it
all
sounds amazing but I’m not sure that
Lucy can eat any of it. I walk towards her and wait for her to notice me. Her
father turns to talk to my dad, and she looks at me. “Stell, this day has been
perfect,” she says and throws her arms around me. “None of it would have been
possible without you!”

           
“I’m so happy for you,” I reply and smile. “But, Luce, what are you going
to eat?” I hold the menu card up for her to see.

           
“Oh yeah, I know there’s not much I can eat. We figured it’s okay, since
I’ve been so nauseous.”

           
“You need to eat
something
!”
God, I sound more like my mother each day. But I can’t help it. I envision her
collapsing by 9:00, and having to be rushed to the hospital.

           
“I know,” she says. “I’ll eat bread.”

“You’re not having bread and
water on your wedding day,” I say sternly. “That’s prison food!”

           
She laughs. “I’ll be having cake too. Did you see it?” She beams.

           
“Yeah, it is pretty much the most gorgeous cake I’ve ever seen.” I lean
in a bit closer and whisper, “I think Gina is jealous.”

           
Lucy giggles. “It’s filled with vanilla cake and nutella.”

           
“Sounds like a dream,” I say. “I’ll have to save room for dessert.” I
take a sip of champagne and notice I’ve already finished my second glass. This
stuff goes down like water. It’s
so
much better than André.

           
When I think of Lucy only one thing comes to mind. Macaroni and cheese.
Since I’ve known her, I don’t think she’s gone a week without Kraft macaroni
and cheese. Even when my mom tried to make her a gourmet version, Lucy
preferred the boxed stuff with the powdered cheese. At one point in our
friendship, I caught her buying two boxes at once, using the pasta from one,
and the cheese from both to make her meal.

 Even now that almost
everything makes her want to vomit, she still falls back on her mac and cheese.
It’s perfect, Chuck can just slip out and buy her a box, then cook it up and
serve it while we’re eating. I can already envision her face lighting up. “I’ll
be right back.” I stroll towards the kitchen.

           
“Hello,” I say pushing open the winging door to the kitchen. The
executive chef sees me and in a panic, looks around for a waiter.

           
“Someone will be right out to serve you,” he says.

           
I walk into the kitchen and see the organized line of chefs, all men, concentrating
on the tickets in front of each of their stations.

           
“I actually wanted to speak to you,” I say approaching the chef. He looks
a little confused. “I’m with the DiLucio party. We have a small problem with
the menu.”