The Queen of Minor Disasters (38 page)

“That’s cute,” I say coyly.
“But I’m the cook.”

He leans closer to me. “I
know.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head.

About two hours later we’re
done cooking the first two courses and I still haven’t gotten a proper kiss. I
mean honestly, if I have to do all of the cooking I should get some rewards.
Regardless, the meal looks great. We’ve made bruschetta topped with radicchio
and Grana Padano cheese and halibut wrapped in prosciutto and served with fig
and goat cheese polenta cubes. We’ve finished the bottle of wine, and as
Roberto goes to fetch another one, I have a brilliant idea.

“Let’s eat outside,” I say
when he returns. “Go set up the table while I make dessert.”

He gives me a sneaky smile.
“Ok,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

Truth be told, I don’t want
him in the kitchen while I’m making dessert. I need full concentration to make
these damn profiteroles and analyze the situation. Why hasn’t he kissed me yet?
Does my breath stink? Do I have something in my teeth? Or worse, did his mother
really put him up to this? As I spoon the dough onto a sheet pan I’m half
expecting Anna Lancetti to jump out of the closet.

By the time I’m finished
baking it is totally dark outside. Roberto has lit all the votive lanterns on
the back porch; there must be at least fifty of them in different heights and
positions, all twinkling like stars. “Surprise,” he says when he sees me
holding the tray of bruschetta. And just like that, all my worries melt away.

We eat and drink and laugh for
the next few hours, totally entranced by the moment. We’re so into each other
that we don’t even notice the lightening dancing in the sky over the ocean.
It’s only when I go inside to assemble the dessert that I hear the thunder
rumbling. I work fast so we can finish our meal outside.

For the first time all summer,
my profiteroles are perfect. The pate a choux has puffed perfectly and looks
spectacular stuffed with vanilla ice cream. The hot chocolate sauce on top is
just the right compliment, really symbolizing the sweet turn my summer took in
the end.

A lightning bolt flashes in
the sky just as I am carrying the profiteroles to the table. “This is the grand
finale. I’ve been working on these all summer.” I place the dish on the table
with a big smile. “Dig in.”

Roberto’s eyes light up.
Without saying a word he reaches for a spoon and plunges it into the pastry.
Just as he’s putting the spoon into his mouth, the sky opens and pours down on
us.

I squeal and head for the
door, but before I reach it Roberto grabs my hand and swings me toward him. He
wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest, which feels warm and
familiar, despite the pouring rain. We look at each other for a minute and then
he cups my face and kisses me.

Even though it’s our first
kiss, it feels as though we’ve been kissing each other our whole lives; it is
comfortable, sweet, and confident. Just what I imagine our relationship will be
like.

I don’t know how long we stand
there kissing, but I do know that I would have stood there forever if it weren’t
for the crack of thunder which sounded like it was way too close.

Roberto pulls me inside a
little too forcefully and that’s when it happens. My shoe catches on the
doorframe and I tumble forwards flailing my arms out in front of me. As if in
slow motion, I try to break my fall by catching the sleeve of Roberto’s jacket.
I guess my weight is too much for the fabric, because it gives with a loud tear.
I fall backwards on my butt and Roberto falls face down on top of me.

We look at each other for a second.
My tailbone hurts so bad that I don’t know whether to laugh or cry but Roberto
starts laughing and before I can stop myself, I join him.

 “I think my butt is broken,”
I say.

Roberto gets up then reaches
his hand out to help me off the ground. I stand in the puddle of water we
trailed in. He peeks behind me and looks at my butt. “Nope. It’s still
perfect.”

I laugh, but now it really
hurts. For real. “I’m serious.”

“Ok, hold on. I’ll fix
everything.” He runs upstairs and comes down two minutes later wearing sweat
pants and a t-shirt. He holds out mesh gym shorts and an oversized sweatshirt.
“Put these on,” he says, and even though I loved my dress, it is now a soaking
wet mess. At least these are dry.

I shuffle into the bathroom
and peel my clothes off. I get dressed as quickly as I can. On the way out of
the bathroom I spot myself in the mirror. My hair is hanging down like a wet
cat, and my smoky eyes are more crack-head than heroin-chic. I grab a towel off
the hanger and rub my face off. Even though my face is bare, it looks much
better.

In the kitchen, Roberto stands
holding one of those inflatable butt pillows for people with severe
hemorrhoids. “I got you this,” he laughs.

“Eww. I am
not
sitting on that thing.” I move towards
the counter to prep some new profiteroles.

“Come on Stell, it’s me. I’ve
seen you at your worst. Remember when you threw up all over yourself at that
party?”

“I was five!”

“That makes it even worse. We
made fun of you for months.” He puts the pillow down on a chair and gives it a
pat. “Now come sit.”

I plate up the profiteroles
and bring them to the table. Slowly, I sit on the pillow and I have to admit,
it is quite comfortable.

“So did you like playing house
here?” he asks between bites. “Was it comfortable?”

I look at him like I have no
idea what he’s talking about.

“All this, would it satisfy
you?” he waves his hand around, emphasizing his point.

He looks at me with sincere
interest. I actually need to think on this one. Would this satisfy me? Sure, I
like Roberto and can even envision a future with him, but satisfaction? I take
a bite of my profiterole, hoping it will give me the answer.

As I’m chewing, he reaches
into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a small box. My eyes widen. “I
want to make you an offer,” he says with a smile.

My heart jumps into my throat.
I mean, I figured we’d eventually get married, I just didn’t think he’d propose
on the first date. Not that this is really a first date, but still. He moves
fast.

Before I have a chance to say
anything, he opens the box.

A rusty skeleton key sits on a
bed of red velvet.

I’m not sure what to say. Is
this some kind of weird necklace? I mean, he did study Latin for God’s sake.
Maybe this is some sort of artifact.

“It’s beautiful,” I say
finally. Roberto gives me a strange look.

“It’s the key to my place in
Rome. It’s yours for as long as you want it.”

His
place
in Rome?            

“You have a place in Rome?” I
ask, shocked.

“Stella I did
live
there for eight years. What was I
supposed to do? Rent the whole time?”

           
Right. Why would he rent? Why not just buy a place?

           
“Where is it?”

           
“In Trastevere. That’s near St. Peters.”

           
“You own a place in
Trastevere
?”
This is too much for me to handle. Trastevere is, by far, my favorite
neighborhood in Rome. It’s such a totally Roman mix of ancient and modern and
it bustles with life 24/7. “How did you afford an apartment in Trastevere?”

           
“My dad bought it before I went to grad school, and little by little I
paid him back. Now it’s mine.”

           
“Why don’t you sell it? You could make a fortune.” After the words come
out of my mouth, I realize how stupid I sound.

           
He raises his eyebrow. “Would you sell a place in Rome?”

           
I shake my head and reach for the key as if it is the Holy Grail. “Is it
empty now?”

           
“I’m not sure. But it will be in October.”

           
“How do you not know if your place is empty or not?” I raise an eyebrow.
Does he have a woman living there? Suddenly I imagine Roberto as some
international playboy with women all over the globe. Does he have apartments in
any other countries? When we’re engaged I’ll have to nix all of that.

           
“I gave the keys to an agency before I left. They said they were renting
it out on a week-to-week basis for the summer. I’d make more money that way.”

           
“Still, don’t they let you know if it’s rented?”

           
“I just told them to send me a check each month.”

           
“So you don’t even
care
?”
I’m shocked. I look at Roberto and see him in a different light. For the past
eight years I had him pegged as a nerdy grad student, now I’m beginning to see
him as an international businessman.

He shrugs his shoulders and
finishes off the profiteroles. “Anyway, it’s your if you want it.”

“Why are you offering me
this?” I ask.

“Because I care about you.”

For a minute I don’t know what
to say.

 “Stella, I never want you to
settle. On the beach the other day, you sounded a little desperate. The Stella
DiLucio that I know is not desperate. Go to Rome. Get out of your funk.”

This offer changes everything.
Of course I’d love to live in Rome and this is the one time in my life I’d
actually be able to do it. I have no obligations here, no job, no boyfriend…

I look at Roberto. If I did
take his offer, it would mean letting go of this new relationship, and possibly
a future together. Am I willing to give up this stability for the unknown?

“Don’t worry,” he says as if
reading my thoughts. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

This makes me smile. I clutch
the key in my hand. “And what if I don’t come back?”

“Then I’ll come find you.” He
leans over and kisses me.

And just like that, everything
falls into place.

It took all summer, but I
finally got it right.

Yields 20 medium
creampuffs

The Puffs-
1 stick of butter
1 cup of water
1 cup of flour
4 eggs at room temp.
1)  In a medium saucepan on low heat, melt the butter.

2) Add the water and bring it up to a boil.
3)  Once the butter/water is boiling, add the flour and stir, making sure to
“cook” all of the flour so that no white is showing. (You'll be able to hear
the sizzling of butter on the sides of the pan—this is a good thing!)
4)  Remove the dough from the
stovetop
and spread it on a flat plate to cool.
5)  Once the dough is cool, transfer the dough to a mixing bowl. Beat in eggs
one at a time on a low speed. The dough will appear sticky. This is good!
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
6)  Lightly grease a baking sheet. Drop teaspoons of dough on the sheet, about
1 inch apart.
7)  Bake on the middle rack at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. DO NOT OPEN THE
OVEN!
8)  Lower the oven to 350 degrees F and bake for an additional 20-30 minutes,
until golden. (If you have to peek you may at this point.)
9)  Cool on a wire rack.

10) Once cooled, slice in half and stuff with vanilla
ice cream. Serve with warm chocolate sauce.

Chocolate sauce: