The Queen of Minor Disasters (8 page)

I look at the boxes my mom and
dad are carrying and assume Lorenzo doesn’t know about the food they’re
bringing in. He’s
not
going to be
happy about it. I turn off the camera and stash it in the hostess stand before
they start asking questions.

“Stella!” my dad beams when he
sees me, even though I was just home two days ago. I walk over to hug them and
take a box out of my mom’s hands.

“What’d you bring?”

“Don’t even ask,” my dad
whispers rolling his eyes. My mom shoots him a look.

“I made baked rigatoni,” she
says. “We can use it for a special or eat it ourselves, if Lorenzo doesn’t want
to serve it.”

They move past me and into the
kitchen. I see that they’ve also brought two bags of spring mix, seven
zucchini, two oranges, and a gallon of milk.

I follow them into the
kitchen.

“What the hell, Mom?” Lorenzo
shrieks when he sees the food. “I told you not to bring anything down.”

“I had these things left
over,” she says, her voice getting loud. “What was I supposed to do? Let it
spoil?”

We all know the baked rigatoni
was
not
leftover. My mom is
always making things purposely to bring down. It drives Lorenzo crazy.

Lorenzo takes the box out of
my hands and looks through it. This could get ugly.

“Mom, I don’t even
use
zucchini,” he says, hovering over the
boxes. “And I have three bags of my own spring mix. What am I supposed to do
with all this salad?”

“You’ll figure it out,” she
says, detonating the bomb. “You’re the chef.”

I leave the kitchen and move
towards the waiters’ station where they have all convened. “Go a little heavy
on the salads tonight guys,” I say, trying to solve the produce issue before
walking back to my podium. Damn I wish that was on film.

My parents emerge from the
other kitchen door. “We’re not staying to eat here tonight,” my mom says. My
dad is holding the baked rigatoni pan in his hands. “I’ll be cooking dinner at
home.” She’s flustered and red in the face.

My dad shrugs.

Lorenzo must have won.

“Cancel our spot, and if Pietro
and Gina come here, just send them home,” my mom says.

They leave before I can
protest. I erase their reservation from the book, and notice that a 7:00 spot
is now open. I look at the man’s name on my waiting list but decide not to call
him back.

 Rudeness gets you nowhere.
Besides, I know I’ll fill the spot with walk-ins.

The rest of the night goes off
without a hitch, and to be honest, it was pretty boring. I mean, there was
nothing to film. Not an angry customer, or a waiter flub. The only slightly eventful
thing was Mr. Beister, a once a week regular, telling me how beautiful I look.
Luckily I caught it on film, but it’s hardly worthwhile. I mean, the man is in
his seventies, so I doubt if Drew would get jealous about that.

When I get home at night, my
mom has already divided up the bedrooms. Mario and Dante are sharing one room.
Pietro gets the other. Gina gets my room (no rooming with Pietro), and Lucy and
I are on the couch.

“Hello,” my mom yells as I
open the door. Somehow it’s impossible for her to keep her voice down, even
though it’s after midnight.

My parents, Gina, and Pietro
are sitting in the living room, pawning over wedding invitations, which is
pretty much the last thing I want to do after work. But Gina was so nice to me
the other day, and has been texting me strategies for getting Drew back, that
the least I can do is look at an invitation or two.

But knowing Gina, she’ll have
brought the entire book.

 “How was it tonight?” my dad
asks, looking thankful that he can take a break from the wedding talk.
Honestly, I don’t blame him.

“Busy.” I place my purse down
on the table. The pan of baked rigatoni is still in the kitchen. I make my way
towards it. Only the smallest bit of baked rigatoni remains and I scoop it out
and pop it in the microwave.

It’s past midnight and I’m
just eating dinner. That’s the funny thing about the restaurant business. The
owners and workers rarely eat during service hours. Lorenzo serves family meal
to the staff every night after his last order, but I was talking to a few
tables and missed it. Lucy offered me half of hers but I said no, so now I’m
starving. I pick at the pieces of pasta stuck to the pan while my dinner heats
in the microwave.

“You want some wine?” Pietro
asks. Even
he
looks thankful for
a small break.

I survey the situation and
decide that yes, I do.

 If we are going to talk
wedding talk at midnight after a long night of work, I’m going to need alcohol
to get me through it.

He pours me a glass and brings
it into the den. I take my dinner out of the microwave and follow him.

I shrug. “What are those?” I
ask placing my plate on the coffee table and taking a seat on the couch next to
Gina.

“They’re our top two choices
for invitations. We’ve narrowed it down to these. We
need
your input,” Gina explains.

I take a bite of pasta. “Ok,
let me have a look.”

The wedding colors are
pumpkin, oak, and cream, an unconventional combination, which somehow works.
The first invitation reflects the colors nicely. It’s brown cardstock with
cream- colored embossed writing. The typeset is casual, and gives the invite a
playful tone. A large orange chiffon bow sits on top. The invitation screams
modern and sophisticated, which is exactly what Gina wants the reception to be.
She does work at Sak’s for God’s sake.

The second is totally
traditional. It’s a textured cream cardstock that unfolds to reveal a different
textured cardstock with brown embossed cursive script. The pumpkin is decidedly
absent from the invite. This is more for the Bergdorf Goodman crowd, and
honestly, I like it better.

I take another bite and survey
the situation. Since I am the Maid of Honor, I should think of what the bride
wants, and the first invite has Gina’s imprint all over it. I know my mother
probably likes the second one, and for that reason I put my finger on the
first. “This is the one.”

Gina beams. “I told you,” she
says to Pietro and he shrugs his shoulders. My mom looks at me strangely.           

“I’m glad that’s settled,” my
dad says standing up. “Now I can go to sleep.”

“Antonio!” my mom shrieks as
if my dad is being rude. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to be left alone with
the wedding brigade.

“Teresa it’s
midnight
, I’m going to bed.”

He waves his hand at all of us
and embarks up the wooden staircase. My dad is so cute. Gina holds her
invitation and admires it a bit more as I polish off the rest of the pasta.

Lucy and Dante come in
together. I’m usually the last person to leave the restaurant, but Lorenzo
offered to close up. Everyone in my family has been so nice since Drew dumped
me, it’s like they think I’m suicidal or something. Regardless, I was happy to
get a chance to leave early.

 “Lucy, I hope you don’t mind,
we’re sharing the pull out couch tonight,” I say as she enters the living room.

She smiles at everyone as she
walks into the den. “I’m actually going to stay at my aunt’s tonight. My dad’s
coming down for the weekend.”

Lucy rarely stays at her
aunt’s house because it’s usually more packed than ours. Her family goes to bed
early so by the time we finish work, they’re all asleep. I look at her.

“My dad’s awake,” she says. “I
just called his cell.”

“That’s nice Lucia,” my mom
says. She has the habit of turning everyone’s name Italian. Though, now that I
think of it, she never did that with Drew’s.

“I’m just going to get my
stuff,” Lucy says and moves towards the stairs.            She comes back a few
minutes later, still wearing her waiter uniform. She’s carrying a small duffle
bag and her hair is hanging loose around her shoulders. She smiles at us.
“Goodnight guys,” she says and waves.

I don’t remember Lucy telling
me about her dad being in town, but  I’ve been so preoccupied that maybe I just
forgot. Still, I’m disappointed. We haven’t had much of a chance to talk this
week with her students taking finals and all and I’d really like her advice on
the whole Drew situation.

I watch her leave and turn
towards Gina who is still admiring the invitations. She catches my eye and
winks.

“Babe, why don’t you go to
bed?” she says to my brother. “I want some girl time with Stell.”

Pietro gets up a little too
quickly, like he’s been waiting for her permission to go to bed for hours. I
told you the girl was good.

“Goodnight guys,” he says, and
follows Dante up the steps.

We both wait to hear his
bedroom door close.

“Ok, has he called yet?”

I slump a little lower on the
couch. “No. It’s been five days!”

“Stop it!” she replies. “You’re
sounding desperate. Trust me, you do not want to sound desperate in this
situation. Remember you
always
want to have the upper hand.”

I give her a look.

“You called him didn’t you?”
she asks.

“No,” I lie. I mean,
technically I did call, but I blocked my number from caller ID so there’s no
way he knew it was me. Plus it went right to voicemail anyway.

“Stella, I know it’s hard not
talking to him now. In fact, this is the hardest part of the whole plan. But if
you can make it one month without calling him, I’m positive he’ll come running
back.” She looks so confident that I almost believe her.

“But what if he doesn’t?” I
say in a small voice.

“Then we pull out all the
stops with my no-fail back-up plan.” She smiles, proud of herself.

Yields 4-6 servings

Though this can certainly be
eaten any time of the day, somehow, it tastes even better at midnight, when
you’re ravenous.

This pasta really relies on
the sauce, so you’ll need that recipe first.

Meat Sauce*:

2 28oz cans of tomato puree

1 small onion

1 carrot

1 stalk of celery

1/4 cup of olive oil

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

2
       
tbsp fresh basil leaves (chopped)

1)
     
Finely chop the onion, carrot and celery (this can
be done in a food processor).

2)
     
Heat olive oil in a large stockpot and add the
onion, carrot and celery. Cook until golden, stirring occasionally. (This
should take 3-4 minutes.)

3)
     
Add the tomato puree plus one can of water per can
of tomato (just fill the can after adding the puree to the stockpot and add the
water).