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“I’m sure your mom and aunts are going to bring home-cooked deliciousness,” my mom said, going into my cabinets for plates. “I brought store-bought egg and cheese on bagels.”
“Too much talking. Not enough putting food in front of me,” I said, getting the first genuine smile out of her as she reached into the bag, found a foil-wrapped bagel, and chucked it at me. Then carefully plated two bagels for Ant, and brought them over. “Do you have anything to drink in that fridge?” she asked.
“A carton of milk with a questionable expiration date,” I admitted.
“Okay. I’m going to run to the store to get you some essentials. Do you have any requests?”
“Gummy fish,” I told her.
“Like I’d forget that. Maybe ice pops?” she asked, glancing at my throat.
“Yeah, that’d be good,” I agreed. “And coffee creamer,” I said. “Brownie batter,” I added. “I’ve, ah, developed a taste for it,” I lied.
What’s more, this was my mom; she knew it was a lie.
Her lips pressed together. “Is that so?”
“Yep. Love that shit,” I said.
“Well, I better hop-to then,” she said. “Make sure you two eat and take your meds. I won’t be more than an hour.”
With that, we shoveled food in our mouths, barely even tasting any of it in an effort to fill our stomachs. My throat hurt with each swallow, but my stomach slowly stopped rumbling.
Anthony had just swallowed down his antibiotics and me my ibuprofen when the buzzer started up again.
“Here we go,” Anthony said, wincing.
Really, I think a part of me assumed he’d been exaggerating about his family.
But, nope.
If anything, he’d played it down.
Both of his sisters, Isabella and Mirabella, showed up, each bringing something to stick in the fridge or freezer. The men of the family—Emilio, Santi, Brio, Cesare, Cosimo, and Silvano—along with their wives—Avery, Alessa, Ezmeray, Mere, Halle, and Millie dropped by. As did Salvatore and his wife Whitney, and the Capo dei Capi, Lorenzo Costa, himself and his wife Giana.
Then there were the aunts, cousins, close friends of the Family.
It was a madhouse.
And everyone felt perfectly comfortable with the crush of the crowd save for me and my mother, the two of us standing in the kitchen a little wide-eyed and unsure of ourselves.
We’d always been a small family.
My mother and father lost their parents somewhat young. Then when my father and brother passed away, well, it was just us.
“I’d tell you that you get used to it,” Whitney, Salvatore’s wife, said, coming over to snatch a mozzarella off a platter that… someone brought.
“But that’s not true?” I asked.
“You do and you don’t, I guess,” she said, smiling at the people gathered all around Anthony, laughing, talking, looking perfectly comfortable with the decibel of the noise while I felt like I was jumpy with each burst of amusement. “The noise is something I’ve never gotten used to,” Whitney admitted. “And the kids aren’t even here. But you do get comfortable with the closeness. You’re never alone in a family like this,” she told us. “There’s a lot of comfort in that. I mean, did you see your fridge?” she asked.
“I’m praying no one else shows up, because I don’t think I can shove anything else in there.”
“Oh, who are you kidding?” Anthony said, making me stiffen as he moved toward us, “you’re gonna eat half of that by the end of the day.”
“What are you doing? Get your stubborn ass back on that couch before you trip over your shoelaces and bust your face open,” I said, getting a chorus of laughter from his family.
“I like her,” the man I think named Brio said as he slapped Anthony on his shoulder. His bad shoulder. “Nice place, by the way,” he said to me. “Just needs one more thing…”
