Page 71 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

That was what family was all about, wasn’t it? Looking out for each other and making compromises when needed? I wasn’t exactly an expert but seeing the five place settings soothed a lot of the worries that had been building up within me.

“Oh goodness! Somehow, you are even taller than I thought!” That was from the woman who had been standing at the dual-fuel range cooker. I’d looked into getting one for my mother’s fiftieth birthday, but back then, it was way out of my price range. They ranged from ten to fifty thousand depending on the make and model.

A perhaps stereotypical amount of warmth and comfort emanated from the woman. She was much shorter than Olivia, which explained the footstool in front of the stove. She was quite plump, her cheeks rosy, and her round face full of sunlight. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in loose curls, swept out of her face with gold, bejeweled hair pins.

“Mama!” Olivia objected, but I laughed.

“What? She’s not wrong. I am tall.” I had more than a foot on the older woman. It wasn’t often I met someone shorter than my mother, who insisted she was five foot two when really she was five foot one and a quarter. Which, in my opinion, wasn’t a lot different from being five feet flat. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Rizoli.”

I offered my hand for a shake but she took it like she expected me to kiss the top of her hand, so I rolled with it. Normally, I would feel like that was a power move, but given the way the woman beamed at me, it was probably a cultural thing. If I played things right, eventually I’d be kissing people’s cheeks to greet them.

“What a gentleman! And so handsome too! Why you hide him from us so long, mio tesoro?”

I knew that one! My treasure. Aww, that was a sweet nickname.

“Mamaaaa, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Si, it is my job. Now⁠—”

“Oi, is he here?” A deep, booming voice sounded from down the hall, and a door swung open. A man, who had to be the family patriarch I had been told so much about, stepped inside. With the door open, I heard the tail end of a flush, and I couldn’t help but be impressed at what kind of insulation the walls had for their bathrooms to be that soundproof.

Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t hear the people in the dining room. I didn’t know if the effect was intentional, but it really showed the difference that old school, quality materials made over modern cardboard and cheap plastics.

“He’s been here, Papa,” Rolando said, popping in from a different door. It always surprised me how nimbly Rolando moved. He was almost as tall as me, and judging from his dart game, even stronger, but he was light on his feet. “You ready to eat?”

Olivia’s father patted his old man gut, which wasn’t even that much of a gut. More of a bulge to show a life well lived and meals enjoyed. “When aren’t I?”

His gaze landed on me. There I saw Olivia’s eyes and her nose, as well as that part in her gaze she had when she was observing everything she could about something.

So, that was where she got it from.

“You’re tall,” he said, and I finally noticed that his accent, while still present, was notably different from most of the other older people I’d met so far. Given his backstory of being in America the longest, and coming to our country as the youngest, it made sense. I couldn’t imagine what that had been like for him.

What a journey he’d had. Maybe, if I got on his good side, I could sit down with him and have him tell me about all the trials and victories he’d had in bringing his family over and building up a thriving business. It was inspiring, really.

“You know, I had an idea that maybe that was the case, but you all are convincing me.” I grinned when I heard a giddy giggle from Mama Rizoli. I didn’t need a social map to know that was a victory, because I had no doubt that Mr. Enzo Rizoli followed the mantra “happy wife, happy life”.

“Ah, there is mia bella, mio cuore!” the man declared before hurrying past me to draw his wife into his arms. That was when I knew without a doubt I was one hundred percent right. There was something about old school love that was just so… classic.

“Cucciolo! I am right here as I have been, and as I was fifteen minutes ago when you last saw me!” the woman objected as he peppered kisses all along the side of her face, not too unlike from how Olivia had “affectionately smothered” me.

“Fifteen minutes is too long to be without your beautiful face, you know this!” he retorted before planting a kiss on top of her thick hair. “Now that our guest is here, let’s eat, yeah?”

The doorbell rang again.

I could see Rolando wanted to sigh, but to his credit, he didn’t. “I’ll get that,” he said, then hurried off again.

“Should we wait for him?” I asked as we sat.

“Please, he’s a teenager. Consider this a head start before he comes back and inhales everything,” Olivia said in a tone that told me she wasn’t exaggerating. At all.

Ah, I remembered those years.

Except we couldn’t really afford to feed the endless hunger that came with my rapidly expanding frame, so those binges usually had to wait until I was at an event with free food or my mom saved enough to treat the two of us to an AYCE buffet.

“That’s a good point.” I picked up my silverware and waited to see whether it was a help-myself situation or if I should wait to be served. However, it turned out to be a mysterious third option where Olivia and her parents joined hands around the table and bowed their heads to pray.

Whoops.