by Fields, MJ
“Come on in, and welcome to Mexican Mardi Gras,” he says with an eye roll.
Really? Mexican Mardi Gras?
New Orleans–style big-band music is playing, and I can see Kelsey in the kitchen, wearing a purple-green-and-gold swing dress and, of course, a sombrero.
“I can’t wait to see what’s on the menu.”
“Crawfish and Creole shrimp tacos with hurricane margaritas!” she yells above the music.
“How do they come up with this stuff?” I ask Daniel as Dawn comes in from the deck.
“Just go in your room and grab your party dress and get your ass in here. You are on margarita duty,” she informs me.
I do as I am told and head toward my room, but then I run headfirst into a rock-hard body coming out of the bathroom.
“Whoa there. Steady.” He places his hands on my waist as I rock backward from the collision.
“Jake Mason, what are you doing in my bathroom?”
“Daniel invited me for dinner. I didn’t realize it was a theme party, so I had to change when I got here. Apparently, Dawn always has extras in case someone brings home a stray guest.”
“So, you’re a stray, huh?” I lift my eyebrow in question.
“Sure am. See, there is a contest for which girl can accumulate the most beads tonight. I couldn’t miss that,” he explains.
“Yeah, she is kinda nutty when it comes to her Tuesdays, just warning you.”
The hallway is small, and his massive frame is making it hard for me to get past him.
It seems impossible, but he moves even closer to me and whispers, “I’m already thinking of creative ways you can earn all my beads.”
Dear Lord, I am both intrigued and terrified of what he has up his sleeve for the night.
“You are just going to have to surrender them, Mason. I’m not a monkey; you can’t make me dance,” I say as I squeeze right up under his arm and escape to my bedroom.
By the time I come out, fully in costume with my sombrero on my head, the party is in full swing. The girls invited a couple of guys from the apartment complex and a couple of people from school. No one else has on a sombrero.
“Hey, where is everyone’s hat?” I protest.
“Kirk pointed out that taking beads off their necks and placing them around our necks is not conducive to sombrero-wearing, so we nixed them,” Dawn explains.
“Doesn’t seem very Mexican without them,” I grumble.
“Oh, please, we still have tacos and margaritas. We are Mexican enough. Now, get your ass in here, so I can explain the game.”
I join everyone in the kitchen, and Dawn explains the rules and the rewards. All the girls start out beadless, and all the guys have the same number of strands around their necks. The girls’ mission is to get the guys to give up the beads. The guys can ask any price they want. The girl can refuse or accept. At the end of the night, the girl with the most beads gets a prize Dawn has wrapped in a box in the living room. However, us roommates have a side bet. Whichever of the three of us has the least amount of beads at the end of the night has to do the other two’s laundry for a month.
“Not fair, Dawn,” I protest. “You will do anything for beads. You already know you will win!”
She looks at me with a wicked gleam in her eye and shrugs. “Then, I suggest you loosen up a little and get those beads.”
Ugh, I guess I’ll be cramming extra laundry into all the free time I have lying around. I resign myself to my fate as I head into the kitchen to take my post as the head of margaritas.
Turns out, hurricane margaritas are exactly what they sound like. You take the premade hurricane drink mix, loaded with both white and dark rum, and use it in lieu of the normal margarita mix. And, of course, add tequila. In others words, we are all shitfaced a little over an hour later.
With the alcohol sloshing around in my gut, I get somewhat brave. I’m indeed losing our battle because Dawn has shown just about everyone in the house her almost-see-through bra all night to get loaded down with beads. I keep looking over at Daniel when she lifts her top, and he just shrugs and laughs.
“It’s just cleavage, Brie. Nothing everyone hasn’t already seen in a bikini on the beach.”
I still can’t bring myself to expose my body like that, only to be ogled by complete strangers. It just feels icky. Maybe I am a prude.
Kelsey also has a handful of beads around her neck. She went to lift her shirt up earlier, and Bradley immediately shut it down. He took all the beads from around his neck and transferred them to hers. Payment for services to be rendered at a later time.
I only have two strands, and that is because a couple of the guys felt sorry for me and gave me a strand for refilling their glasses. Something has to be done. I can’t go down like this. If I can talk just one guy into giving up his beads, I can still take Kelsey down.
I walk out on the deck and find Jake lounging on the outdoor couch. He still has what looks like every single strand of his beads around his neck. I take a deep breath, and with liquid courage coursing through my veins, I approach him.
“Okay, Mason, name your price. What does a girl have to do to get you to give all of those up?” I point nervously at the shiny strands.
“You know what the normal going rate for a single strand of beads is, right?”
Grr. I knew he was going to say that.
“Fine, forget it.”
I turn to walk away, and he catches me and pulls me back.
“Tell you what. How about a friendly kiss, and you can have them all?”
“Friends don’t kiss, Jake.”
“You kiss Daniel.”
“Daniel is la mia famiglia. We are Italian. Italian relatives kiss. You are not family.”
He gently tugs me, and I fall into his lap. I sit up and steady myself. I’m now straddling him on the sofa. He leans in and rests his forehead against mine.
“Just one kiss. I just want to know what your lips feel like. I have been dreaming about these lips,” he says as he raises one finger and runs it across my bottom lip.
Now that I am this up close and personal, I see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. They are nice eyes. He has long eyelashes and bushy, unruly eyebrows. Manscaping is obviously not his top priority, which I like. Too much manscaping, and you take the man right out of the scape.
“Okay”—I take a deep breath—“one little kiss; that’s all.”
I give in. What can I say? I’m drunk and I am weak and he smells good and he feels good.
He leans back, so he can look in my eyes, searching for permission. I balance myself by placing my hands on his shoulders, and before I can chicken out, I bring my lips to his. It’s a chaste kiss—at first. Then, he moves his hands to grasp my hips, and he leans back against the couch. I follow him. My body is flush against his, and I can feel every muscle in his body tense and then relax. He starts to nibble at my bottom lip and coaxes my mouth open. His tongue glides in, and he starts caressing mine with it. It’s slow and sensual, and I get lost in the feel of it. It has been a while since anyone kissed me. A while since anyone touched me intimately. I did not realize until this instant how much I wanted this. I bear into him and deepen the kiss. Just like that, we are a frenzy of lips and tongues and teeth. I moan into his mouth, and all of a sudden, he pulls back and disconnects his mouth from mine. He stares at me, wild-eyed for a minute, and I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.
“Brie, baby, you have to get up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you win. I got my kiss, and you get your beads.”
I am a little stunned at the sudden shift as he picks me up and deposits me on the couch beside him, and then he stands. He removes the beads from his neck and places them over my head. Then, he dips low and places one more quick kiss on my lips.
“Better than any damn dream I could dream,” he whispers. Then, he turns and walks back in the house.
I’m not sure what just happened, but I’m pret
ty certain I am in big trouble. I should have just taken the laundry duty. I guarantee it would have been a lot less aggravation in the end.
Sixteen
Gabby - Past
The next few months are a whirlwind of activity. I am finally heading to NYU with Adriana. I’m so excited. We are both business majors, but I’m a year behind, so I am opting to take a couple of extra online classes to catch up.
Just as I expected, both of Adi’s roommates have already bailed, so we now have her apartment in the city all to ourselves. Papa wanted to move us to the Upper East Side where we would be safer, but I protested. I like the apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. Everything, except the walk up, but I figure doing five floors up and down several times a day will at least keep me from gaining the freshman fifteen. To appease him, I promised him I would take the train up to New Rochelle with Tony every Sunday for family dinner. Tony lives about five blocks from us, which is probably the only reason Papa relented.
In the middle of this madness, Antoine is scheduled for a visit. He flies into LaGuardia tomorrow. I cannot wait to see him. Keeping up a long-distance relationship is challenging, and about a month ago, we agreed to see other people, but we continue to talk. We’ll see what happens in a couple of years when I’m out of school. So, the pressure is off with this visit. We get to just enjoy each other without all the heavy talk and emotional upheaval.
I am upstairs, packing, when I hear footsteps coming down the hall.
“Hey, Nicco, do you mind helping me carry some of this down to my car?” I call out as I tape another box closed.
He pops his head in and looks around. “Wow, that’s a lot of boxes,” he says. Then, he turns and yells downstairs, “Cross, man, come up here and help me load up Gabby’s bedroom.”
Then, he scoops up one box and heads out the door. A few seconds later, Cross is coming in. I haven’t spoken to him since that night at Black Flamingo. He’s been here to the house a few times, and I ran into him and Angelica at a restaurant in town, but I have stealthily avoided being caught alone with him or having to engage in any one-on-one contact every time. I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.
“Can I come in?” he asks before stepping all the way in.
“Sure. I’m not going to turn down the help.”
He fully comes in and glances around at the floor. “I can’t believe you are headed to college. Seems like just yesterday you were all pigtails and Barbie dolls.”
“Yeah, well, my brothers have said pretty much the same thing more than once this week. I get it; I will always be stuck at five years old for you guys.”
He bends down beside me to lift the box in my hands from me. “You haven’t been five years old in my eyes in a very long time, Tesoro. Just feeling nostalgic, is all. It’s like you are leaving all over again.” He just stays there, squatting beside me.
The tension is thick, and I don’t know what to say. I’m tired from packing all night, and I don’t have any fight in me today.
“I’m just moving into the city this time.”
He shakes his head and looks me in the eye. “You might as well be moving across the ocean again. It feels like you never came home.” With that, he picks up the box and walks out.
He and Nicco continue to load my car until all the boxes are out of my room. I come down, and they are in the kitchen, rummaging for snacks.
“Want me to make you guys something to eat? My way of thanking you for all the help.”
“Yes, sis, that would be amazing. I am going to run and jump in the shower really quick while you cook.” He looks to Cross. “Sorry, man, I know you wanted to be on the train by now. Thanks for helping though.”
“No problem. Go get your shower. We will still be there in plenty of time.”
I get out a few slices of prosciutto, a loaf of sourdough bread, Gruyère cheese, tomatoes, fresh spinach, and a bottle of olive oil and start on their sandwiches. Cross stands there in silence while I start to cook.
Then, he comes over and asks, “Can I help?”
“You can slice the tomatoes for me.”
He takes them to the sink and starts washing them. Then, he comes and stands beside me, elbow to elbow, while I slice the cheese and bread.
“Are you scared of moving out into the city, alone?”
“I’m not going to be alone. I am moving in with Adi.”
“Yeah, she will be about as useful as a trout if you get into trouble.”
He cuts his eyes to me, and we both start laughing because it is kind of true.
“I can handle myself, Christoff.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask as I brush the bread with olive oil.
“You call me Christoff now.”
“It is your name.”
“It has never been my name to you.”
“I’m a grown-up now. I can pronounce your real name.”
“I liked you calling me Cross better.”
“Let’s not do this, okay?” I say as I face the oven and not him. “It’s different now; we are different now. Today was nice; don’t ruin it by getting bossy or intense or whatever mood it is you are in today, please.”
He finishes his task, brings the plate of tomatoes over, and sets them beside the pan. Then, he moves in close. “Call me whatever you want to call me, Gabby.”
I turn to face him. “Are we going to be friends?”
“You tell me.”
“I want to be. I came home, thinking we would be. I mean, isn’t that what you wanted all along? I went to Paris, so I could sort myself out and come back and just be your friend again, but you act like that’s not good enough either. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m so confused.”
He is standing close, and his eyes don’t leave mine. He is pensive and looks at me like he is trying to assess my words. He still has the finest jaw I have ever seen, and more than anything, I want to reach up and run my hand over the stubble on it, but I don’t.
“I do, Gabby. I want us to be friends again. If you can forgive me for everything that happened before, I will forgive you for taking off, and we can start over right here.”
“No more angry Christoff.”
“No more angry Christoff,” he agrees.
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
He kisses the top of my head like he used to, and I feel like everything is going to be okay again.
Nicco comes back down, and I load up three plates with gooey grilled cheese sandwiches and chips. We sit together and eat and laugh, and it feels good.
When they leave, I decide to turn in early and enjoy my last night’s sleep in my childhood bedroom.
* * *
Adriana and I pull up to International Arrivals to pick up Antoine the next morning. I see him standing there with his suitcase, and the cars can’t get out of my way fast enough. I finally make it to him, and I jump out of the car and into his arms.
“Mon amour,” he says as he catches me.
“Hey, babe, I missed you.” And I did. I didn’t realize how much until right this minute.
We load him and his bags and head to my parents’ house. Mamma insisted on a family dinner to welcome Antoine.
“So, French Hottie, how long are you gracing us with your presence?”
I believe Adi is as excited about his visit as I am.
“For now, the plan is to stay for three weeks. That’s how long my office expects for me to work remotely.”
“Oh, we can show you the entire New York experience in three weeks.” She is conspiratorially rubbing her hands together.
Antoine has no idea what he has gotten himself into with us.
When we pull up to the house, I’m surprised to see all of my brothers outside, playing basketball. They used to play every evening, and I loved sitting on the sideline and watching them. I would always cheer for Tony to win. The others would act hurt and pout, but they all knew I was Tony’s biggest fan. I always have been. He is the oldest
of the four and fourteen years older than me. In a lot of ways, he was more like a second father to me than big brother. He doted on me, and he was my hero. He still is.
When we stop in the circular drive, the game halts, and all four of my sweaty brothers descend on us. This should be fun.
“Antoine, these are my brothers—Tony, Stavros, Lorenzo, and Nicco. Boys, this is Antoine.”
They all crowd Antoine as they shake hands. I have to hand it to them; they are polite and a little less intimidating than I was expecting. I am sure Mamma had a nice long talk with them before we arrived. She is a huge Antoine fan, and having her as an ally is no small thing.
“It is a pleasure to meet you all. Gabriella speaks so highly of you.”
“Damn, that accent is sexy as hell. I bet you cream your panties every time he calls you,” Adi says out loud.
All four of my brothers cut their eyes to her, murderous glares on their faces.
“What? I just call them like I see them. It is hot as hell.” She shrugs off their ire.
“Come on.” I drag her toward the door. “Let’s go in before they strangle you.”
The boys rope Antoine into a game, and Adi and I head inside to help Nonna and Mamma finish in the kitchen.
About an hour later, Nonna sticks her head out the back door to call the boys in to wash up. I’m setting the table and smile as I hear them all coming in the door.
“Ew, get your smelly pits away from me,” I hear Adi exclaim. “Who invited you anyway?”
I peek around the dining room entrance to see whom she is talking to, and there stands Cross with his arm raised above her head, shoving it into his sweaty shirt. Great.
“I’m always here for family dinners.”
“Yeah, he is just as much family as you are,” Nicco interjects.
“Whatever. You guys had better not give French Hottie a hard time tonight.”
“French Hottie?”
“Told you, I call them like I see them.”
* * *
Dinner is a success. The food is amazing, and everyone seems to like Antoine, even Papa. They talked business and international politics, and I could tell Papa was impressed with Antoine’s knowledge of foreign affairs. Vincenzo Mastreoni is not a man easily impressed. Nonno is able to talk to Antoine about “the old country,” as he and his family have spent summers in Capri every year for as long as he can remember. He is even able to slip in and out of Italiano while they speak of my grandparents’ island home. He complimented Nonna’s food and ate three helpings, which thrilled her. That is how Nonna shows her love—through food—and that is why I want to own my own restaurant one day—to pass down the love she has taught me. I kept catching Cross looking at me across the table with a curious look. He would smile a small smile just for me and then rejoin the conversation. I also noticed Mamma watching us all carefully.