Reggie is right. I love it. I go back to my bedroom and put it on. It's perfect. I admire my reflection in the mirror. I look pretty good if I do say so myself.
That's about the time I hear a girlie shriek from the living room. Then Travis yells, “Omigod! These are doggie treats!”
Nine
Ma bowls me over with a hug. When she’s finished crushing my rib cage she holds me at arm’s length and looks me up and down. “You look tired. I’m so glad you’re going to the reunion. And I think the outfit is perfect,” she says. “I’ve always had a dream of seeing you dressed in white. Speaking of a wedding, how’s Veronica?”
In case you didn’t notice, my mother has a habit of running her thoughts together. She also never misses a chance to berate me for not eating properly and for not being married already. For some odd reason, she thinks I should marry Veronica. She took our breakup harder than me.
I peel myself away from Ma’s prying gaze and ask, “How’d you know about the outfit? I just finished trying it on not half an hour ago.”
“Instagram. Travis put it up.”
Finding out my mother has an Instagram account throws me for a loop. And I would comment on it, except when I walk into the living room, I see Zio Tonino sitting on the couch in nothing but his tidy-whities. He’s eating a big bowl of pasta and the lower half of his face is covered in red sauce. My father is fully dressed, thank God, and sitting in his recliner with his nose pointed at a ballgame on the TV. The sound is turned down and he’s reading the game in closed captions. It’s the only reading I’ve ever seen Pa do.
I turn to Ma and ask, “Why’s Zio Tonino sitting on your couch in just his underwear?
Pa answers for him, “He didn’t want to get gravy on his clothes.”
That makes a kind of weird sense.
“There’s my little Jamie. Come give your uncle a kiss,” Zio Tonino says, holding out his arms.
“You’re not really my uncle.”
He shrugs and shoves another forkful of pasta into his gob. Ma pokes me in the ribs with her sharp elbow. “Don’t be rude,” she says. “He’s your father’s oldest friend. They worked the garbage trucks together. Show some respect.”
“Sorry, Zio Tonino.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “Gimme a kiss?”
“No.”
Ma pokes me again, so I walk over, lean down, and give Zio Tonino a sideways hug. He smells the same as he’s always smelled—Old Spice, garlic, and pipe smoke.
“Where’s Rose?” I ask him. Rose is Zio Tonino’s long suffering wife.
Zio Tonino puts down his bowl and bursts into loud tears. His sobs are interspersed with some good, old-fashioned Italian swear words. I can tell you right now, there’s nothing more disturbing than seeing an old, hairless, mostly naked, covered in marinara, Italian man sobbing into his bowl of pasta.
“What’d I say? What’d I say?” I ask.
Pa sits on the couch beside Zio Tonino, wraps one arm around his shoulders, and motions for Ma to take me into the kitchen. Ma pushes me along and I run smack into Juniper. She’s carrying a big cardboard box and doesn’t see me.
Juniper is my older sister. She’s the good daughter. She’s straight and married and already has a kid. She also happens to be a hypochondriac, but hey, nobody’s perfect.
I pick up the cardboard box and hand it back to her. “Moving back home?” I tease.
“Zitto,” Ma says, pushing us both into the kitchen away from the sobbing Zio Tonino.
Juniper puts the box on the counter and turns to Ma. “What’s going on?”
Griffin runs into the kitchen and skids to a halt. “Zio Tonino’s howling again,” he announces. Griffin is my sister’s son, my nephew. He’s eight years-old and totally cute and smart.
Juniper pats him on the head and says, “We know, we know. Be a good boy and go comfort him.”
“Why me?” Griffin asks.
“He likes you,” Juniper says. “Now go!”
Griffin drags his feet out of the room. He’s going, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to. I can’t say I blame him.
As soon as Griffin is out of earshot, I barrage Ma with questions: “What’s going on? Why’s Zio Tonino here in his underwear? Where’s Rose? Why’s he crying? Why’s Juniper moving back home? Why didn’t you tell me you made ziti?”
“I’m not moving back,” Juniper says, “I’m moving some of my old things out. Zio Tonino’s moving into my old room.”
“Did Rose leave him?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Ma says.
“Huh?”
“She died,” Ma says, making the sign of the cross.
“I didn’t know she was even sick,” I say, imagining Rose in a hospital bed, wasting away under a mound of blankets.
“She wasn’t,” Juniper says with a glance at our mother.
“What?” I say, now imagining some horrible fate—a car crash or a heart attack.
Ma whispers something I can’t quite hear.
“What?” I ask.
Ma whispers again and I still can’t hear.
“What?”
“Oh, for Chrissakes,” Juniper says. “We’re all grownups here.” She turns to me and says loudly, “Aunt Rose died during sex. She was riding Tonino like a nasty cowgirl and she had a stroke. He thought she was just excited and he kept on going for another five minutes. By the time he realized what was going on, and called 911, it was too late.”
“I hope he put her clothes on before the EMTs got there.”
Juniper shook her head. “She was wearing chaps and nothing else.”
“He told you that?” I ask.
“In a manner of speaking. He told your father, who as we all know, can’t keep a secret to save his soul. We’re pretending we don’t know the real cause of death,” Ma says. “Here have some ziti. It helps with the shock.”
“I’ll never look at Zio Tonino the same way,” I say, taking the bowl of ziti from Ma. At this point I don’t care if it adds to my love handles. This is awful. This situation warrants some carbs.
“I’m clearing out my old room so Zio Tonino has a room of his own,” Juniper says. She serves herself up a bowl of ziti. “Do not tell Jenner about this,” she says, pointing at the pasta. Jenner is her husband. I have never met the man. He’s always away on business. At least that’s what Juniper says. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t really exist.
“He’s still got you on that microbiotic diet?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s awful but it does seem to be helping with my immune system,” Juniper says. She moans with delight the second the pasta hits her taste buds. “This is heaven.”
“Zio Tonino’s staying here?”
“What can I do?” Ma asks. “He lost his wife. He needs family.”
“For how long?”
“As long as he needs us,” Ma says.
My eyes widen. “As in forever?”
“Who knows? Besides your father has suffered empty nest syndrome. Having Tonino around might help and get your father out from under my feet. He’s so needy sometimes,” Ma says, dipping up her own bowl of ziti.
“Empty nest? We’ve been out of the house for ten years. And we’re not really gone. It’s not like we left Lakeland,” Juniper says.
“Yeah,” I add. “I eat here all the time. I see him three, four times a week.”
“Your father is a sensitive man,” Ma says. We both look at her like she’s lost her marbles. “In his own strange way,” she quickly amends.
That’s when I have a eureka! moment. “You know, I’ve heard people who are grieving often benefit from having a pet.”
Ma waves her hand in the air. “You know I’m allergic to fur.”
I think Ma is lying. She’s not allergic, she just doesn’t want to vacuum any more than she already does. She’s a neat freak and pets are notoriously not neat.
“Not fur. I was thinking more along the lines of feathers.”
“A bird?” Ma asks.
<
br /> “Sure. Fruit Loops. That way Zio Tonino would have someone to talk to,” I say. “Birds are good company.”
Ma raises an eyebrow.
“They’re very neat,” I quickly add. “And Zio Tonino could teach Fruit Loops to talk. It would be good for him, kind of like a hobby.” Fruit Loops already knows how to talk but Zio Tonino doesn’t need to know that. He’d think he’d done it. Win-win. “Next time I come over I’ll bring Fruit Loops and see how they get along.”
“Still can’t get rid of that bird, huh?” Juniper says.
“Look, I’ve got Veronica-the-Cat,” I say. “And Ivan and Fruit Loops and Travis. I’m taxed. The running feud between the cat and the bird is driving me crazy and Travis keeps hounding me about taking them to a pet psychiatrist to see if that’ll fix them. I can’t afford therapy for myself let alone my pets.”
Ma takes my empty bowl and washes it in the sink. “I suppose it’s not such a bad idea. I don’t know how I’ll handle two high maintenance men. The bird might be a good distraction for them both.”
“I can’t have Griffin anywhere near a bird. What about avian flu?” Juniper says. “I had it once and it’s horrible.”
“Fruit Loops has been vaccinated,” I say. That’s a lie, but she seems to buy it.
“Oh, well in that case,” Juniper says, handing her mother her empty bowl. She checks her hot pink Fitbit. “Wow. That’s a lot of calories.”
“That thing works immediately?” I ask.
“It’s telling me I need to get moving or that ziti is going straight to my thighs,” Juniper says. She looks at my thighs. “You should get one.”
Before I can make a nasty retort, Griffin runs into the kitchen and says, “Zio Tonino can’t find his teeth.”
I study my sister’s poker face. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” Juniper says with an evil smile.
“Not again,” Ma says, throwing her hands helplessly into the air. “Aren’t you two over this little game?”
Juniper leans down to Griffin and says, “You have to find them. Think of it as a treasure hunt. And the treasure is Zio Tonino’s dentures.”
“Yay!” Griffin exclaims, jumping up and down. He races out of the kitchen to begin his quest.
Juniper meets Ma’s scowl and says, “What? I couldn’t resist.”
When we were kids, Juniper and I loved to hide Zio Tonino’s dentures. He was always taking them out and leaving them lying around. We would hide them then watch as he walked around cussing and swearing until he found them. It was fun.
“You girls,” Bella says, shaking her head. “Some things never change.”
“Remember that one time you took his teeth to Show and Tell and Valerie Montoya got so scared she peed her pants?” Juniper says, giggling.
“I got two detentions for that.”
“And if I recall, I had to go in and talk to the principal,” Ma says.
“I found them!” Griffin calls out. “They were in the dryer with the underwear.”
We all laugh. Even Ma.
“Good one,” I say.
Juniper holds up her hand and I give her a high five.
Ten
My next stop is Holden’s Gym. I need a little face time with Zelda. After I put on my sweats and trainers, I walk around the gym looking for her.
I find Zelda in the weight room, her powerful thighs bulging as she does power squats while holding weights and staring at herself in the mirror. She’s sweaty and her dark skin glistens like a well-waxed floor. This is the kind of stuff that drives some women wild.
I’m not some women. It just made me hope that her deodorant is working.
Zelda sees me in the mirror and drops the weights. She pulls a towel off her neck and wipes down her body. I notice that she has joined the Fitbit craze and is wearing a neon green one on her wrist.
Zelda tosses her towel in my direction and I side step it. She laughs lightly and says, “I see that you’ve decided to go to the reunion with me.”
“What do you mean?”
Zelda checks her Fitbit and announces, “I can have a donut now.”
Talking to Zelda is like carrying on two conversations at once. The only thing you can do is follow her lead. “Those Fitbit things really work?”
She looks at me. “So what time am I picking you up Friday?”
“I didn’t know you eat donuts.”
“I don’t. But if I did, I could have one now,” she says. “What time Friday?”
“Wait a minute. . . How’d you know I had decided to go to the reunion with you?”
“Travis posted a pic of you on Facebook wearing a white tux. I knew you’d go with me if only to piss Veronica off. You look hot in that tux. I won’t be embarrassed to walk in with you. I want that bitch-whore Elma Jean Horowitz to know that I got style right down to my escort.”
“Is she your high school nemesis?”
“Yes. Back in the day, she used to spread rumors about me.”
“Like what?”
“Just shit. I don’t want to talk about it. Here put this on,” Zelda says. She hands me a hot pink Fitbit just like the one Juniper was wearing. “You are to wear this at all times including when you’re sleeping.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not only my date, you’re my first client. I’m starting a personal trainer business and I want to go big time,” she explains. “I’ve got to keep you in shape if I want other clients to join up with me.”
“I thought you were going into the homemade soap business? You told me, and I quote: I’m going to be a billionaire off this new soap that has a secret anti-aging ingredient. What happened to that idea?”
“The secret ingredient didn’t pan out. Turns out, there’s a big difference between goat milk soap and goat sperm soap. People get a little weird washing their face with goat sperm.”
“Imagine that.”
“I couldn’t figure out a good marketing angle. It all kept coming back to the question ‘How are they getting the goat sperm to make the soap?’ Anyway, I’m starting my personal trainer business and getting some bored, rich ladies to hand over wads of cash.”
What is left unsaid is that Zelda will also get the rich ladies to hand over their panties. I know Zelda. She would consider this one of the perks.
Zelda tosses another towel in my direction—a clean one this time—and says, “Come on, we’ve got some training to do. You’re starting to get a big butt.”
I follow along behind Zelda’s butt as it leads me to the track. Her butt doesn’t even jiggle when she walks. That is so wrong. I look at my new Fitbit and ask, “So is this thing going to tell me when I’m allowed to eat a gelato? ‘Cause I have an important meeting this afternoon.”
Zelda takes off at a trot and says, “Better run faster.”
Eleven
When I get back to my place I find a trail of brightly colored feathers leading to my bedroom. Sitting in the middle of my bed is Veronica-the-Cat. She’s licking a scratch on her nose. Fruit Loops, sporting a couple of bald spots, is sitting on my ceiling fan. It’s a good thing I didn’t turn the fan on before I saw him.
I don’t see Ivan anywhere. I hope he wasn’t eaten by the cat and bird. I quietly push open Travis’s bedroom door and find Ivan sleeping on a pillow next to the snoring Travis. I tippy-toe to the bed and whisper, “Gelato?”
Ivan immediately perks up.
Unfortunately, so does Travis. “Did you say gelato?”
“Yes, but only for Ivan. I have a meeting with the goombahs and they like Ivan.”
“Why can’t I come too?” Travis whines.
“Because you’re still in bed and I don’t have time to wait till you make yourself pretty. Late night?”
“If you must know…” Travis says, sitting up, fluffing his pillow, and putting it behind his head.
I didn’t really want to know but I needed to distract Travis about going for gelato. So, I let him continue.
“I went for a wal
k down by the lake after work with Michael,” he says coyly.
“Michael?” I ask, snapping the leash on Ivan’s collar.
“He came into the bar to check out the show and we got to talking. Jamie, I think I’ve found my one and only. I can feel it.” He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. “Can’t you feel it?”
“Yeah, it feels clammy.” Travis has had a lot of one-and-onlys. Most of the time the one-and-onlys last about two weeks. I’m not concerned about losing my roommate just yet.
“I think I’m in love. I mean big, big love.” He waves his hand in front of his face like he’s fanning himself.
“That’s awesome. I’ll stop by the bar later and we can talk about it further.” I gently tug the leash. Ivan obeys the cue, jumps off the bed, and beats me to the door by several paces.
“I’ve got a really good picture of him on my phone,” Travis calls out.
“Great,” I say and quickly shut the door behind me. “Whew, Ivan, that was close. We could’ve gotten a play-by-play of his entire walk by the lake.”
*
After Ivan is strapped into his basket, I put in a Bangles CD. I love 80s music. I love to sing along with it. What I lack in singing ability, I more than make up for in volume. By the time Manic Monday comes on, my voice is full throttle. Ivan even gets into the act and howls along. The only thing is I can’t tell if he’s singing or protesting my singing.
I score a parking spot right in front of Giovanni’s Gelato. Every time I come here, I get the same spot. What’re the odds of that happening? It must be by design. I bet the goombahs keep that spot open for the people who come to see them. That way they can look through the plate glass window and see who’s coming before they walk in the shop. Smart.
The bell over the door rings as we enter. Giovanni has two bowls of gelato waiting for me and Ivan. Strawberry for me and vanilla for him. Ivan dives into his bowl nose first. I carry mine over to Frankie’s table. Jimmy scoots over, making room for me. Dumbshit sits to Frankie’s left—within easy strike range.
“Jamie Bravo, my button,” Frankie says.
Till Beth Do Us Part (A Jamie Bravo Mystery Book 2) Page 6