“Gee, Iris,” said Lily, pouring herself a refill from the coffee carafe on the table. “It’s too bad I’ll probably be in college when Gregorio comes. I won’t even get to meet him.”
“Oh, after a semester of college,” said Iris, “You’ll be coming home for Christmas, believe me.”
Rita nodded in agreement.
Lily couldn’t imagine that. Especially not now. “We’ll see,” she said. “We’ll see.”
“Oh - I almost forgot!” said Iris. “I have presents for everyone!”
Iris reached under the table and retrieved a bag with handles and a word in Italian printed across the front. She stuck her hand in and pulled out a small gold foil box, and placed it in front of Rita.
“One for you...” said Iris.
“Wow!” said Rita. “What is it?”
“Open it up!” said Iris. She reached into the bag again, and pulled out an identical box and placed it in front of Frances. “And one for you!”
“Yum-MY!” said Rita, opening the box to reveal four artfully crafted pieces of chocolate.
“They are beautiful!” said Frances.
“It’s from Perugia,” said Iris. “Gregorio says it’s the finest chocolate in the world!”
By the time Iris reached into the bag a third time, Lily’s mouth was already watering.
“And for you, my sorellina,” said Iris, beaming, “we have something special.” Iris placed a small leather pouch and a package wrapped in white tissue on the table in front of Lily. Pointing to the leather pouch she said, “Open that one first.”
Lily loosened the drawstring, reached her fingers down inside, and drew out a rosary made of blue crystal beads and sterling silver.
“A rosary,” said Lily, puzzled. She did her best to sound impressed and excited, although she couldn’t remember the last time she’d said the rosary - probably not since the last time she stayed over Auntie Rosa’s for dance class. Had to be at least five years by now.
“That’s not just any rosary,” said Iris, leaning in toward Lily. “That rosary has been personally blessed by His Holiness the Pope.”
“THE Pope?” asked Frances. “The guy in the Vatican who wears the cool hat?”
“That’d be him,” said Iris.
Even though she hadn’t seen the Pope herself, Lily knew she should probably be impressed by the fact that the Pope had at least looked at her rosary. It reminded Lily of the way Ricci refused to eat dinner when he was small until their mother looked at each and every mound of food on his plate. Lily smiled.
“Thank you, Iris.” Lily dangled the rosary over the open pouch and lowered it down, the beads click-click-clicking against each other as they coiled themselves back inside.
“Now open the other one!” said Iris.
Lily carefully tore at the seam of the tissue, which was held in place by a single square of transparent tape. She unfolded the paper to reveal a pair of purple gloves.
“Gloves!” said Lily.
“They’re kid gloves,” said Iris. “Feel how soft they are.”
Lily picked up one of the gloves and held it against her cheek. “Oh, it is soft!”
“Lemme see,” said Frances. She grabbed the other glove and started to slip her hand inside.
Rita snatched it and gave it back to Lily. “Don’t you dare, Frances! With those mitts of yours, you will stretch them out and ruin them.”
Lily slipped both gloves on and held them to her face. “I would be afraid to wear these in the snow, though,” said Lily. “They are so delicate.”
Rita and Frances laughed.
“Well, you don’t wear them for shoveling snow, silly,” said Iris. “They’re dress gloves. You’d wear them when you get all dressed up for a nice dinner or when you go to a garden party or something like that.”
“Well, I know they’re not show-shoveling gloves,” said Lily, with a burning in her throat. “I just never heard of gloves that you wear just for parties.” Lily had never been to a garden party. In fact, she was pretty sure that Iris had ever been to one either, so it was curious that she suddenly knew so much about the proper attire. And Burger King was the only place she ever went to dinner besides the diner. However, even if she ever did have any occasion to wear the gloves, she would pull them on and would remember the way Rita and Frances laughed at her, and how Iris thought she intended to wear them to shovel the driveway, and she would probably just put them back in the drawer.
“They’re your favorite color,” said Iris, as if she were trying to supply Lily with additional reasons why she should appreciate her gift.
“They’re beautiful, Iris. Thank you.” Lily pulled the gloves off one at a time and wrapped them back up in the tissue. She imagined herself sitting at home, wearing her new kid gloves, rattling off a series of “Hail Marys” as she ticked her way through the crystal beads of her sacred new rosary, trying to convince herself that it was better to be pious and proper than it was to indulge in the sin and mess that can only be achieved with a box of fine chocolates.
Two weeks after their first date, Joe brought Lily home for Sunday dinner. As they pulled into the driveway, he warned her, “They’re kinda loud. And they don’t put on false airs and shit. With my family, what you see is what you get.”
Lily assured him that his family could not be crazier than hers. She would be right at home.
Inside, she found herself steeped amid the familiar and comforting chaos of a clan gathered for pasta, surrounded by new faces with whom she bore no burden of history or of expectation except perhaps for a smile and a passing of the Parmesan. Joe’s father - who everyone called “Big Tony,” was a massive figure, an ex-cop with a commanding voice and who - according to the stories - could get a confession out of a punk just by staring at him. His intimidating presence was offset by his disarming laugh, which he vocalized distinctly as “Hee-hee-hee.” Lily was amused that someone would have such a literal giggle, much as she would have been if a rooster had opened his mouth and actually uttered “Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
Once everyone had finished their pasta and the salad began making its way around the table, Joe’s brother Anthony said, “OK, everyone - lissen up. I have an announcement to make.”
“Hurry up and make it then,” said Big Tony. “Tip off is in ten minutes.”
“I’ve decided to ask Nancy to marry me.”
Joe and his brothers cheered, and slapped Anthony “high fives” across the table.
“Jesus Christ, Ant’ny!” cried Joe’s mother, Lucy. “She’s divorced, for Chrissake. You can’t marry a divorced woman.”
“Says who?” said Anthony, shoving a chunk of heavily buttered Italian bread into his mouth.
“Says the Pope, that’s who.” Lucy shook a Winston out of the pack and lit it. “Is that good enough for you, Mr. Smarty Pants?”
“Ma - ” Anthony laughed. “She had the marriage annulled. Don’t worry - I’m not gonna go to hell.”
“I still don’t see why you can’t marry someone who’s fresh.”
Anthony was looking down at his lap, absentmindedly wiping butter from his fingers with a napkin. Without looking up, he said, “You mean like you were?”
The entire family froze in place. Forks suspended in midair, jaws dropped open. Anthony slowly raised his head, wearing a look of alarm on his face, as if suddenly aware that he’d made the comment aloud.
Lucy took a deep drag on her cigarette, and blew the smoke up toward the ceiling, without breaking the gaze she had fixed upon her son. She crushed the butt out in the ashtray, stood up from her chair, leaned over the table, and slapped him squarely across the face. Lily jumped in her seat. Alfonso, Blaise, and Stefano burst out into laughter.
“Oh, nice -” shouted Joe. “Hey - Mohammad Ali,” he said to his mother. “We got company.”
“It was a love tap,” said Lucy, sitting back down. She pointed a finger at Anthony. “You watch your mouth - and just remember - I’ve made my mistakes, but I accepted responsibil
ity for them, too. You kids should be thanking your lucky stars that me and your father have stayed together all these years instead of giving up and walking out like people do these days.”
Joe shot a glance at his mother. She looked at Lily, and then returned to her salad.
“We stick together, is all I’m saying,” said Lucy, spearing a tuft of lettuce with her fork. “That’s what families do - they stick together.”
“OK,” said Big Tony, “Enough of this touchy-feely crap.” He raised his glass of Chianti. “Let’s make a toast. To Anthony and Nancy: May they have many happy years together. And let’s welcome little Lily to our table, because if she hasn’t run away yet, maybe we will see her again.”
“Salud!” they all shouted, raising their glasses.
“Sorry about that business with my mother and Anthony,” said Joe, as he opened the car door for Lily.
“That’s OK,” said Lily, recalling the countless times she had made a similar apology to any one of her friends who may have had the misfortune to be hanging around during one of the fights her parents used to have. “But I feel bad for Nancy - it would be hard to have a mother-in-law who doesn’t like you.”
“Don’t let my mother fool you. She likes Nancy just fine. She just has to stick her nose in. That’s how we know she cares. I can tell my parents like you, too - and when you’re in with them, you’re in. They’ll look after you like one of their own.”
Lily continued to join Joe and his family for Sunday dinners, feeling less like a guest with each passing week. She discovered that being a Diotallevi was something between being in an exclusive club and a cult. Being a Diotallevi meant that life's questions were answered for you simply; clad in the armor of validation by ever-present family, you were protected from your own senselessness, and from the scrutiny of the outside world. The rules were simple: women cooked and cleaned and had babies, with men helping out in times of childbirth or other illness; men worked as much as possible, even if it meant they had to put in twelve-hour days, which could be a combination of earning wages at a job and going to the racetrack to try and turn a paycheck into enough to keep the lights on. On Sundays and holidays, the family gathered together to eat, after which the men watched sports on television while the women watched children and chatted about the comings and goings of their households. The suggestion that such a life left any need unfulfilled was met with resistance and suspicion. What more could anyone want than good food, a roof over their head, and family they could count on? What more could Lily want?
The Diotallevis were everything the Capotostis were not: Big Tony used real swear words instead of making up replacements so as to avoid the need for confession; the brothers used poor grammar and shared a crass sense of humor; Betty Capotosti and Lucy Diotallevi were as different as two women could be, with Lucy often offering unsolicited advice to Lily on cooking, cleaning, hair coloring, and the art of being a good wife. Lily’s mother would be incensed if she knew. Lily sometimes found herself admiring Lucy for the way she'd managed to keep her family together, and felt guilty at the swelling affection she felt for her.
“Your pasta is always so good, Mrs. Diotallevi,” said Lily as they cleared the table one Sunday. “What brand of sauce do you use?”
“What brand?” Lucy let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a cough, bringing up a chunk of phlegm. She turned and spit it into the garbage can. “I don’t use store bought sauce. I make it from scratch. That’s genuine Diotallevi sauce - you can’t get that sauce in any restaurant or grocery store, I’ll tell you that. We are full-blooded Italians, after all. That Ragu shit is for medigans. Maybe someday, if things work out with you and my Joey, I’ll be passing the recipe along to you.” Lily didn’t know what a “medigan” was, but she didn’t ask, for fear of revealing her ignorance and ipso facto branding herself as something other than a “real” Italian.
Grandma Capotosti had been born and raised in Italy, and she always used sauce from a jar, but Lily didn’t dare tell. It was bad enough that her mother was divorced and Irish - facts that Joe and his family never failed to recall whenever Lily revealed her ignorance of the secret Italian code of behavior, such as the proper order in which to dispense kisses when you entered a gathering, or the point during a meal at which one should eat dinner salad. “That’s the way Italians do it,” they would say, and they seemed quite sure of it. Lily was ashamed that she had been raised in an Italian-American household yet knew so little about the ways in which things should be done.
Lily and Joe saw each other at every opportunity. He made it part of his routine to cut the lawn at Lily’s house, as well as change the oil in the car, replace blown fuses, and fix leaky faucets.
Their late night love play moved from the back seat of the Barracuda to the couch in Lily’s living room, and from simple necking to heavy petting. While she adored the fact that Joe craved her, she was still intent on saving herself for her future husband. It was way too early to tell who that might be. However, setting boundaries wasn’t something at which Lily felt competent. Growing up, there simply hadn’t been enough room to afford them, and with James, she had been too painfully aware that they weren’t necessary. If anything, she had to goad him into the urges that other boys were dying to express. James would initiate intimacy and then withhold his passion, always acting as though he might get up and leave at any moment. It had confused Lily and put her in a constant state of tension when they were together, wondering if the wrong move or the wrong word might snap James out of his desire, leaving her alone with her arousal and her guilt. Lily mused that being with James had been like sitting down to dinner with someone who was finicky and allergic, but being with Joe was like going to a buffet with a starving man who had recently been rescued from a deserted island.
Joe’s sheer need for physical contact evoked Lily’s desire to care for him. And she wanted him, too. His lean, firm dancer’s body was flexible and beautiful to look at, reawakening the desire in Lily that she had become so adept at subjugating. He moved with ease, always decidedly going in the direction of his desire. There were no guessing games. Making out with Joe was simple; a kiss was just a kiss, a caress was a caress, and they exchanged them with each other because they were young and alive and falling in love.
“I think we need to talk,” Lily told him one night, as they lay tangled on the couch together.
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Fear registered in Joe’s eyes.
“Oh - no, no,” said Lily, giving him a gentle kiss. “It’s nothing bad, really. It’s just that, well, I - I - don’t think we should go all the way. I kind of decided that I wanted to be a virgin when I get married, and I thought I should just let you know that.”
Joe kissed her. “I knew you were a nice girl,” he said. “There aren’t many like you around these days - you’re beautiful, sexy, and you have good morals. But - I am a guy, after all, so you’re prob’ly gonna hafta remind me a bunch of times. You know, keep me in line. I’m not as strong as you.”
“I can do that,” said Lily. She loved hearing that her virtue was rare, and that Joe appreciated that in her. She would be the voice of reason and conscience for them both.
“I got another letter from SUNY Geneseo today,” she said, buttoning her blouse. “I’m thinking of going there in the fall.”
“What? You mean college?”
“Yeah. Geneseo’s not my first choice, but I might be able to get a student loan, and they do have a pretty good musical theatre department.”
“I thought you were done with all of that. What about us?”
“This doesn’t affect us that much, Joe. Geneseo is only forty-five miles from here.”
“Where are you gonna live?”
“I don’t know yet. On campus. In a dorm.”
“So you won’t be living in town?” Joe sat up, and grabbed a pack of Winstons from the pocket of his leather jacket.
“Well, no, but I can come home some weekends. Or you can com
e and visit me.”
Joe turned and looked at Lily and stated, “I am not going to go and ‘visit’ my girlfriend,” he said. “And what am I supposed to do the whole time you’re at school?” He stood up, walked out the back door, and took a seat on one of the rusted white wrought iron chairs that flanked the entrance. Lily followed.
“I don’t understand what you’re getting so upset about,” she said, taking the cigarette he offered.
“Look,” said Joe. “None of the women in my family have ever gone to college, and they are all perfectly happy with their lives. Why would you want to spend all that time and money studying acting? It’s not like you can get a job with it or anything.”
“I don’t know,” Lily a took a drag on the cigarette. “I just always wanted to, that’s all.”
“Well, you can go ahead - we’re not married or anything so I can’t stop you, but-”
“But?”
“Lily, I care about you - you know that. And you can do whatever you want, but four years is a long time. I can’t guarantee that I’ll still be here when you’re ready. I thought we were starting a life here. Maybe you’re not the girl I thought you were, after all.”
The Complete Series Page 56