“She’s been so nauseous lately I don’t think she can eat it. The only thing she’ll eat is mac and cheese.”
“We have a lobster mac and cheese on the menu. I guess I can make it plain for her.”
Ok, I need to be tactful here. Sometimes chefs have egos and I don’t want to insult him. “Um, it might be better to just make the boxed kind.”
The chef looks at me as if I’ve just damned him to hell.
“The what?”
“You know, the kind that comes in a box with the powdered cheese. Just add milk.” I smile.
“Are you nuts? Do you think I’d serve that garbage in my restaurant?” I see his face getting redder by the second.
“I know it’s an unusual request, but it is her wedding day,” I say with a smile. He doesn’t look amused.
“And I said I’d make mac and cheese,” he says. “But if you expect me to serve some boxed crap to one of my guests, you’ve got it all wrong.”
I see that he’s not going to give in, so I smile and thank him. Obviously he has no idea who he’s dealing with. As a restaurant manager, I know the customer is always right, even if it means overriding the chef and going straight to the top.
I turn my back and exit into our private room. I see Roberto and Mario talking and I brush by them and out of the private room. I hate to admit it, but Roberto really is the perfect date. He just fits right in with my family. Plus he’s easy to talk to, sweet, and, tonight especially, smokin’ hot.
In the main dining room I try to locate the manager, but can’t tell who’s who, so I walk back to the maitre’d and give him a smile.
He ignores me. Doesn’t he remember me? I’m in the VIP room.
“I’d like to see a manager,” I say firmly and he quickly looks at me.
“Is there a problem?”
“Yes, and I need to take care of it now.” Where is this bitchy side of me coming from?
He frowns at me, and then walks off. A few minutes later, a tall man in a shiny black suit approaches me. “Ms. DiLucio,” he says extending his hand. “I’m Will Casper, General Manager.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say shaking his hand.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
I explain the situation with the mac and cheese and he softens. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“What brand do you prefer?”
“Kraft, with the powdered cheese,” I say with a smile. “Use the powder from two boxes but the pasta from one.”
After the second course is served I see the chef come through the kitchen doors, carrying a platter covered with a silver dome lid. He places the dish in front of Lucy who looks up at him in surprise. “Congratulations on your wedding day,” the chef says graciously. He lifts the lid and the aroma of fake cheese fills the table. Lucy’s eyes light up brightly. She looks as if he just presented her the finest white truffle on earth. “Thank you so much.”
I smile at the chef, who doesn’t dare make eye contact with me. As he turns to leave, I see the General Manager peering out of the kitchen. I’m sure they had words, but in the end, just like at Lorenzo’s, the customer always wins.
Lorenzo looks at me confused. “How the hell did you get the chef to make boxed mac and cheese?”
“I have my ways,” I say with a smile.
Lucy digs in and I know her wedding is now complete.
After the dishes are cleared, Lucy asks if I’ll help her in the bathroom. We both excuse ourselves and walk out of the VIP room. She loops her arm through mine and whispers, “Thank you,” into my ear.
I help Lucy into the stall then stand outside of it, holding the top of the door, just like we used to do at grimy bars in Philadelphia.
Then it hits me.
We’ll never do that again.
I feel another lump swell in my throat and I might be going for a record. How many times can I cry in one day?
While washing her hands, Lucy looks at me in the mirror. “Stell, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just emotional about the wedding that’s all. You’re married.”
She beams. Lucy looks at me, then reaches up and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Tonight marks a new beginning for both of us.” She looks me in the eyes. “Take this time to find out who you are Stella. This is an opportunity.” She smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back.
“So how’s your date?” Lucy asks casually.
“It’s going great, despite the fact that he was forced to be here.”
“Stella, stop it. He wanted to come. He’s been asking Lorenzo about you all summer.”
“Then why did his mother send me flowers?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that he’s perfect for you.”
Great, now even Lucy is in on this scheme to get Roberto and me together. Why does everyone care so much? Why can’t they just leave me alone? “There’s no such thing as perfect.”
“Yes there is. And he’s driving you home tonight.” Lucy winks at me and heads for the door. As I follow her I wonder if she’s right.
Recipe: Mac and Cheese for a Knocked-up Bride
Yields 1 pregnant serving
Ok, so it’s not your typical wedding dinner, but when you’re pregnant and nauseous, you must give in to whatever you can swallow. It was either this, or another egg sandwich, and I knew Luce would like this better. Plus, did you see the look on the chef’s face?
I actually don’t know the recipe since I’ve never made this stuff, but I do know that Luce uses the cheese from two boxes and the pasta from one. She likes it extra cheesy.
2 boxes Kraft Mac and Cheese
Follow the directions and serve.
Chapter 17
We pull up to 96th Street a little after 1:30 a.m. and my head is spinning. I’m not sure if I drank too much, or ate too much or what, but suddenly I realize I’m sublimely happy. Here I was thinking I’d never get married, while I had the perfect guy right in front of me.
Ever since my talk with Lucy in the bathroom, I’ve sort of let loose. Call it beer muscles (not that I’ve been drinking beer, yuck) or whatever, but I’ve really opened up to Roberto. In fact, this entire ride home I’ve been telling him all about my fears of not having a job, and my overwhelming desire to just pack up and move to Rome. I secretly wanted him to say “Let’s run away together,” but he didn’t. Come to think of it, he hasn’t said much this whole ride.
We wait at the red light, not talking. Roberto turns to look at me. “Do you mind if we sit on the beach for a while?”
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”
He makes a right and drives toward 99th Street then pulls up next to his house. We get out of the car and start walking towards the sand. I try to hold his hand but stumble a little and graze his wrist instead. He gives me a strange look. “Should we go sit?” he asks.
I nod my head and slip my feet out of my shoes. Roberto quickly takes off his shoes then starts walking up the dunes and onto the sand. I follow closely behind. When I turn to look at his house I can’t help but notice that it’s totally dark. “Is your family home?” I ask suddenly.
He turns toward me. “Nope.”
My heart starts to pound and I muster up the courage to speak. “Roberto,” I say looking right into his eyes. “Why don’t we go inside?” I run my hand down his arm and feel his muscles tense up. If I were a feistier girl I’d growl or something, but instead, I just stand there with a puppy love look on my face.
He looks at his feet.
Oh God. Why did I just say that? Why?
Roberto takes a deep breath. “Stella,” he sighs. “I think we want different things right now.”
Suddenly, I feel like a fool. None of this makes sense. Roberto has been giving me mixed signals all night, and when I finally make a move he flat out rejects me. I don’t know why I even bothered. In fact, I don’t even know why I’m standing here right now. “Can y
ou take me home?”
He nods and turns back around.
The sound of waves crashing onto the shore is usually my favorite sound, but as we walk towards the car, I barely notice it.
Roberto doesn’t even bother to say anything, and when he pulls up to my house, I don’t dare invite him inside. He moves to get out of the car, but I let myself out. There’s nothing worse than false chivalry. If he really liked me, I’d let him open the door, but I certainly won’t be a charity case. We meet in front of his car, the headlights illuminating the awkward exchange between us, and I can just imagine the neighbors looking out their windows, pining for a goodnight kiss.
We look at each other for a few seconds. “Thanks,” I mumble.
“Stella,” he looks at me for a few seconds like he wants to say something else, and then moves to give me an awkward hug, as if I’m a distant cousin or something. I pat him on the back twice and break free of his embrace.
“See you later,” I say and walk up the driveway and to the front door. As much as I want to, I will not look back.
After the stress of today, all I want to do is go to bed. And that’s exactly what I do.
The problem is: I can’t sleep.
I had no trouble falling asleep; staying asleep was the hard part.
And when I wake up at 4:45 a.m. I know I’m up for the day. I take a deep breath. From my window I can see the first glimpse of sunlight yawning across the sky. I bet it’s even better at the beach. I’ve always wanted to see the sunrise on the beach, but in all the years we’ve been living here, I never made it there in time. I think about Lucy’s words from last night. This is a new beginning for me.
That’s it. I’m going to the beach.
I fling the covers off my bed and get out of it before I change my mind. Today marks the start of the new Stella DiLucio.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror and notice how drab I look. How is it possible that I looked so good just one day ago? Did being flat out rejected automatically turn me into a spinster? It’s like my body knows that I’ll end up alone.
I give my body the once over in the mirror and decide that the new Stella desperately needs to get in shape.
I’ve never been big on exercise but this morning I want to run. Lucy used to run every morning, and look at her now. She’s married!
Within five minutes I’m dressed in shorts, a sports bra, tank top, and white Nikes. I pull my hair into a ponytail as I walk down the steps, careful not to wake anyone up.
When I step outside and breathe the fresh morning air I suddenly feel at peace. I start to run at the end of the driveway and am surprised at how quick my pace is. I can’t even remember the last time I went running, yet, there’s something inside of me that pushes me to go on.
I run down 99th Street across Third Avenue without a problem, but by the time I get to Second Avenue I’m out of breath. I slow down and feel a stabbing pain in my side. I hold it and start walking.
I cross First Avenue still walking and can see the sun starting to rise. I need to get to the beach as quickly as possible, so I start to jog a little to get there. Soon I’m running up the sand dunes and standing on top of a small hill.
That’s when I see it.
The sun seems to be coming up from the ocean in a giant ball. It moves quicker than I imaged it would, and looks like it’s being thrown into the sky. Shades of pink and purple, yellow and gold fill the atmosphere, and I feel refreshed and able to start anew. No wonder my grandmother loved the beach so much.
The next two and a half weeks pass quickly. Slowly, the waiters leave us and return to college, which means we’re short staffed, as usual for this time of the year. My parents have closed La Cucina until Labor Day, so my mother is working the hostess stand, while I fill in as a waitress. It’s crazy but I don’t mind. Lucy even came back; she’s been feeling so good lately that she wanted to make some extra money before the school year starts.
I’ve kept to my resolution and have started every morning with a sunrise run on the beach. It’s actually helping me figure out what I want in life.
I thought that all the running I’ve been doing would make me hungry, but somehow, I’ve lost my appetite completely. I can barely force down a meatball a day, and you know how much I love meatballs.
Still, I must say that this new regimen of not eating and running has really improved my figure. I’ve lost the impossible five pounds from my gut, and now tote a flatter stomach than Lucy (Granted, she is pregnant, but not by that much). She laughs at me when I point this out to her in the waiters’ station.
“I have a baby living inside of me!” she protests.
“Whatever Luce, that kid is barely a peanut. Just admit it, I’m skinnier than you for once in my life.”
“Well enjoy these nine months, because I plan on bouncing right back after this kid.”
We both laugh and I must say it feels good. I’ve been feeling so strange lately. I always get reflective as the summer winds down, but with all the changes that happened this summer, I’m even more so.
Tonight feels especially strange since tomorrow is my birthday. I honestly don’t feel like celebrating at all, but Lucy keeps insisting that we go to the Beachcomber after work tomorrow night. I guess Lorenzo wants to go there. After all, it’s his birthday too.
Besides Lucy and me, Dante and Ryan are working tonight too, and since it’s only the four of us left on staff, we’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately.
The restaurant fills at 6:15, and since my mother can’t say no to people, we all get double sat. We go from zero to one hundred, but that’s how it is in the restaurant business, so I know we shouldn’t complain.
At around 7:45 I’m the only one with free tables in my section. I can see Lucy is struggling a bit, so I go into the kitchen to help her run food, and when I come out, I see my mother seating Mr. and Mrs. Lancetti at my table.
My heart races.
Luckily they’re alone.
I mean, obviously Roberto wouldn’t have the nerve to come here. I haven’t seen him since my brother’s wedding, which is probably a good thing. I’m still totally embarrassed.
I approach the table and notice the extra menu and place setting sitting there.
Shit.
“Hello Mr. Lancetti. Hi Mrs. Lancetti,” I say with a smile. He waves at me and opens the menu while she stands up to give me a hug.
I smile as she sits down. “Are you expecting someone else?” I say casually, reaching for the extra place setting.
“Robbie should be here in a minute.” She winks at me. “Sorry about the whole flowers incident. Robbie was really mad when he found out. I never heard the end of it. Sheesh.”
I force out another smile and ask them what kind of water they’d like, though I’d like to school her in the dangers of meddling in her son’s love life.
“San Pellegrino,” Mr. Lancetti says without looking up.
“I’ll be right back with it,” I say. I walk into the waiters’ station to get it and thankfully Lucy is there at the credit card machine. “Roberto’s coming in and sitting at my table.”
She frowns. Lucy knows how much I hate waiting on friends of the family. There’s something degrading about it. I’d much rather deal with strangers. At least strangers can be easily impressed with stories, and don’t ask too many personal questions. And of course, I never threw myself at a stranger like I did with Roberto.
“Want me to take them instead?” she asks.
“I already greeted them, it would just look weird now,” I reply. Why didn’t I think of passing the table to Lucy? God, I’m dumb sometimes.
She looks out into the dining room. “He’s sitting down with them now,” she says. Then adds, “He looks good.”
“He always looks good,” I hear myself say. “Too bad he doesn’t like me.”
“It’s just so weird,” Lucy says while pouring coffee into a cup. “He asked Lorenzo if he could come to the wedding. He wanted to be your da
te.”
“Probably so he could reject me. He used to torture me when we were little. I guess that’s still his thing.” I try to shrug it off as if I don’t really care. In reality I’ve been replaying the scene in my head for two weeks now and I’ve come up with three possible reasons for his behavior. Number one: he’s a player (though, then he would have taken me home and never called again), number two: he’s gay (he does dress well), or the most likely scenario, number three: he’s just not into me. Which of course, infuriates me. I mean, what’s wrong with me?
Maybe I don’t have a PhD or a corporate career, and maybe I’m not the best at holding down my alcohol, but dammit, I have good qualities. I can make people smile and feel welcome when they come in here; I can work an eight-hour shift in six-inch heels; I try my hardest to look on the bright side of things; I don’t allow myself to be frumpy in public; older people tell me I’m sweet; and have you tasted my desserts? Most importantly, I’d bend over backwards for the people I love. If Roberto Lancetti thinks he’s too good for that then he’s no better than Drew. And they can both go to hell.
I grab the bottle of San Pellegrino and take a deep breath. I’ll show him that rejecting me was a big mistake.
“Hi Roberto,” I say as I reach the table.
“Hey Stella,” he says not really looking at me.
I feel myself frowning as I pour the water into their glasses.
“You know, Stella’s birthday is tomorrow. She’s almost thirty,” Mrs. Lancetti says, which makes me sound pathetic. For a minute, I feel like a fool. Why couldn’t I be at the hostess stand wearing a cute dress, instead of standing here in a freaking tie looking like a twelve-year-old boy for God’s sake? That’s it. We’re changing these damn uniforms. They’re completely sexist. No woman should have to wear a tie. Ever. It’s inhumane.
“Would you like to know tonight’s specials?” I hear myself ask with confidence in my voice.
“Sure,” Mr. Lancetti says looking at me. Mrs. Lancetti places her menu on the table then nudges Roberto to do the same. I feel my face getting hot as they all stare at me.
The Queen of Minor Disasters Page 19