The Queen of Minor Disasters

by Antonietta Mariottini

  “We have osso-buco, served on a bed of saffron risotto…” I start. I can feel Roberto’s eyes looking at me and I wonder what he’s thinking. “Then halibut, wrapped in prosciutto and served on a bed of rosemary and fig polenta cubes…” They’re all still looking at me.

  “…And finally chocolate soufflé for dessert.” I move to walk away from the table. “I’ll give you a minute to decide.”

  “No need. I think we can all order now,” Mr. Lancetti says.

  Right.

  I take a deep breath and smile.

  “I’ll start with an arugula salad and then I’ll have the grilled salmon,” Mrs. Lancetti says. “I’m on a diet you know.” She winks at me then continues. “Speaking of diets, Stella honey you look fabulous. What have you been doing?”

  “I run on the beach,” I say without thinking.

  God, why couldn’t I just ignore her?

  “Well it’s working,” she smiles.

  I can feel my face flushing.

  “You look beautiful. Doesn’t she Robbie?”

  God, please kill me now. Please just strike me dead.

  “I’ll take the Salumeria,” Mr. Lancetti interrupts, thankfully. “And the filet with gorgonzola, medium rare.”

  I nod my head as I write down his order. Then I look at Roberto. Our eyes meet and I quickly look away.

  “I’ll start with a house salad,” he says. “And then I’ll take the sea bass.”

  I smile a little. That’s my favorite dish on the menu.

  “Stella makes the chocolate soufflés, don’t you hon?” Mrs. Lancetti says. It seems like she’s trying really hard to sell me and it’s making me feel like a big loser.

  “Yep,” I reply. “I make all the desserts.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man at table four waving his credit card in the air. Normally I’d want to ignore this public display of rudeness, but right about now, I could kiss that man.

  “I’ll take one,” Roberto says, looking at me with a smile.

  “Okay,” I say scribbling down his order and walking away from the table.

  Thankfully, the other customers in my section are equally as demanding as the man at table four, so I spend as little time at the Lancetti’s table as possible. I barely check on them while they’re eating their appetizers and once I place their entrées in front of them, I bounce to another table to take its order. I even forget to tell Roberto to watch out for pits in the olives of his dish, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out. And if he cracks a tooth and has to leave before he gets his soufflé, well, I’m sure it’ll be for the best.

  But apparently, Roberto is a careful eater, because not only does he survive the olive pits, but he’s also eaten his entire piece of fish without choking on a fish bone. Why does Lorenzo have to be so precise about removing all of the bones?

  Thankfully, my soufflé puffs beautifully in the oven, and I admire it as I dust it with powdered sugar, a dollop of whipped cream, and two strawberry slices. Surprisingly, baking is the only thing that’s going well in my life. So well in fact that I’ve gotten a few orders for whole cakes. I’ve also been toying with the idea of pastry school. I looked up a few programs for the fall and winter months, and have been emailing back and forth with an admissions officer for a program in Philly.

  As I walk to the table I imagine myself cooking for Roberto in the Lancetti’s enormous gourmet kitchen. I shake the thought out of my head and hurry to the table before the soufflé deflates.

  “Here ya go,” I say placing it in front of him. “Just be careful, the ramekin is hot.”

  He smiles. “It looks delicious.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Lancetti nodding with approval. Here we go again.

  I meet Lucy at the coffee station as I move to make them espressos. I didn’t even take an order, but I don’t need to. They’re Italian; they can’t finish a meal without a nice stiff espresso.

  “How’s it going, Stell?” she asks.

  “Fine,” I say and tighten the hand piece.

  “You seem a little… tense,” she says looking at me.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Okay,” she says placing two cups of coffee on her tray and leaving me to make the espressos.

  A few minutes later, I return to the table with the espressos and a sugar bowl. I place one in front of each person and Mrs. Lancetti smiles at me. Roberto is halfway through the soufflé. His face is twisted into a smile, the same way everyone looks when they take a bite. I’ve got him with this one.

  “Stella this is amazing,” Roberto says and looks at me with interest.

  “Well, some people think I’m amazing too,” I reply and turn to leave.

  In the kitchen, Lorenzo and Mario are discussing football while they plate up food. I’m not really interested in what they’re saying so I just sort of space out for a while, and take a breath. All of my tables are served, and I still have a few minutes before I need to drop off checks.

  Suddenly, I see the kitchen door swing open. Roberto enters and walks over to my brothers. I want to leave the kitchen, but I’m pretty sure he saw me, so there’s nothing I can do except look at the Bain Marie and pretend that I’m interested in salad ingredients.

  They talk for a few minutes and then I hear Roberto say, “The dinner was awesome tonight. I had the sea bass.”

  “That’s my sister’s favorite dish,” says Mario. God, why does everyone want to pawn me off on this guy?

  “Really?” says Roberto looking at me. “I thought we had similar tastes.”

  Oh really? I thought we wanted different things. What a phony. I give him a half smile and look back at the fixings for the salad. I start counting black olives floating in their brine.

  “The soufflé was excellent,” he says, still trying to make conversation.

  “Thanks,” I mumble. Eight, nine, ten, eleven…

  “And for the record, I think you’re amazing too.”

  I want to disappear. My brothers both look at me for a minute. Then Roberto says goodbye to them and leaves the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mario asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was trying to talk to you and you were just standing there.” He points to the Bain Marie just as Lucy walks in the kitchen.

  “Luce, your friend just blew it, big time,” Lorenzo says.

  “Whatever, he’s a jerk.”

  “What happened?” Lucy asks.

  “Roberto was trying to talk to her and she ignored him,” Mario explains.

  I leave the kitchen before they can say anything else. Thank God Labor Day is in five days. I’m so ready for summer to be over.

  I walk back towards the table, and to my horror, my mother is talking to Anna Lancetti. I try to quietly drop off the check but they see me.

  “Stella honey, are you excited for your birthday?” Mrs. Lancetti says looking at me.

  I shrug my shoulders and drop the check on the table.

  “Do you have any plans?” Roberto asks. I look at my mother, then at Mrs. Lancetti. This is getting ridiculous.

  “I’m working.”

  “Teresa, you can’t make your only daughter work on her birthday,” Mrs. Lancetti says.

  “It’s ok,” I say quickly. “I like working.”

  “Stella, why don’t you take the night off. You guys go out. Have fun,” my mom says. I can’t believe I’m being bombarded like this. As I see it, I have two choices: I can suck it up, say yes and go out with Roberto, or I can stand up for myself.

  “I’d like that,” Roberto says smiling at me.

  For a split second, I consider going out with him, if only to appease our mothers. But then I remember his words of the other night. “Well,” I say, looking right at him, “I guess we want different things.” Before anyone can say a word, I turn and walk away.

  Recipe: Sea Bass

  Yields 2 servings

  So what if we have similar tastes. Roberto Lancetti is a jerk and I’m
glad I finally put him in his place.

  2 sea bass filets

  1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

  1 medium onion, diced

  4 Roma tomatoes, diced

  1/2 cup clam juice (white wine)

  1/4 cup dried black olives

  salt and pepper to taste

  fresh basil, chopped

  1) Heat olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add the onions cook until translucent.

  2) Add the tomatoes and sauté together for a few minutes.

  3) Push the tomatoes and onions to the side and place the sea bass in the center of the pan. Cook each side for about 2 minutes.

  4) Add the clam juice and bring to a soft boil. Reduce heat and cover the pan.

  5) Allow the sea bass to poach for 10-15 minutes, depending on the thickness of the fish.

  6) Add salt, pepper, and black olives.

  7) Top with fresh basil before serving.

  Chapter 18

  You can never go against Teresa DiLucio without facing her wrath.

  Luckily, I am able to avoid her for the rest of the night because she leaves with the Lancettis. I’m just hoping that she’s already asleep when I walk in the house.

  Slowly, I unlock the door and try to creep in. But there they are, the DiLucio girls, waiting to judge me.

  “Here she is, Ms. America,” my mom exclaims when she sees me. She and Gina are sitting on the couch drinking tea. Lucy sits with her feet up in my Dad’s La-Z-Boy. She smiles guiltily and I can tell right away they’ve all been talking about me.

  “Stell, why don’t you just go out with him?” Gina asks. “You looked so cute together at the wedding.”

  “You would think that, right?” I say, my head in the fridge. All of the sudden, my appetite is back, and, as usual, I missed dinner. The fridge is empty except for a gallon of milk and two cups of strawberry yogurt. I grab the milk and move to the pantry, where I find a box of Frosted Mini-Wheat’s. Not exactly ideal Food Therapy, but at this point I’m pretty desperate. “But,” I continue as I pour the cereal in my bowl, “he’s not interested in me.”

  “Are you crazy?” my mom asks. “He asked you on a date.”

  “Because you and his mother forced him into it.” I shovel cereal in my mouth.

  “Why would you think that?” my mom asks.

  “You sent me flowers and made me think they were from him!” I still can’t believe I let that one slide so quickly.

  “Oh please Stella,” my mom waves her hand in the air.

  “Come on Mom. You and Mrs. Lancetti have been planning our wedding for twenty years.”

  “Do you like him?” Gina asks.

  “Of course,” I reply automatically. I‘m caught off guard by the question, but after I respond, I realize that I do like him. In fact, since the wedding I can’t stop thinking of him. I just keep replaying the night in my head, analyzing every detail, right down to the minute I ruined everything.

  “Then go out with him!” Gina squeals. “This is too cute. I mean, you guys have known each other forever. This could be it, Stella.”

  Suddenly I feel like I’ve stepped into a Match.com commercial.

  “This is not it.”

  “You never know, Stella.” My mom looks at me with a smile.

  “Look, he’s not into me.”

  “Yes he is,” Lucy interjects. “I know it.”

  I shake my head. “He’s not. And anyway, I want to be single for a while.” This isn’t exactly true, but I figure it will shut everyone up.

  My mother scoffs at this. “You’re not getting any younger.”

  “I’m only twenty-se…”

  “Twenty-eight,” Gina points to the clock. “You’re twenty-eight as of one minute ago. Happy Birthday.” The way she says it makes me feel like an old maid.

  Happy birthday to me.

  I don’t really feel like running on the morning of my birthday, but like clockwork, I get up at 6:00 and, of course, I can’t fall back asleep. I really want to just throw the covers over my head and camp out here until midnight. But I kick myself out of bed. I stumble around the bedroom, looking for running shorts and can’t find any, so I pull on a pair of bright red boxers I’ve had since the nineties. I can’t believe I actually used to wear these things as shorts. Why do I even still have them? I look at myself in the mirror. For the first time in my life, I’m down right skinny. If I lose any more weight, I’ll look like one of those drug addicted Calvin Klein models. I debate just running in shorts and a sports bra but decide against it. I’ve never been a showy kind of girl and I’m not going to start now, even if I have the flattest abs of my life. I pull on a white cotton tank top, lace up my Nikes, and tip toe down the steps.

  I start out with a brisk walk, and once I reach the dunes on 99th Street I lengthen my stride and begin to jog. It feels amazing to run on the beach in the mornings. The air is cool and tiny flecks of water from the ocean spray me.

  By the time I loop back around to 99th Street, I’ve run four miles and my skin is glistening with a mixture of sweat and salt water. I’m panting and totally out of breath.

  It feels like it’s gotten so much hotter since I started running, and I can feel the sweat sliding down my back. I look down and see that my entire shirt is damp.

  I’m officially gross.

  And of course out of the corner of my eye, I see Roberto standing out by his porch.

  What’s he doing up so early?

  For a second I think about turning around and running away, but it’s obvious that he saw me.

  Oh God, now he’s walking towards me.

  My heart is racing and the only thing I can think to do is sit down in the sand, my back facing his house.

  I should have known I would see Roberto. Damn it. Why did I come running today of all days?

  I can hear him approaching and without meaning to, I turn around.

  There he is, standing a few feet away from me wearing gym shorts, a white t-shirt, and flip-flops. He’s holding a bunch of flowers. Where did he get flowers at 7:00 a.m.?

  “Quick Mart’s finest bouquet,” he says handing me the flowers. From up close, you can tell that they’re old, but still, the thought was sweet. I sort of wish I’d seen him before my run, so I wasn’t so sweaty. I stand up and reach for the flowers, trying to ignore the sand stuck to my legs like nylons. “These ones are one hundred percent from me.”

  “Thanks,” I say smelling the flowers. “Your mom has better taste in flowers than you do.”

  “You got me there,” he laughs. “Happy birthday, Stella.”

  I sigh and sit back down on the sand. “Thanks.”

  “Are you okay?” Roberto takes a seat next to me.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “It’s just that I thought my life would be a little different by now. I’m twenty-eight.”

  “So what,” he says and gives me a crooked smile. “I’m thirty-four. Now that is old.”

  “At least you’ve done something with your life.”

  “So have you.”

  His comment makes me laugh. Right. Like working in your family’s restaurant is a big accomplishment. I’m about to say this when he interrupts.

  “You’re amazing at what you do. I’ve seen you in the restaurant and I don’t think anyone else could do your job.” He smiles. “And those pastries…” he kisses his fingers in the stereotypical Italian fashion.

  “Yeah well, this is all just temporary.” When I finally say the words I realize they are true. Now that La Cucina is closing, I’ll need to get a real job, and depending on what I find, I doubt I’ll have summers off. Roberto looks at me as if he understands.

  “What do you want to do?” Roberto asks.

  I take a deep breath and think about the question. The beach is starting to fill up with people staking their claim on a prime spot in the sand. I watch as a middle-aged man fumbles with an umbrella. His wife pulls a wheelbarrow full of beach toys, buckets, and a cooler.

  I sigh. “Honest
ly, I have no idea. I just want things to fall into place. I want to be comfortable again. Is that such a bad thing?”

  “Were you comfortable with your ex?”

  His question stops me. I thought I was comfortable with Drew, but really I was just settling for a guy who treated me less than what I am worth. “I don’t know. I guess not.”

  I expect him to roll his eyes, but instead, he smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “So I wasn’t comfortable with Drew, but I still want that life. I want a husband and kids and a nice house. I’m tired of waiting and wishing things would happen. I’m twenty-eight, for God’s sake. When is my life going to start?”

  Something in his eyes changes. “You really want all those things?”

  “Yes,” I say sincerely.

  “You want those things now?” he asks as if he’s calculating a plan.

  “Yes. Yes I do.”

  “Will you have dinner with me?”

  Oh God, here we go again. “Why do you want to have dinner with me so badly? Did your mom put you up to this?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  I snap. “Roberto, you said yourself that we want different things.”

  He softens. “I thought we did. I wanted to settle down and you wanted to run away.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Rome.”

  At first, I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then I vaguely remember telling him that I wanted to move there. But I was drunk. I mean, obviously I don’t want to move to a foreign city.

  “That was just drunk rambling.”

  “In vino veritas.” He smiles. “Have dinner with me. How about Labor Day? We’ll celebrate your unemployment.”

  This makes me laugh. “Fine.”

  He stands up and starts brushing sand off his legs. “Happy Birthday, Bella Stella. I’m going back to bed.”

  He turns to leave and I give him a little wave. I stand and brush the sand off my legs, then decide that I need a sticky bun.

  Apparently, I’m not the only one who wants a pastry. The line for the bakery is wrapped around 96th Street, which gives me lots of time to think. By the time I’m facing the pastry case full of sticky buns I’ve worked out a life plan. I’ll get a stable job and start dating Roberto. Eventually we’ll have the big Italian wedding our mothers have been planning, we’ll buy a big house, settle into it and have a few kids. It’s the perfect plan. It’s very comfortable. Very safe and comfortable.