The Queen of Minor Disasters

by Antonietta Mariottini

  Dante and Lucy have a teachers’ in-service meeting tomorrow at 6:00, and then the annual St. Iggy’s faculty barbeque, and I know she’s nervous about it. I would be too. Those Catholic School teachers are fierce. Plus, she’s giving them a lot to gossip about considering she went from being a single girl at the end of the school year to becoming Mrs. DiLucio with a baby on the way. It’s been a crazy summer. Honestly, I’m glad I never applied for the position there. Teaching is just not my thing.

  Not that I know what my thing is. But who cares? Tonight we’re celebrating my unemployment, remember?

  By 7:00 my hair is in giant Velcro rollers and I’m putting the finishing touches on my smoky eyes. I’m in my robe, sitting in the den because the house was too quiet and I needed to turn the TV on to calm my nerves.

  I reach for a Q-tip to rub the excess eye shadow off from under my eyes when I hear a knock at the door.

  I get up to answer it thinking it’s Mrs. Ryan from next door, but to my horror, I see Roberto standing in the doorway, wearing a charcoal grey suit, black t-shirt and his Ray Ban aviators. He’s carrying a bottle of champagne.

  Maybe he didn’t see me. I can pretend like I didn’t hear the door.

  He knocks again.

  Crap.

  “What are you doing here?” I say as I open the door. Who shows up thirty minutes early for a date?

  “I couldn’t wait,” he says stepping into the doorway. “Plus I thought I’d give your parents a little gift to toast the season.”

  “No one’s home,” I say. He raises his eyebrow and follows me into the living room. “Have a seat.”

  He slowly sits on the couch and I survey the looks of the room. The coffee table is covered with make-up, a magnifying mirror sits in the middle of the table, and bobby pins are sprawled all over the carpet. I kneel down to collect everything, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say carrying all the makeup in my arms. “I just need like two minutes.”

  “You really don’t need to change,” he says with a mischievous smile. “I like what you’ve go on.”

  I laugh and turn to walk up the stairs as fast as I can.

  Ok, that was not what I had planned.

  I look at myself in the mirror and see that my make-up looks good. I undo the Velcro rollers and flip my head upside down. I give my hair a little shake, then flip my head up and watch my hair magically fall into place. Works like a charm.

  I grab my clutch and throw in the lip-gloss, my keys, and ID before heading downstairs. There’s not enough room in the bag for my cell phone, but really, who needs it?

  “Stella, you look amazing,” Roberto says when he sees me.

  I feel my face flushing. Without saying a word, he gets up and wraps his arms around me. My heart races and my stomach does a flip. Is he going to kiss me?

  He looks me in the eyes.

  This is it! My first kiss with Roberto. I close my eyes.

  Only, he doesn’t lean in.

  I wait another second. Nothing.

  I open my eyes and we look at each other for a few seconds before he starts laughing.

  Ok, this is a little weird.

  I giggle, just to keep him company, but his laughter grows.

  What the hell? Am I some kind of joke?

  I’m not the one who goes around saying he’s amazing. I don’t even think of him like that. As far as I’m concerned, he can just leave right now...

  “I’m sorry,” he says composing himself. “It’s just a little weird to be on a date with you.”

  “Why is that?” I ask, suddenly cross.

  Oh God, what if his mom really did put him up to this?

  “I just…” he looks at me for a second. “I never thought it would happen.”

  My heart leaps up to my throat.

  We are prefect for each other. I knew it! I always knew it!

  “We’re not really on a date yet,” I say casually looking at the clock. It’s 7:20. “You showed up early, so we still have ten minutes before our date officially starts.”

  He laughs. “Should I go outside?”

  “Why don’t we both go outside?” I say motioning to the sliding glass doors. “Let’s sit on the dock for a while.”

  “I have a better idea,” he says. “Let’s get a head start on our date.”

  I smile. “Ok. Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He starts walking towards the door and I follow. He opens the passenger door for me and holds his stare as I get in. I’ll have to hug Gina the next time I see her. This dress is magic.

  As we pull out of the driveway I wonder where we’re going. I’m sure it’ll be somewhere off the Island. Maybe Atlantic City. Or Cape May.

  After a minute, we pull up to the Lancetti’s house. Are we making a pit stop?

  “Here we are,” he says shutting off the engine. He looks at me. “Ready?”

  I’m not sure how to take this. This is our first date and I wish he’d at least planned something special.

  “Ok.”

  We walk into the foyer and I breathe in the familiar scent of this mansion. It’s a mixture of white musk and eucalyptus, and just smells, well, rich. “Wait here one sec,” Roberto says and darts off towards the kitchen. I can only assume he’s getting some wine.

  He returns a few seconds later holding a red and white gingham apron. He hands it to me and I give him a blank stare. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Put it on. Your dress is too nice to risk getting dirty.” He starts walking towards the kitchen again. I slip the apron over my head and follow him.

  The marble countertops are full of fresh fruit and vegetables from the farmers’ stand right off shore. “Are we cooking?” I ask. Come to think of it, this is a pretty cute first date. I can roll with this.

  “Yup” he says but doesn’t move.

  “What do you want to eat?”

  He smiles. “Tell me about your summer. Use whatever you want, I stocked the fridge too.” He leans back in his chair as I survey the veggies.

  “Ok, we’re gonna need some wine.”

  “Red or white?”

  I open the fridge to see what we’ve got. “White.”

  By the time Roberto returns with a bottle of Riesling and two glasses I know what I’m going to cook. This summer was tough; it started out bitter and ended up sweet, and my menu will do the same.

  Roberto hands me a glass. “Cheers to your unemployment.” He clinks my glass. “So, what are we having?”

  “The story has three acts,” I say and take a sip. The crispness of the wine hits my palate and makes me smile. “We’re going from bitter to sweet.”

  “Agro dolce,” he says. “I like it.” He starts to sit back down.

  “I’m not cooking alone though,” I say. “Grab an apron.”

  He laughs and walks toward the pantry. He finds himself an apron that says “Kiss the cook.” He walks over to me, pointing to the words.

  “That’s cute,” I say coyly. “But I’m the cook.”

  He leans closer to me. “I know.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head.

  About two hours later we’re done cooking the first two courses and I still haven’t gotten a proper kiss. I mean honestly, if I have to do all of the cooking I should get some rewards. Regardless, the meal looks great. We’ve made bruschetta topped with radicchio and Grana Padano cheese and halibut wrapped in prosciutto and served with fig and goat cheese polenta cubes. We’ve finished the bottle of wine, and as Roberto goes to fetch another one, I have a brilliant idea.

  “Let’s eat outside,” I say when he returns. “Go set up the table while I make dessert.”

  He gives me a sneaky smile. “Ok,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

  Truth be told, I don’t want him in the kitchen while I’m making dessert. I need full concentration to make these damn profiteroles and analyze the situation. Why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Does my breath stink? Do I h
ave something in my teeth? Or worse, did his mother really put him up to this? As I spoon the dough onto a sheet pan I’m half expecting Anna Lancetti to jump out of the closet.

  By the time I’m finished baking it is totally dark outside. Roberto has lit all the votive lanterns on the back porch; there must be at least fifty of them in different heights and positions, all twinkling like stars. “Surprise,” he says when he sees me holding the tray of bruschetta. And just like that, all my worries melt away.

  We eat and drink and laugh for the next few hours, totally entranced by the moment. We’re so into each other that we don’t even notice the lightening dancing in the sky over the ocean. It’s only when I go inside to assemble the dessert that I hear the thunder rumbling. I work fast so we can finish our meal outside.

  For the first time all summer, my profiteroles are perfect. The pate a choux has puffed perfectly and looks spectacular stuffed with vanilla ice cream. The hot chocolate sauce on top is just the right compliment, really symbolizing the sweet turn my summer took in the end.

  A lightning bolt flashes in the sky just as I am carrying the profiteroles to the table. “This is the grand finale. I’ve been working on these all summer.” I place the dish on the table with a big smile. “Dig in.”

  Roberto’s eyes light up. Without saying a word he reaches for a spoon and plunges it into the pastry. Just as he’s putting the spoon into his mouth, the sky opens and pours down on us.

  I squeal and head for the door, but before I reach it Roberto grabs my hand and swings me toward him. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest, which feels warm and familiar, despite the pouring rain. We look at each other for a minute and then he cups my face and kisses me.

  Even though it’s our first kiss, it feels as though we’ve been kissing each other our whole lives; it is comfortable, sweet, and confident. Just what I imagine our relationship will be like.

  I don’t know how long we stand there kissing, but I do know that I would have stood there forever if it weren’t for the crack of thunder which sounded like it was way too close.

  Roberto pulls me inside a little too forcefully and that’s when it happens. My shoe catches on the doorframe and I tumble forwards flailing my arms out in front of me. As if in slow motion, I try to break my fall by catching the sleeve of Roberto’s jacket. I guess my weight is too much for the fabric, because it gives with a loud tear. I fall backwards on my butt and Roberto falls face down on top of me.

  We look at each other for a second. My tailbone hurts so bad that I don’t know whether to laugh or cry but Roberto starts laughing and before I can stop myself, I join him.

  “I think my butt is broken,” I say.

  Roberto gets up then reaches his hand out to help me off the ground. I stand in the puddle of water we trailed in. He peeks behind me and looks at my butt. “Nope. It’s still perfect.”

  I laugh, but now it really hurts. For real. “I’m serious.”

  “Ok, hold on. I’ll fix everything.” He runs upstairs and comes down two minutes later wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. He holds out mesh gym shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. “Put these on,” he says, and even though I loved my dress, it is now a soaking wet mess. At least these are dry.

  I shuffle into the bathroom and peel my clothes off. I get dressed as quickly as I can. On the way out of the bathroom I spot myself in the mirror. My hair is hanging down like a wet cat, and my smoky eyes are more crack-head than heroin-chic. I grab a towel off the hanger and rub my face off. Even though my face is bare, it looks much better.

  In the kitchen, Roberto stands holding one of those inflatable butt pillows for people with severe hemorrhoids. “I got you this,” he laughs.

  “Eww. I am not sitting on that thing.” I move towards the counter to prep some new profiteroles.

  “Come on Stell, it’s me. I’ve seen you at your worst. Remember when you threw up all over yourself at that party?”

  “I was five!”

  “That makes it even worse. We made fun of you for months.” He puts the pillow down on a chair and gives it a pat. “Now come sit.”

  I plate up the profiteroles and bring them to the table. Slowly, I sit on the pillow and I have to admit, it is quite comfortable.

  “So did you like playing house here?” he asks between bites. “Was it comfortable?”

  I look at him like I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “All this, would it satisfy you?” he waves his hand around, emphasizing his point.

  He looks at me with sincere interest. I actually need to think on this one. Would this satisfy me? Sure, I like Roberto and can even envision a future with him, but satisfaction? I take a bite of my profiterole, hoping it will give me the answer.

  As I’m chewing, he reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a small box. My eyes widen. “I want to make you an offer,” he says with a smile.

  My heart jumps into my throat. I mean, I figured we’d eventually get married, I just didn’t think he’d propose on the first date. Not that this is really a first date, but still. He moves fast.

  Before I have a chance to say anything, he opens the box.

  A rusty skeleton key sits on a bed of red velvet.

  I’m not sure what to say. Is this some kind of weird necklace? I mean, he did study Latin for God’s sake. Maybe this is some sort of artifact.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say finally. Roberto gives me a strange look.

  “It’s the key to my place in Rome. It’s yours for as long as you want it.”

  His place in Rome?

  “You have a place in Rome?” I ask, shocked.

  “Stella I did live there for eight years. What was I supposed to do? Rent the whole time?”

  Right. Why would he rent? Why not just buy a place?

  “Where is it?”

  “In Trastevere. That’s near St. Peters.”

  “You own a place in Trastevere?” This is too much for me to handle. Trastevere is, by far, my favorite neighborhood in Rome. It’s such a totally Roman mix of ancient and modern and it bustles with life 24/7. “How did you afford an apartment in Trastevere?”

  “My dad bought it before I went to grad school, and little by little I paid him back. Now it’s mine.”

  “Why don’t you sell it? You could make a fortune.” After the words come out of my mouth, I realize how stupid I sound.

  He raises his eyebrow. “Would you sell a place in Rome?”

  I shake my head and reach for the key as if it is the Holy Grail. “Is it empty now?”

  “I’m not sure. But it will be in October.”

  “How do you not know if your place is empty or not?” I raise an eyebrow. Does he have a woman living there? Suddenly I imagine Roberto as some international playboy with women all over the globe. Does he have apartments in any other countries? When we’re engaged I’ll have to nix all of that.

  “I gave the keys to an agency before I left. They said they were renting it out on a week-to-week basis for the summer. I’d make more money that way.”

  “Still, don’t they let you know if it’s rented?”

  “I just told them to send me a check each month.”

  “So you don’t even care?” I’m shocked. I look at Roberto and see him in a different light. For the past eight years I had him pegged as a nerdy grad student, now I’m beginning to see him as an international businessman.

  He shrugs his shoulders and finishes off the profiteroles. “Anyway, it’s your if you want it.”

  “Why are you offering me this?” I ask.

  “Because I care about you.”

  For a minute I don’t know what to say.

  “Stella, I never want you to settle. On the beach the other day, you sounded a little desperate. The Stella DiLucio that I know is not desperate. Go to Rome. Get out of your funk.”

  This offer changes everything. Of course I’d love to live in Rome and this is the one time in my life I’d actually be able to do
it. I have no obligations here, no job, no boyfriend…

  I look at Roberto. If I did take his offer, it would mean letting go of this new relationship, and possibly a future together. Am I willing to give up this stability for the unknown?

  “Don’t worry,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  This makes me smile. I clutch the key in my hand. “And what if I don’t come back?”

  “Then I’ll come find you.” He leans over and kisses me.

  And just like that, everything falls into place.

  Recipe: Profiteroles

  It took all summer, but I finally got it right.

  Yields 20 medium creampuffs

  The Puffs-

  1 stick of butter

  1 cup of water

  1 cup of flour

  4 eggs at room temp.

  1) In a medium saucepan on low heat, melt the butter.

  2) Add the water and bring it up to a boil.

  3) Once the butter/water is boiling, add the flour and stir, making sure to “cook” all of the flour so that no white is showing. (You'll be able to hear the sizzling of butter on the sides of the pan—this is a good thing!)

  4) Remove the dough from the stovetop and spread it on a flat plate to cool.

  5) Once the dough is cool, transfer the dough to a mixing bowl. Beat in eggs one at a time on a low speed. The dough will appear sticky. This is good! Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

  6) Lightly grease a baking sheet. Drop teaspoons of dough on the sheet, about 1 inch apart.

  7) Bake on the middle rack at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN!

  8) Lower the oven to 350 degrees F and bake for an additional 20-30 minutes, until golden. (If you have to peek you may at this point.)

  9) Cool on a wire rack.

  10) Once cooled, slice in half and stuff with vanilla ice cream. Serve with warm chocolate sauce.

  Chocolate sauce:

  1 can sweetened condensed milk

  3 oz bittersweet chocolate