My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,66
the details aren’t important. But it ended with my taking that boy, hauling him out into the middle of a lake, and throwing him overboard to swim a half mile back to shore. What my sister left out of the story, since she never knew, is that before throwing him overboard, I taught him a few lessons about disrespecting my family, and he left my family’s boat sans trunks. My last words to him were if he ever said anything to my sister other than apologizing, there’d be more serious consequences.”
Ross looks to me, grinning. “Don’t tell Courtney that, ’kay, honey?” I nod, surprised at the twist to the story I never knew. I remember the guy he’s talking about, Eric something or other. He was a total jerk who thought he was so bad. I was glad he’d prompted Abi’s little sister to grow out of her short-lived bad-boy phase.
Papa laughs, nodding as he takes a bite. “You are the one. I’ll be honest with you now, Violet. I never liked that Colin, anyway. He always struck me as someone who . . . thought his shit didn’t stink. Those are the ones who are always worse than an outhouse baked in the sun.”
Ross chuckles while Nana looks sufficiently outraged. “Stefano! Don’t cuss at my dinner table.” He raises an eyebrow at Nana and she purses her lips. “Well, fine, but don’t do it in English in front of our guest.” She lowers her voice, like it’s private between her and Papa, though we can all hear, and singsongs out of the side of her mouth. “You have to baby step him into the craziness of the family or he’ll run.”
“Pshaw, woman. I am who I am. You ain’t gonna change it now. Too late for an old dog like this to learn new tricks, and I ain’t got enough time left to even try,” Papa says jovially.
And that’s the brunt of it. All of this is because of his age and health, the impending doom of his passing that I can’t imagine weathering. I look to Nana and can see the cracks in her strong wall, and then to Mom, whose eyes are glittery. Sofia puts a hand over Nana’s, and I know that she’s thinking they’ll be back together soon. Just the two sisters, both widowed by the men they love with all their hearts.
Even more than WrestleMania.
Nana gets up. “Let me get dessert.”
“So, let’s talk about this wedding!” Nana says bravely as she and Mom come back in with bowls of gelato for everyone. “We’ve got everyone flying in. There are cousins Stefano and I haven’t seen in decades, and their kids, and maybe a few grandkids. I already had to talk to Father O’Flannigan at the church, and he assured me the sanctuary will be big enough.”
“We may just put his boast to the test,” Sofia boasts. “This will be a Russo family reunion that won’t be matched for a generation, at least. The perfect sendoff for Stefano!”
“My husband isn’t dead yet, vacca!”
“No, but you said you wished I was when I said I didn’t like your gnocchi,” Papa teases, making Nana turn pink with anger. The teasing bickering is comforting, the soundtrack of their lives together.
“I did not! And you should count yourself lucky to eat my gnocchi!”
Papa grins. “I’ve been eating your gnocchi for decades, and you never complain.”
That bad metaphor has both Mom and me groaning, and Ross laughs. Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, “Just wait, honey. Before you know it, I’ll be nibbling on your gnocchi, and maybe I’ll let you taste my cannoli.”
I blush deeply but can’t help but take advantage of the golden opportunity Ross has presented me with. “Do you know what cannoli means?”
Ross nods, his eyebrow quirked. “The pastry tube things with cream inside?”
“Papa, could you tell Ross what cannoli translates to, literally?”
He can read the teasing smirk on my face and can follow the thread from his teasing with Nana. He grins widely, holding his fingers a couple inches apart.
“Little tubes. I think you might want a different metaphor . . . éclair, maybe?”
The moment of silence is broken by raucous laughter by everyone at the table. And the firing squad seems to have called a momentary truce.
Conversation returns to the family members who are traveling in for the wedding and the festivities to come. I glance at Ross, who is smiling and glibly mixing into the conversation, and finally, I put my spoon