My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,88

talent, but I can’t use the damn YouTube properly!”

The triplets smile, obviously basking in the praise, though Vanessa blushes as she answers. “Uhm, most of our songs are . . . you know, sort of mature?”

“And what am I, the Mickey Mouse Club?” Sofia asks, grinning. “What, you think your generation’s the first to discover songs about your hoo-hah? Child, I know a few Italian songs that would make that Cardi B blush!”

The triplets laugh, knowing they’re not going to get out of doing a little bit. “Okay,” Estella finally says, looking at her sisters. “This is one of our standards. It’s a little old and clean because I do not want to think of your old lady hoo-ha, Aunt Sofia, but maybe you know it.”

The girls start humming, and I’m shocked at how much they’ve improved. Maybe it’s reaching maturity, maybe it’s just that they understand the emotions behind the lyrics, but as Estella sings a contralto lead at first before Vanessa and Marissa join in with alto and soprano for a new spin on Fly Me To The Moon, I’d say Frank Sinatra would be proud.

“Whoo, you girls had better save that for the wedding!” Nana says. “You girls do that, Violet here’s going to have a bun in her oven by Sunday night!” She sways her hips so far left and right, I’m surprised she doesn’t pop one out of socket, but Papa doesn’t seem to mind because he’s watching transfixed. I can’t decide if that’s gross or sweet.

Wait, what? Singing at the wedding. “Nana—”

“We’d love to! It’ll be our gift to you and Ross!” Vanessa exclaims, grinning. “Oh, Vi, thank you!”

I know what I should do. I should just say no. I should say we’ve hired someone. I should say that Morgan Andrews goes into violent flashbacks if he hears anything but acoustic smooth jazz, PTSD from a torrid youth spent in the seventies.

Instead, I clear my throat. “Maybe a song or two?” It’s the only way to corral this and not look like a bitch.

Please say you can’t, please say you can’t, please—

“We’ll give you a list of choices that’d be perfect, and you can pick, and then just point us in the direction of the mics,” Marissa says with a laugh.

Shit.

Guess I’ll add that to my to-do list . . . telling Ross and the wedding planner and then picking a song. Or two?

“Hey, Nana,” I say, changing the subject before the triplets start auditioning songs right here and now. “Ross’s mom extended an invitation for a charity gala at their estate tomorrow night. I sent Mom a text about it, but it’s for us all.”

“A bake sale!” Nana says, her eyes twinkling as she totally misses the point. “Perfect! Sofia and I can make cannoli. They did great at the last charity sale at the church, and—”

“No, no, Nana, it’s not like that!” I half yell before I jerk myself back. “It’s a . . . well, I guess you could say a ball. Like a super-fancy thing. It’ll be catered. You don’t have to cook anything, but we’ll need to get you ready. Hair, makeup, and a dress. Archie is getting everything arranged for us to have a day out tomorrow, okay?”

She claps her hands and then looks at Sofia, whose eyes are wide and bright. “A fancy ball? Like we’re Cinderella?”

Sofia scoffs. “You think you’re Cinderella? Guess that makes me the evil sister? Pshaw, I don’t think so.”

Nana grins. “Or . . . since it’s pretend, we can both be Cinderella?”

Some agreement must be silently reached between the two of them because they begin dancing and twirling around the kitchen. I’m not sure who’s leading who, but I have a bigger concern as they bump into the refrigerator.

“Could you two knock it off? You’re going to break a hip if you keep it up in here. There’s no room for dancing,” I say, half-scolding and half-laughing at their antics.

Papa laughs hard enough that it makes him cough a bit, but he manages to choke out, “I’ve danced Angela around this kitchen more times than I can count. She’s just fine. As for that one over there” —he points at Sofia— “she’s trouble no matter where she is.”

They glare at each other, but it’s good-naturedly.

Papa turns to me. “Violet, dear, I’d love to attend this gala with you, but I just don’t know that I can get this old body to dance the night away two weekends in a row. And if