Chapter 3
Salvatore
When we pulled up in front of my great aunt’s house, the cab driver muttered, “What the hell?”
My thoughts exactly. The stately Victorian was painted top to bottom in a shimmering, semi-translucent rainbow, and a huge Pride flag was flying high.
Pulsating disco music was playing, and the small front yard was crammed with dancing go-go boys.
Meanwhile, five people in huge, inflatable dick costumes cavorted on the sidewalk.
Since we were in an otherwise quiet residential neighborhood on a Sunday morning, all of this was baffling.
The cabbie asked, “Are you going to some kind of rave or something?”
“No. I’m just having brunch with my relatives.”
“If you say so.”
I handed him some cash and climbed out on the street side, to avoid the giant dicks.
Then I just stood there for a while and tried to make sense of the scene before me.
Was this my great aunt’s extremely eccentric way of welcoming me to her home?
She’d always been a character, but this… this was above and beyond.
I was still standing there a minute or two later, when the front door opened and a tall, dark haired figure in a suit stepped onto the porch.
He waved before joining me in the middle of the street.
“Salvatore di Pietro, look at you! You’re all grown up, and weirdly, you look a hell of a lot like my brother Mike.
” He gave me a back-slapping hug and asked, “Do you remember me? I’m your second cousin, Dante Dombruso.
I think you were ten years old the last time we saw each other, at that family reunion in Sicily. ”
“How could I forget? You saved me from a bunch of bullies, and then you spent the next hour hanging out with me and talking about comic books. That must have been incredibly boring for you, since you were about twenty at the time.”
“I’m surprised you remember all of that.”
“You were exceptionally kind to me. It made a big impression.” To a shy, pudgy little kid like me, he’d seemed like a superhero. Over two decades later, he was exactly like I remembered him, with the same mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes. But now, we were the same height and build.
We left the street as a car approached, and he said, “You were an interesting kid. I still have that watercolor painting you made for me of our great-grandmother’s house.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Even at that young age, you were unbelievably talented.”
“Art meant everything to me back then,” I said.
“And now?”
“That’s a complicated answer. It’s actually related to something I need to discuss with you, so can we find some time to talk in private later?”
“Definitely. Come on in, Nana’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“Okay, but first I have to ask.” I indicated the madness in the front yard with a sweeping hand gesture. “What exactly is happening here?”
“Nana and the neighbor across the street have been feuding for years. He’s a homophobic prick, so this is her way of flipping him the bird.”
“So, it’s always like this?”
“No. She usually puts on a show for special occasions. She also changes it up with the seasons, including a particularly raunchy holiday display involving Santa and some elves.”
“What was the occasion this time?”
“She found out the neighbor was hosting a brunch for some of his cronies today. There was no way she’d let the opportunity pass to annoy the living shit out of him.” His big grin told me he approved of her tactics.
“I see.” I didn’t really, but it was nice to know she was an ally. As we made our way to the front door, I asked, “Our of curiosity, why do you call her Nana and not Nonna?”
“When I was a baby, my first word was Nana. She was thrilled! I suspect I was actually babbling and randomly saying something like nah-nah, but she latched onto it. Now, it’s what almost everyone calls her, whether they’re related to her or not.
About the only person who doesn’t call her that is her husband Ollie. ”
“But she’s my grandmother’s sister, so I should address her as my great aunt.”
He shrugged and held the door open for me. “I’d suggest going with Nana. It’s not the same as calling her ‘grandmother.’ Just think of it as a nickname.”
The house was much more tranquil on the inside.
We went from the elegant foyer to an inviting white and yellow kitchen, where Dante’s grandmother was pulling two pans of delicious-smelling cinnamon rolls out of the oven.
As soon as she saw me, she exclaimed, “Holy shit, Sal, you’re all grown up!
And you look a hell of a lot like my grandson Mikey.
I can’t remember if I thought that the last time I saw you, because it was so damn long ago. ”
She put the pans on a rack before pulling me down to her height, grabbing me in a hug, and patting my back with her oven mitts.
She was even tinier than my Nonna, and she had a wildly different sense of fashion.
While Nonna mostly wore housecoats and floral frocks, my great aunt was dressed in purple velour track pants, gold sneakers, and a hot pink sequined T-shirt.
I hadn’t remembered her as being quite this colorful, literally and figuratively.
Dante said, “I told him the same thing about looking like Mike.” He found a photo on his phone and showed it to me. “This is the most recent picture I have of my brother.”
Aside from the fact that we both had dark hair and wore glasses, I only saw a slight resemblance. Part of that might have been because Mike looked relaxed and happy, and I always tended to look uptight in photos. Plus, he was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt. You couldn’t pay me to wear that.
I asked, “Will he be joining us for brunch?”
“No, he and his husband took their sons to Maui at the start of summer break. They won’t be back for another week.”
“What about the rest of your brothers?”
“Gianni is touring Australia with his rock star husband, who headlined a big show in Melbourne yesterday. Vincent and his husband will be here, though.”
Dante pulled a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator, which instantly made me think of Armando.
I snuck a glance at my phone, but it had been less than an hour since we parted ways at the hotel, and he hadn’t replied to my text yet.
I decided I should give it a day before sending him another message.
He’d probably be put off if I seemed too eager.
But I didn’t want him to think I’d forgotten about him, either.
Maybe I should just wait half a day before messaging him again…
Dante interrupted my thoughts by handing me the bottle and saying, “Let’s make some mimosas.” He started to pull champagne flutes out of the cupboard as he asked, “How many people are coming for brunch, Nana?”
“No idea,” she said, “but you should make extras for the boys in the yard. I’m sure they’re parched from all that dancing.”
Dante grabbed another bottle of champagne as a handsome, muscular guy with dark hair breezed into the kitchen. When he saw me, he said, “Wow, you look a lot like my brother-in-law, Mike.”
Dante kissed his cheek and said, “Hi angel. Meet my second cousin, Sal.” I’d never liked that nickname, but I didn’t bother to correct him. “Sal, this is my husband Charlie.”
“Nice to meet you.” We shook hands, and I muttered, mostly to myself, “It’s kind of amazing that all four Dombruso brothers turned out to be gay.”
“We thought Mikey was straight at first, but then we found out he was bi. Or pan. I never know which of those to use. Point is, he fell in love with Yoshi,” Nana said.
“This was several years after his wife died, rest her soul.” She looked hopeful as she turned to me and asked, “What about you, Sal? Do you like dick?”
If I’d been drinking at the time, I absolutely would have done a spit take at the way she phrased that question. Dante must have seen how surprised I was, because he reminded his grandmother, “Not everyone likes to talk about their sex life, Nana.”
“I’m not asking how often he gets laid,” she huffed. “I just want to know if he’s gay. But don’t worry. I won’t disown him if he’s straight.”
Dante told me, “You don’t have to answer her.” Then he distracted Nana by saying, “We should make some snacks for the crew in the front yard.”
She was all for that idea and started giving us instructions.
After we made sandwiches and mimosas and brought them to the performers, she put us to work making a few dishes for brunch.
I was grateful to be included like that.
I’d barely kept in touch with anyone over the years, including these American relatives from my mother’s side of the family, so I’d been worried this visit would be awkward.
But she treated me not just like family, but like no time at all had passed.
While Dante and Charlie cooked and I assembled a large crudité platter, Nana sat down at the kitchen island and polished off one mimosa after another.
Just as we were finishing up, Vincent and his husband Trevor arrived.
Vincent and Dante were close in age, and they looked a lot alike, except that Vincent wore glasses and didn’t have a five o’clock shadow.
I wondered if people were constantly telling them they looked like each other, since none of them could resist commenting on how much I looked like their younger brother.
“Well, that figures,” Dante teased, as he gave Vincent a back-slapping hug. “You managed to time it perfectly by arriving right after all the work was done.”
Vincent smirked and told him, “Like I wanted you to cook my food. You’re the only person I know who can burn water.”
Dante tried to look offended. “I didn’t burn water. I accidentally let it all evaporate, and the pan burned.”
“Same thing.”