Chapter 12 #2
But in a way, I guess he is. After all, it’s my crazy plan. Well, Abi’s, really, but it’s my neediness that prompted the whole thing.
“Is that Ross Andrews?” Mom says as recognition dawns.
“He’s got good taste in cars,” Papa says conversationally from the window on the other side of the room as my heart hammers. “Not Italian, but an American classic will do. Who’s the guy?”
I run to the door, ignoring their questions, and rip it open. “Ross . . . uhm, hey. I haven’t had a chance to explain . . .”
The congenial smile on his face falters for just a second, but I see it and feel that I’ve hurt him somehow by not coming clean with my family yet. He did it with flair and ease, and I’m stumbling and freaking out.
“Oh,” he starts, scanning the lot of us because everyone has piled in around me.
“Well, hello. I’m Ross Andrews, Violet’s fiancé.
Signor and Signora Russo, this is for you.
” He holds up a bottle of wine, presenting it to Nana.
“And Mrs. Russo, these are for you.” Like a magician, he holds out a small bouquet of flowers. “And Violet, this is for you.”
He kisses me right on the mouth, right there in front of my family, God, and the whole freaking neighborhood, who are obviously still watching out their windows.
Over my shoulder, I hear Aunt Sofia. “What’d you bring for me?” She laughs as Ross offers a handshake, which she takes. “I guess it’s a start, but I think I want the story of this whole thing instead.”
Papa clears his throat, his voice stern, but there’s almost a thread of amusement in it. “Inside, please. Let’s not do this on the front steps.”
Mom nods, giving me the stink eye as Papa, Nana, and Aunt Sofia head into the house. “I thought that ring looked different.”
I feel frozen, stapled to the ground as my family goes inside, and Ross gives me a grin. Finally, I find my voice and whisper to Ross. “Oh, my God, we’re doing this, aren’t we?”
He looks at me like I grew a second head on my left shoulder, the one where the devil always sits, which makes sense because only he could talk me into something this absurd.
“Violet,” he says so quietly it’s only for me, his voice steady as he takes my hands and bends over me, creating a cocoon for the two of us.
“Are you having second thoughts? I thought we’d already settled this.
We’ve told my family and the board, Abi’s updating the invitations, and it’s a done deal. Right? This is what you wanted.”
I nod absently. “It is. I just hadn’t realized how it would feel to sit at my Nana’s table and lie to them.”
I see a flash in his eyes, there and gone so quickly I can’t decipher it. “We can do this. For your Papa. For you, Vi.”
From behind me, my mother’s voice chimes out. “Excuse me, piccioncini. If you’d like to sit down, dinner’s ready. And you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Piccioncini. Love birds.
To Mom, it probably looks like we’re having a quick, private lovey-dovey moment, not Ross helping me chill the fuck out as I freak. I start to turn, and Ross murmurs by my ear, “Breathe, Violet.”
And I mean to, I swear I do. But right that second, he lays his hand on my ass and squeezes ever so slightly. And I gasp, jumping a bit. Mom can’t see the reason since Ross’s hand is behind me, but at my reaction, she guesses. “Now, Violet.” Her lips are pressed into a thin line.
“Now what?” I hiss at him.
“Now, I’m going to be my usual charming self and you’ll be . . . you.” He’s got that cocky smirk stretching his full lips again, but somehow, this time, it doesn’t seem so mean. It’s like this is just what we do . . . banter and bark, but there’s no bite. Not anymore.
And doesn’t that make me think of biting Ross’s shoulder as he ploughs into me, his mouth buried in my neck, nibbling the tender skin there. I know I’m as red as Nana’s sauce as we sit down at the table, all eyes on us.
Papa takes charge. “Okay, Violet . . . explain.”
“Actually, if you’d let me, Mr. Russo,” Ross says quickly, looking chagrined as he pats my hand but not all that chagrined. “You see, Violet had a really bad Friday. It seems that Colin Radcliffe . . .” he looks at me with fake concern. “Well, he broke off the engagement.”
“What?” Mom asks, outraged. “He did that, and you didn’t tell me? Violet, what has—”
“And when I ran into Violet later . . .” He pauses and looks around. “Wait, backstory for your grandparents, honey. As Ms. Russo knows, I’ve known Violet for a very long time. She’s best friends with my little sister, Abigail.”
“Ah, Abigail!” Nana says, smiling a little. “Such a lovely girl. And you . . . you are her older brother?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ross confirms, suddenly all manners and politeness.
If he wasn’t doing my dirty work for me, I’d tease him about suddenly turning into Eddie Haskell.
“More importantly, I was pretty insufferable in my younger days. I teased Violet a little too harshly, and I’ll be honest with you, sir.
I won’t repeat the things I said back then for fear of catching three or four rolling pins in the head, and then you’d rightfully start in on me.
But never fear, Violet held her own and got me back time and time again. ”
He smiles at me like the awful things we used to do to each other were cutesy and flirty. To be clear, they weren’t. Not even a little bit. But it seems to be playing well to my family.
Papa hums while Nana smirks a little. “So, how did you end up here, then?”
“It seems that all those bad acts, and again, I am sorry,” he says, kissing my knuckles, “were an immature teenage me not being able to recognize that I was head over heels for Violet. And Friday night, seeing her and hearing what she said, it felt like everything just clicked into place and I had a second chance with her that I never even knew I wanted. Even before I drove Violet home that night, I knew I wanted to marry her . . . and by some miracle, she saw me the same way.”
Nana looks unconvinced as her suspicious eyes flick from Ross to me, but it’s Mom who speaks first. “Oh, Violet, why didn’t you tell us? I mean, for Colin to break it off so quickly after getting engaged—”
“I know, Mom,” I say, feeling Ross squeeze my hand.
“I guess I was so shocked when Colin broke it off, and then when Ross and I saw each other and things . . . well, like he said, clicked so hard . . . everything’s been happening so fast, but I’m so happy.
I’m sorry, Mom. I just didn’t know how to put it in words. ”
“You could have told us,” Aunt Sofia scoffs, making me laugh. “What, girl?”
“Aunt Sofia, I tried to tell you guys today. Several times, in fact. But every time I tried to say something, you and Nana would start cursing at each other in Italian and invoking Susan Lucci. You know how hard it is to get a word in edgewise with you Italian women when you’re arguing over cooking? ”
Papa laughs. “Eh, benvenuto nel mio mondo,” he says.
“I’ve been trying to get a word in for over fifty years without much success.
” He leans over and places a liver-spotted hand on Ross’s shoulder.
“You will learn, son. Best to keep your mouth shut until it is time to say ‘Dinner is delicious.’ and ‘Thank you.’”
“Oh, hush, Papa,” Nana admonishes him, but she’s smiling. “I guess we did sort of talk over you the whole time, Violet.”
“Please,” Ross says in a voice dripping with sincerity, “I know this is sudden. And it might just be a little crazy on the surface. But Violet and I . . . just give us a chance?”
It’s just right, and Nana nods, getting up. “I’ll give you enough of a chance to eat some of my lasagna . . . provided Sofia didn’t ruin it with her salt.”
“Don’t make me say her name again. I swear I’ll do it . . .” But then she looks over at our new dinner guest and makes the decision to behave, for once. “Never mind,” Sofia says, following Nana into the kitchen.
As Nana plates the lasagna, the inquisition really starts. “So, Ross, what do you do?” Nana asks. “You have a good job?”
Ross grins, nodding. “Yes, ma’am. I’m an executive vice president at my family’s company.”
Nana nods, and while her voice remains pleasant, I see the glance she exchanges with Sofia. They might fight like a couple of drunken Marines and they may say absolutely vile things about each other . . . but they’ve been sisters for seventy years. They’re a unit. They’re family.
And more importantly, when they want to, they can unleash a torrent of questions that would break a Mafia boss on the stand. Frankly, the Supreme Court’s got nothing on my Nana and Aunt Sofia.
It’s not that they ever raise their voices or that they’re insulting or intimidating. It’s just that their questions are confusing, bouncing around from subject to subject seemingly randomly. But it’s not random, not at all. It’s calculated and strategic.
I’ve faced this from Nana alone, and it’s both comforting and confusing. You’re answering questions about your favorite cookies when BAM! you’ve got a seemingly innocent question about a college experience you’d rather not share with your grandmother on your hands.
If you’re lying, or bullshitting, or just trying to get one over on Nana, she’s going to catch you. Why? Because she never, ever forgets a detail.
And with Aunt Sofia backing her up . . . my stomach twists into a cold lump of clay in my gut even as the lasagna-filled plates are passed out.
“So, Ross, I remember you were a football player. Why’d you go into business instead?
” Nana asks. “I would have thought that a big, strong athlete like you would want to stay on the field.” See?
Memory like an elephant, and it sounds almost complimentary, but she’s just getting him to relax and play along before she zings him.