CHAPTER FOUR Ginger
CHAPTER FOUR
Ginger
I enter my parents’ front hallway the next night and take a deep breath. Nothing here is ever out of place. The flowers that adorn the table in the center of the large space are replaced weekly, the circular staircase is polished to perfection, and the marble floors glimmer as if they’ve been shined by hand. I’m instantly greeted by the smell of my mother’s famous coated chicken marsala. The recipe she still hasn’t officially given me. I only know it by having watched her sift spices into the bag before she tosses in the chicken. She says she’ll leave it to me when she dies, and I tell her by then I’ll be too old to cook it because she’ll probably live forever.
“ Bella ,” she greets me as I enter the vast all-white kitchen. Her long dark hair, not unlike mine, is loose, her smile is bright and youthful, and she’s wearing a tight floral top and leather-looking pants. Kenny Chesney—always Kenny Chesney—croons to me as she walks around the island to pull me into a warm hug. My mother is the free spirit in this house, always flitting about, trying some new hobby she’s excited to share with me. I never understood how she and my father had ended up together, a thought reiterated now as he waltzes into the kitchen in a shirt, tie and dress shoes. A uniform in his own house. He’s the epitome of old money, and he’s my mother’s polar opposite. His father owned the pulp and paper mill outside of town, and when he died, my father sold it off to the highest bidder. He never had any use for it, not when he was going into law. Now, preparing for a second term as congressman for Kentucky’s third district, he never stops working and is the most organized, critical man I know. Just being in the same room as him makes me stand up straighter.
“Good evening, darling,” he says as he kisses me on the top of my head. “I’m still disappointed you didn’t call David back. He was quite interested in you.”
Nice to see you too. I’m well, thank you for asking.
“I will never do well with being set up on a surprise blind date.”
“It wasn’t like that.” My mother eyes me with disapproval. “We just want you to find your person sooner rather than later so I won’t be an old biddy of a nonna.”
“That won’t happen.” I roll my eyes. “You’ll outlive us all.”
I walk around the island and pour some of my mother’s homemade wine into a bowl-shaped glass. If there’s one thing this woman can do, it’s create the most delicious concoctions. Italian roots for the win. I take a sip and survey our home, which is modern but decorated with my mother’s heritage in every room. In the kitchen it’s the backsplash: a bold navy and white fleuret design that goes up to the ceiling, which is adorned by maple beams. Well, that and the line of spices over the stove—dried orange and lemon zest, bay leaves, oregano, garlic, capers. The flavors of my childhood.
“ Mia cara ,” Nonna says as she enters the kitchen. The hug she gives me is soft and full of love. She came to America with her parents from Sicily when she was twelve, and met my granddad in her senior year. She tells us it was love at first sight, and they married and had my mother before my nonna’s nineteenth birthday. I’m blessed beyond measure to have her still so youthful, in her late sixties. Her build is small like mine, and she has short, naturally dark hair even at her age. She wears glasses and has a twinkle in her eye that never dims. My grandad simply died too young, and I always hope there may be someone else for her yet. CeCe and I often joke about matching her up with Papa Dean Ashby. Until we remember Papa Dean wouldn’t know what to do with someone as spicy as her.
“Are they giving you tutta la merda ”—all the shit—“before the dinner salad has even been served?”
“Of course.” I grin at the fact she still says “shit,” and every other curse word in Italian, regardless of the fact that she’s lived here for fifty-seven years.
She grips both sides of my face. “You’re lovely just the way you are. Don’t let them rush you. When you find the right one, you’ll know.” She pats the side of my face and raises her voice so my mother can hear.
“Your mother should’ve had more children. Instead, she pins all her hopes on you to give her grandbabies.”
“Is that such a terrible thing?” my mother calls back while tossing a green salad. “I just want my baby to be happy and give me babies to love in return. There could be worse things.”
“Preferably she will find a man that has some business experience and a good strong work ethic. Like that David,” my dad says in a curt tone, wagging a finger as he sips his wine. I take a giant gulp of mine.
“Both of you, please,” I mumble.
As if living alone with an excellent teaching career at twenty-six makes me a spinster.
“Pay them no attention, honey,” my nonna says as she pats my hand and takes a seat at the island. “Tell me all about what you’ll do this summer.”
I prop my face on my palm and think for a moment. “I’m going to help CeCe with the wedding, suntan, maybe do some cleaning and redecorating, or take up a part-time job to help bridge the gap from my paycheck.”
I only get partial pay during the summer months, which is why I normally take on extra classes, but I need a break from teaching this year.
“I’ve been thinking about maybe helping Liv out at her boutique. But I’m not going to look for a husband,” I say glancing at my father. He eyes me over his glass. “These things have to come naturally,” I say, getting up to refill my glass and kiss him on the cheek.
“Ginger, please, it’s never too early to start looking. You have to think of the future.” And a good man to help bolster your political career .
“There’s a young man out of Tennessee. I met him at a dinner a few weeks ago, an alderman. If you come to the fundraiser this weekend in Lexington, he’ll be—”
“I’m going to Las Vegas this weekend with Nash and CeCe,” I cut him off.
“Hmph,” he grumbles. “City of sin and overindulgence. Remember, trouble can follow you no matter where you go. There’s always a video waiting to be posted somewhere.”
“I will try very hard not to get knocked up, knocked out, or strip in the middle of the strip,” I say with a grin as I pop an olive and a piece of cheese into my mouth from a platter on the island.
“Ginger Lily! We’re just looking out for you,” he says, his brow furrowed.
“And criticizing me,” I fire back.
“We just don’t want you to end up an old woman all alone,” my mother says dramatically.
“Like me.” Nonna grins. We lock eyes, she waggles her eyebrows, and we giggle conspiratorially.
My mother ignores our laughs and points her salad tong at my father. “Oh! Didn’t you say Emilio Cruz’s son is recently divorced?” She turns her bright brown eyes to me. “He’s got two kids already. You could be a step-mama!”
I look at my nonna and roll my eyes. This is exactly the reason I don’t come home for dinner very often.