Chapter 14
Carmello
Now
The couple who come in every Monday like clockwork to share saliva and eat off each other’s plate isn’t here, but Rachael is. I’m unnerved by her presence after our texts last night, but I try not to show it. No need to embarrass her.
“Me and my friends were in the area,” she says, “and none of us have been here before, so we just figured what the hell.”
I attempt a smile, but it’s hard to get my mouth to move much in that direction.
For a second, there’s something that looks like regret in her eyes.
I’m sure she can see on my face that this isn’t cool.
But then her friend with the red hair and dark lip liner says, “We were going to go to Black Sheep for lunch and drag bingo, but this place is…”—she glances around—“nice.” There’s something in her tone that makes me think she wanted to say boring instead, but maybe that’s my own insecurity because the kissing couple is absent today.
Rachael’s face is flushed now, and the blonde among them smiles at me nervously.
“Anyway,” the redhead continues, “we devoured the egg rolls. So different. Your mom is an incredible cook.”
“Krista,” Rachael says, elbowing her friend. “I told you his mother passed away.”
The redhead is referring to the fact that the lumpia sampler plate is made with three different types of meat, instead of just the traditional pork, and an equal number of sauces, including the normal soy sauce and vinegar combo.
I’m happy she likes the lumpia platter, but I’m annoyed with the way she assumed I wasn’t the one who made it because I look more Dominican than Filipino.
I knew one day my mixed identity would be questioned now that my mom’s not here, but never did I imagine it would be in this context.
And what Krista doesn’t know is that it was a fight for me to get that one new item on the menu and that it only happened after my mom made me a partner.
“It’s okay,” I reassure Rachael, then I tell Krista that I created that particular appetizer myself and thank her for the compliment.
Krista’s face falls slightly before she taps the seat between her and the third friend who’s been quietly checking me out. “Well, you are quite the cook, then,” she says. “Why don’t you sit with us and chat?”
I scratch the back of my neck, envisioning an interview I never asked for. “Actually, I can’t because…” but before I can explain, Krista cuts me off.
“Too busy in the kitchen?”
There’s a hint of insult in her tone, and I try to look unfazed by it, but she struck a chord that was already thin and fraying. “Actually,” I say, “I have to go pick up my son from school.”
Rachael’s eyes widen slightly, even though she knows I have a child. “Right now?”
“Yup,” I say.
“It’s not something you can push back?” she asks like I just told her I have errands that can wait. She’s not the first woman I’ve dated who’s been weird when I have to be an actual parent to Teddy, and now I’m doubting she’ll be the last.
“I can’t,” I say, “but even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
When we were young, Olivia always wanted to talk about superpowers.
She said she’d want to be able to clone herself so she could be in two different places at the same time.
I told her I’d want the ability to read minds.
Right now, these three women are staring at me with different expressions, but I wouldn’t pick that power.
I couldn’t care less what any of them thinks.
“Have a good day, ladies. Dessert is on me.”
***
Our favorite ice cream spot in Cranston has been in business since I was a kid.
It still has the same old sign, the words Dairy Twirl in red, a little worn from weather and time.
But they’re open earlier in the season this year, and they bought brand-new picnic tables.
It seems like the wait time at the window has doubled.
Even today, with a chill still in the air, the line stretches into the parking lot.
The strange part: there’s music coming from a Bluetooth speaker.
We were here every week last summer, and they sure as hell weren’t playing Drake songs.
While we wait in line, Teddy bobs his head to the beat and stares at the birds perched on a fence, waiting for someone to drop their chocolate cone.
Once we reach the window, he says, “Look, Daddy,” and points to a picture of new items added to their menu.
The best part about Dairy Twirl is that it’s classic.
Sundaes and jimmies, soft serve, and “Two scoops or one?” There are a lot of ice cream spots in Rhode Island serving specialty flavors now, and I like that too, but it’s comforting coming here and knowing exactly what we’re going to get.
All of that is still here, but now there are doughboys, frozen s’mores, and mini pancakes to load up with toppings. “Do you want that?” I ask Teddy when he points to the pancakes.
“With rainbow sprinkles, please,” he says, keeping that from his usual vanilla cone order.
***
Zeke is Veronica’s older brother. He usually meets me and Teddy at the park after ice cream, but today I asked him to come here first. Our mothers were sisters, pregnant at the same time, but I often feel like his elder.
Doesn’t help that he cracks jokes, calling me grandpa when I don’t want to drink because of work in the morning.
Ole boring business owner ass, he’ll say.
He doesn’t think I’m boring today. This is the most invested he’s been in any of my stories. “You must’ve hit it right if she’s showing up at your workplace with the squad,” he says.
Nothing explicit was said, but Teddy often reads between the lines. “Watch your mouth.”
Zeke doesn’t give a wide-eyed oops face when I warn him, but he does give it when a big glob of his cotton candy ice cream drops from his cone to the picnic table in front of him.
He doesn’t bother to wipe it away until I force him with a napkin in front of his face.
“How about you excuse your damn mouth, Gramps,” he says then pats my son’s head. “Teddy’s one of the boys, and he’s distracted by this monstrosity you bought him anyway.”
“As one of the boys, I don’t want him speaking that way,” I say. But Zeke’s probably right about Teddy being distracted by enough ice cream to feed four kids. Until his attention is successfully caught when Zeke steals one of his pancakes without asking.
“Whatchu gonna do about it, Grandpa Junior?” Zeke says to him, and Teddy retaliates by twisting Zeke’s ear until they’re full-on wrestling.
My son may be quiet, but he laughs with his whole belly.
And sometimes my cousin is shameless, but he’s the only other person in my life Teddy laughs like that with, so I like having him around.
When they’re finished and Teddy gets back to eating his melted mess, Zeke’s waiting for me to disappoint him. “I haven’t even done that with Rachael,” I say, talking about the sex.
“Wait, really? The girl’s been throwing it at you since the first date.”
“We’ve kissed,” I say. “And after today, that’s as far as we’ll ever get.”
When I left Celia’s, I sent a text message telling Rachael it won’t work out between us.
That I think our personalities don’t click.
I wanted to give her a real explanation so she doesn’t feel like I’m going to ghost, even if she doesn’t seem like the type a man can easily ghost. But she said she understood, and I transferred her the tickets to the concert.
Telling her she should bring one of her friends. I hope she doesn’t take Krista.
Zeke sucks his teeth. “Man, listen…if someone as hot as she is offered for me to come upstairs to her apartment, I’d follow her with moving boxes.”
“And then she’d call the cops,” I say.
“Maybe,” Zeke replies. “But it sounds like she’s just as wild as me. It’d be a toss-up for which one of us would need a restraining order first.”
“All right, let’s pivot,” I say. “There are kids around. People are staring.”
“And their kids are currently listening to Drake,” he says, pointing at the speaker.
I help Teddy clean his hands because he starts fidgeting like he’s anxious about them being sticky. I can relate to the feeling. It’s why I often opt for a cup instead of a cone.
“Shit. The music reminds me,” I say. “What’s your week looking like?”
Zeke smiles and says, “Got a food truck gig by the pedestrian bridge tomorrow, and I’m finally spinning a set at Black Sheep on Friday. They’re letting me on with Slick Vic both days.”
I try to ignore the tinge of bitterness I feel at the mention of Black Sheep, but it’s tough when two weeks after my prep quit for “higher pay” elsewhere, I found out he’s now working there.
I can’t blame him for needing more money than I can offer, but the Black Sheep bit sent me on a spiral.
It’s become one of the places to be in Providence these days, and it’s also a blatant reminder among other reminders (like the redhead’s comment) that maybe I should be concerned about my own restaurant, about how to make it into another hot spot in the city.
Still, Zeke’s been trying to get a DJ gig at Black Sheep for a while, so I smile too.
“Happy for you, cousin,” I say. “Check you out. Low Key now.”
Low Key is a team of DJs that work at different locations in Rhode Island.
Lately, most restaurants in the area are not only providing food but an atmosphere to encourage extended lingering.
From hiring DJs for dance music during brunch to hosting drag bingo, Sunday Samosas, and trivia nights to accompany Wednesday fifty-cent wings.
After 10 p.m., Black Sheep lowers the lights and treats it like their own little club.
The culture shift is great for Zeke, who just became a DJ a year ago and is already getting some good gigs, but it might not be great for Celia’s Place, which offers food without the frills.