Chapter 8
P izza!” Benny yelled out. “I’ll get my shoes.”
Mom looked at me and asked, “Pizza, Charlie baby? You in? Our usual place?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
Mom clapped her hands together and headed for the door, and I followed closely behind.
I knew exactly where we were going, a little tucked-away spot near Laurel Canyon where we’d gone hundreds of times in the past. Benny and Mom for sure had been going on their own. Double Quinn, not Triple. I ignored some strange pang that echoed in my chest.
“We can get ice cream at McConnell’s after,” Mom said when we reached the doorway, craning our necks up to see if Benny was coming down yet.
“They have a new peanut butter flavor that you’ll die for.
I know how much you love peanut butter.” She reached over and gave me a side hug, squeezing me tightly across the shoulders, and planted a soft kiss on the crown of my head.
I noticed how I leaned into it, transfixed, and when Benny came ambling down the stairs, I straightened and angled my body away so Mom’s arms would fall.
The problem with my mom was that it had always been hard for me to stay mad at her and keep my distance. It was part of the reason I hadn’t been home in so long. When anger takes the place of pain, all you want to do is hold on to that rage by any means necessary.
Benny led the way outside. At Quinn Canyon, it was as if nothing else existed in the entire world, a cocoon of nearly pure darkness.
I had to watch my step on the uneven rocks and down the shoddy staircase to where our cars were parked.
Benny and Mom sped up ahead, obviously used to traversing this part of the land more than I was, and were waiting for me in Mom’s old Jeep with the headlights on by the time I caught up.
When I climbed into the front seat, Benny was already in the back in the middle, her body leaning forward like she was sitting between us, just like she used to. It was so familiar. Strange, how quickly and effortlessly we fell back into automatic patterns.
About ten minutes into the drive, “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac started playing and I knew Mom was about to turn it up and sing out every word.
While she lived for change and novelty, she could also be quite predictable.
She reached for the knob and the song erupted through the speakers.
Her voice was stunning. There was so much untapped talent within my mom and I spent too much of my childhood watching her heart break because nobody noticed it.
I guess it broke my heart a little bit, too.
I had a sudden ugly urge to shut off the music and ruin her moment.
Mom’s showmanship grated on me. Benny always loved it, because her feelings toward Mom were entirely uncomplicated.
She idolized her. When Mom was finished, Benny clapped and screamed, “Well done!” and I just kept my eyes fixed on the road.
We were finally driving down Ventura Boulevard, and the intensity and vibrancy of the city hit all my senses at once.
It was blaring loud, and frenetic with activity, and the brightness of the lights almost hurt my eyes.
But it was also beautiful. Tall, towering palm trees and warm, dry evening air.
Back when I loved movies, I used to pretend I was in one every time I coasted down Ventura with the windows down.
A few minutes later, Mom pulled into a strip mall.
In LA, and especially in the Valley, you knew to never underestimate a strip mall because it likely held the gems—sushi, taco, pizza spots that looked like holes-in-the-wall but actually served some of the best food in the city.
The greatest spicy tuna with crispy rice you’d ever had in your life might be found between a pet shop and a postal annex.
The familiar smell of Rocco’s Pizzeria wafted toward me the moment I stepped out of the car and my stomach growled—actually, roared —in response.
It was strange, but I’d forgotten how much I loved food.
It was another part of childhood with Mom and Benny that I’d left behind.
Dinners out with Triple Quinn had been legendary and, eventually, I’d written them off as irresponsible.
Mom never had enough money to be taking us out every other night.
I started cooking us meals at home simply because I was so terrified that one day we’d go completely broke and lose our house.
Sometimes it takes getting out of a situation to realize how stressed you were in it. When I left LA, I felt like I could finally put everything in order, take control, and stop worrying that Mom’s spontaneity would eventually ruin our entire life.
Rocco’s Pizzeria was a true hole-in-the-wall. There were two outdoor tables on the sidewalk in front of the tiny restaurant. Well, “restaurant” was generous. The space consisted of one long counter and a wood-fired oven, pizzas made to order, and a line out the door.
When the tables outside were taken, people would sit on the curb in the parking lot, eating from cardboard boxes.
It wasn’t that busy tonight, so we only had a few people in front of us.
It didn’t take much for the line to be out the door, but at peak times, it would stretch all the way to the pawn shop four doors down.
A couple people ordered and then we were inside the little place and I felt like I was thirteen again.
Every open space on the wall was filled with either newspaper and magazine clippings of Rocco’s esteemed history or celebrity pictures with their arms around Ali, the owner and master pizza maker.
Everyone mistakenly called him Rocco, assuming he had named the spot after himself.
He had movie-star looks—tall, dark, handsome, olive skin offset by deep brown eyes.
By now, he must have been in his mid-fifties.
His Tunisian-born father, the actual Rocco, studied pizza-making in Italy before he moved to the US, and when he died, he handed the business to Ali.
Before he fell in love with running Rocco’s, Ali had wanted to be an actor.
“Charlie Quinn, as I live and breathe,” he said when we made it to the counter. “It’s been a long time.”
I smiled. “It has, Ali. Good to see you. How are things? How’s business? How’s Miriam? And the twins?”
He beamed. “Miriam is good. She’s running our second location now. We opened one in Silverlake. Rocco’s in Silverlake. Can you imagine? Adam and Aya are about to graduate high school. Next year is college. Unbelievable how fast time goes.”
“It is. I’m glad to hear all is well, though. What are the kids going to study?”
“Adam wants to be a graphic designer. Aya is going to business school. I can’t believe it, but she loves the pizzeria. She wants to open more locations. I just want my little pizza shop, but she’s got big dreams, that one.”
“She always did,” I said, remembering the plucky and curious little girl from when she was just a kid. She was always here at the shop with her dad, doing homework on a stool in the corner. “Tell them I said hello, will you?”
“Of course. How long are you in town for? They’re usually in on the weekend.”
Mom and Benny both stared at me, clearly eager to hear my answer.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
Quickly changing the subject, I turned to Mom and Benny. “Are we doing the usual?”
“We have a different usual now,” Benny said. “But no worries. It’s been a while since we had the original usual.” She laughed.
“Remind me what it was?” Ali asked. I felt a twinge in my chest about the fact that he had forgotten. That Mom and Benny had a new usual and I didn’t know what it was.
“An extra-large pizza with pepperoni, sausage, roasted garlic, mushrooms, and double pineapple,” I said. One thing about the Quinn girls, we loved pineapple. All three of us. Or, at least, we used to.
Ali wrote down our order.
“You got it,” he said. “Coming right up.”
We started shuffling to the door, excusing our way through what was now a pretty long line.
“Hey, Charlie?” Ali called.
I turned back around to face him. People understood his generosity of spirit, so nobody seemed especially put out that they were waiting while he conducted personal conversations. Half the reason you came to Rocco’s was for Ali. The pizza was incredible, but he was the real draw.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I’m really glad you’re home,” he said. “Everyone missed you. Don’t stay away so long next time.”
Taking a sharp breath in, I muttered a tight-lipped, “Thanks.”
Then, I lightly shoved through the crowd, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.
Mom and Benny were consumed in deep conversation with their heads bent together when I joined them.
They’d probably been to Rocco’s last week, if not the other day.
I knew that their life had continued on without me and I had made the choice to not come back.
So why did their heads bent together cause my throat to burn?
When I sat down, the two of them stopped talking and drew me back in.
“This place hasn’t changed at all,” I said.
“Ali was so grumpy about opening a new one in Silverlake,” Mom said, laughing. “He vented to us about it several times. It was Aya’s idea. The kid’s got vision.”
“He was very get-off-my-lawn about it,” Benny said. “He said, ‘Those hipsters are going to turn Rocco’s into a TickyTocky joint.’”
“TickyTocky? That’s Ali-speak for TikTok I’m guessing?” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Of course,” Benny said. “I’ve never seen anyone hate phones and social media more than that man.
One time, I was picking up a pizza and he kicked someone out for filming him.
Of course, everyone thought it was hilarious.
And his grumpy rant went viral on TikTok.
He hated it. Rocco’s was flooded with tourists for like a full month before he put up signs saying no phones allowed. ”