Chapter 12 Surprises and Spaghetti
Surprises and Spaghetti
Olivia
The first time I ever overheard Celia Rodriguez mention me was a few months after I’d been hired. I was in the back room clocking in for my shift, and she said to Paula: “She talks too much, but she’s hardworking. I think I’ll let her learn to cook with Carmello.”
I couldn’t hide my smile when I peeked in. “I heard that,” I said.
“And I knew you were there,” said Celia, smiling back.
***
A week later, I stood beside Carmello, watching as he seasoned meats for the following day’s lunch menu. He was supposed to lock up, and everyone else was gone.
“Are you lonely or something?” he teased.
The question caught me off guard. “Why do you ask that?”
“You come early on weekends to do your homework at the two-seater table out front. You stay way past your shifts, including this one. And I just…have this feeling that maybe you don’t want to go home,” he said.
I shrugged, uncomfortable for a second. I hadn’t really thought about it that way.
“Well, my parents are doing amazing work in the city, but they’re always gone.
And the places we rent are never home. I’d much rather be here at the restaurant, anyway, waiting until you or Celia actually let me use a spatula, as promised.
I have to say, I’m getting pretty impatient. ”
I said it hoping he’d laugh, but he just nodded. Sometimes he was so serious. Unless we were debating something back and forth, then his smirk was unrelenting.
“I could leave if you want to be alone though,” I said, wondering if I was supposed to be taking a hint and hoping I wasn’t.
He shook his head. Then gestured toward a pot on the counter with his pursed lips. His mom liked to point to things the same way. “Will you pass me that?”
I handed him the pot, and stayed to watch him fill it with water. Bring it to a boil on the burner. “I thought you were done for the night too,” I said.
“My mom is home doing paperwork, and I know she probably won’t feed herself tonight,” he said. “So, I’m going to bring her dinner. Do you know how to make spaghetti?”
I tried not to grin because before this day he never said anything to me about his personal life. But I thought it was the cutest thing that he was taking care of his mom.
“I do,” I said. “The only thing my dad taught me from his Italian momma.”
“Well, do you want to learn how to make it the Dominican way?” Carmello asked, and he looked a bit shy about it.
When I quickly said yes, he seemed to relax, and while he was sautéing the base for the sauce, he told me his dad might not be a chef but he’s a good cook.
“I’ve learned a thing or two from him and from my abuela too.
And my mom was just saying how she misses my abuela’s spaghetti. ”
“You’re sweet,” I said. He rolled his eyes, but I was grinning.
“It’s true! I feel like I’m in an alternate reality.
Or like you’ve unveiled something to me.
But is this your final form, Carmello Rodriguez?
Or are you going to surprise me with other things?
Are your layers like an onion? Or like lasagna? ”
He smiled. “What’s the difference, Olivia Jones?”
“One has more subtle layers than the other,” I said. “Duh.”
“I’m sweet, you’re weird,” he said. “Only one of us is surprised here.”
“And yet, for some reason you don’t want me to leave,” I said.
Then, I quickly realized it might’ve been the wrong thing.
He averted his eyes and quietly started dicing more tomatoes I was sure he didn’t need.
My face was burning from embarrassment, wondering if he thought I was insinuating that he liked me.
Was I? “I’m going to shut up now,” I told him.
“I kinda like when you don’t,” he said.
My belly did a backflip. Wait. Was he flirting?
This was a temporary dilemma. I didn’t know how to respond because I never flirted with boys in school before.
They tried with me all the time, but it was rare that anyone got my attention.
Besides, there wasn’t a reason to, because I knew if I got attached to anyone it would be short-lived.
But Carmello had caught my attention the first time we talked. He’d kept it ever since.
“So then I’ll never shut up again,” I said.
Carmello laughed. “You’re the give an inch, take a mile type,” he said. Then: “Not quite a spatula, but here.” He handed me his sauce spoon. “You finish.”
I was a little nervous to cook in front of him, but I gladly cut in, moving the sauce he started around the pan.
“I think it needs more garlic,” I said after a few seconds because this flirting thing was hard, and I wanted him to stop staring at me.
Even though I had no clue what I was talking about, Carmello didn’t argue, just got more garlic ready and tossed it in alongside the green peppers, salami, and onions.
His directions were minimal and my nerves bubbled to the surface with him watching, so I turned up the burner on the stove, just to have something to do with my hands, not realizing how powerful it was.
The sauce popped and splattered everywhere, including my shirt.
“Shit, sorry. I should’ve warned you about how quickly it heats,” he said before sucking air through his teeth. “Oh damn, does that burn?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant until I saw sauce on my fingers.
“Um…” I said. “Actually, no. I don’t have a lot of sensation in my left hand.
” When his brows pulled together, I smiled so he wouldn’t think too much of it.
“Touching a scorching doorknob can do that to a person, but at least the sauce didn’t sting when it got me. ”
Weeks ago, he was in the room while I was telling Paula about the fire that set my parents on their unusual path, and though Carmello didn’t cut in to our conversation, he did make a face that let me know he was listening.
He was making that same face again, and I had the urge to keep talking to try to kill the awkward feeling in my chest. I hated the thought of anyone pitying me for what happened.
Luckily, I didn’t have to speak because Carmello left me to walk over to the sink and wet a washcloth.
And when he came back and gently took my left hand to clean the sauce himself, I forgot how to use words anyway.
But when he reached out to brush the cloth softly against my cheek, I flinched slightly in surprise and he backed away from me fast.
“I’m sorry, you had sauce there and I…um.” He bit down on his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have touched you without permission. That was…”
I didn’t know how to flirt, but I wanted to learn, and I was a quick study. So…I took a step forward. Then another. “Do you like me, Carmello?” I asked, heart racing while anticipating his answer.
“You’re a little annoying, sometimes,” he said. “But yeah, O…I like you just fine.”
I think he meant to say it in a friendly way, but I watched how hard he swallowed.
How nervous he looked. I heard the nickname he called me for the first time.
I decided I liked the way it sounded, and I liked him even more, and then my body was simply reacting.
I went up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips.
And it was instantly electric. I’d never kissed anyone before, but I already knew I’d be looking for that feeling in every kiss after it.
I wondered if Carmello felt it too. If he ever experienced adrenaline quite like that.
If he kissed a lot of people before me and how mine measured up.
He was silent, just staring after I pulled away.
Then a smile tugged at his lips. He bent low and brushed his mouth over mine again.
I went in for another right after he was done.
This one more firm. The kind of kiss you can’t pretend didn’t happen.
My whole body was fluttering. I had a hand on Carmello’s chest; I could feel his heart beating fast too.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing heavier.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be in Rhode Island,” I blurted out, suddenly scared of what it meant that I wanted more conversation, more kisses, that I hoped for more of that with him.
Carmello wasn’t a dumb boy. He knew this meant that we could kiss today, and if my parents told me it was time to pack up, I’d be gone tomorrow. But he still pushed curls from my face and said, “Okay.”
And when our lips met again, we opened our mouths to try it with tongue.
Later that night, I went home with a full plate of Dominican spaghetti and a smile I couldn’t hide from my parents.