Chapter 17
Carmello
Now
I tell myself concentrating on Olivia Jones’s reaction as we approach the event is just to help with the anxiety of heading to an area with so many people, but I’m a damn liar.
I couldn’t concentrate on something else if I tried.
She’s got that pull about her. At a safe distance, she is the prettiest tornado.
But when she gasps a this is going to be a good night type of gasp as soon as she sees the pedestrian bridge, I wonder if I made the right decision coming here with her.
Not only do I feel like recon could be done elsewhere, but I’m bothered by the fact that I enjoy seeing her eyes brighten as she takes in the bridge, and I can’t be sucked into her. Not again.
I turn my attention to the bridge because it is beautiful.
Spanning four hundred fifty feet across the Providence River, the two-level deck is made of Brazilian Ipe wood, as are the benches people are sitting on right now.
Olivia tells me how much she loves the illuminated tables and then she quickly pushes past people to get to the middle of a bridge like she’s racing me in her heels to get there.
When she stops walking to lean against the railing and stare across the inky-looking water toward the lit downtown buildings in view, holding a hand to her chest, smiling and saying, “This might just be the best thing they ever did for Providence,” I think thirty things at once.
Like maybe she’s right, but not when it’s this crowded.
Like maybe if things were different I’d bring her here for a sunset.
And how small she looks right now—standing on this massive thing with people all around us—but how big of a person she makes herself just by squealing like there’s no one else here while pointing to the ducks bobbing in the water before she’s back to walking toward the other side of the bridge, saying, “Hurry up, Mello.”
When we reach our first stop at La Fogata food truck, she claps her hands excitedly and gets on her tiptoes to see the menu over someone’s head in line.
“I’ve never seen someone so anxious to be a critic,” I say.
She plants her feet back on the pavement and says, “Pay attention to the space, not me.”
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for,” I say. “I’ve been to one of these before. There are picnic tables, some grass sitters on our right side and music and more humans and trucks in which food is served out of windows.”
“Are you being bougie, Mello? Are you too good for truck food? For this event?”
I hate that my name sounds so good when it comes from her mouth, especially when she’s talking shit. “No. But I’m starting to wonder if you were just bored when I called you.”
“Possibly,” she says, batting her eyelashes with the cutest fucking face, and making me realize I need a drink. Luckily, the stand we’re at serves beer along with their birria tacos.
Once we reach the window, Olivia orders a shrimp empanada and a Hot Cheeto Chicken Burrito, and I get a grilled steak sub and a beer.
“You’re such a guy,” she says, about my sandwich order and because I whipped out my card to pay. Then she points to something through the glass window. “Oooh, what is that?”
“Tornado Potato on a stick,” says the woman taking our order.
“We’ll take one of those too,” I say, and I don’t miss the way Olivia casually bumps her shoulder against my arm as we walk toward Poppin Minis to get some loaded donuts for dessert.
When we finally sit down at a free table, the grown woman in front of me happy-shimmies in her seat, and I feel my mouth twitch. “Did you see the way I secured us some extra donuts back there? I’m all ears in case you want to clap.”
“Why would I do that?” I say. “I’m not surprised you’re still a master at getting your way with those pouty lips.”
She puffs out her bottom one. It’s glossed and shiny. I try not to stare at it. “Guess I’ll have to test it on you while I’m here.”
“Good luck,” I say, but she already has me weak with her sharp-winged eyes and…
“Ayoo.”
My cousin’s voice frees me from the torment of having a staring contest with Olivia Jones and not being able to break it by taking her big bottom lip between my teeth right now.
Zeke’s wearing a fitted hat low on his face, but I can tell he’s as shocked to see me as he is to see Olivia. “Olive? Cuzzo? What the hell are you doing here?”
Olivia shoots me a look, and I feel guilty that I haven’t made it to any of his events lately. “We wanted to come for support and food of course,” she says.
“We know you dragged his ass here, Olive,” says Veronica, who pops out from behind her taller brother. “We just don’t know how.”
Olivia laughs at that shot at me, then stands to give Zeke a hug.
He squeezes her like they haven’t become strangers while I guzzle my beer.
Wrestling with the memory of when we all went out for Olivia’s nineteenth birthday.
It was the last time the four of us were in the same space.
But unlike then, Olivia hesitates to hug Vero.
My cousin is equally awkward, patting Olivia on the back before letting go.
I wonder what happened between bonding over a seafood boil bag and now.
But then again, it is not my business. Celia’s Place is.
And all I have to focus on is working with Olivia on this social night and keeping my hands to myself, so that she leaves me and my restaurant intact when she goes back to her globe-trotting.
“I’m so excited to hear your set,” Olivia tells Zeke. “How are you feeling?”
He runs his hand along the brim of his hat. “Always nervous before events. I’m sweaty as hell. Do I stink? I can’t trust my sibby to tell me the truth.”
Veronica sucks her teeth and puts her purse down on our table. “I wouldn’t have you out here smelling like BO, Zeke. Stop being dumb.”
He narrows his eyes, then turns back to Olivia expectantly. She laughs and leans in. “You’re good,” she says, and he smiles like he trusts her. “Let me just…” She fixes the collar on his jean jacket. “Okay. Now go kill it.”
I lift my beer and Zeke smiles. Even though it’s weird being with the three of them, I’m happy I’m here for him today.
But when he heads to the platform stage to set up, I can’t ignore the look Veronica gives me.
She’s asking with her eyes why the hell I’m with Olivia in a way that tells me if she had a say in the matter she wouldn’t have approved.
Olivia must get the same sense because she throws back her margarita like it’s a shot, then starts shoveling food into her mouth.
Veronica slides into the seat next to Olivia and says, “I’m surprised you came here for Zeke’s set, Mello,” sarcasm punctuating every word.
This girl won’t ever let up. I’m technically her boss at the restaurant, but you’d never know it.
Outside of that space? She’s always on my neck about something.
A year ago, she showed up at Celia’s and got in my face after hearing from Zeke that my mom’s cancer was progressing rapidly and I was struggling with the load at work.
You’re my cousin. She’s my tita. If you need help around here, open your mouth and say that.
Before I could form a comeback, she stomped away to get herself a work shirt and she’s been there for me ever since.
Just like she was there for me when Olivia left ten years ago and never came back.
Sometimes this is how she shows it: “I haven’t seen you step foot outside since my dad’s sixtieth birthday party… two years ago.”
“That’s wild,” Olivia says, stabbing a Tornado Potato slice with her fork.
“He’s even worse with his social anxiety now than he was back then,” Vero says.
“If Carmello is with more than ten people at once in any circumstance, then it’s a party.
You should see the sweat glisten on his forehead when we pack into the kitchen for work meetings.
Force him into a room with a bunch of people and he’s counting down the minutes, but force him onto a dance floor when he’s tipsy and suddenly he’s doing bachata with someone’s grandma for hours.
” She steals a big bite of my sandwich. I haven’t even tasted it yet.
With her mouth full, she continues to speak.
About me. The quickest way for her to get on my nerves.
I don’t have siblings, but between her and Zeke I was never missing that kind of annoyance during childhood.
“I know he doesn’t have much free time these days, but since he’s apparently dating women, where the hell does he bring them? ”
I ignore my cousin completely and look at Olivia. “Can we just do what we came here for so I can head home?”
Olivia nods and pops a mini donut into her mouth. A second later, her sharp eyes open wide. “Oh, that’s so damn good. Taste this first, please.”
She passes me the plate and I shovel two donuts into my mouth.
The mix of flavors hits just as quick. Surprisingly not too sweet.
The texture on the outside is crunchy but the donut is perfectly soft in the center, which isn’t true of even the better donuts I’ve tried in this state.
The simple combination is delicious, and I’m wondering if Paula could add something similar to our dessert menu when Veronica glances between us.
“This makes more sense,” she says. “You didn’t come together on a date, or to support Zeke on a weekday when Carmello is usually knocked out by now. You came to see why these food truck events do so well.”
“Very discerning, cuz,” I say. “Absolutely not a date.”
The confirmation relaxes her face. She even smiles at Olivia, who doesn’t seem affected by what I said. “Are we switching up the menu?” she asks. “Because I vote yes. It’s been the same for too long, and if I’m bored eating on lunch breaks, the customers must be too.”