Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
“Thanks a lot,” I growled, elbowing him in the ribs.
The noise level fell for a beat, then exploded as a swarm of Cavarettis descended. I recognized Sal first. He hugged Mateo and introduced me to his wife, Scarlet, a petite brunet with a baby on her hip and a cousin named—maybe Angie?—who wore thick makeup, a snug red dress, and hoop earrings.
“Nice to meet you,” Angie purred. “I’m Sal’s cousin on Aunt Sylvie’s side of the family and Teo’s cousin by default. I’ve heard a lot about you and—”
“Yo, the bagel man made it!” Vanni appeared out of the blue. He clapped me on the back, taking over as Mateo was pulled away by a few kids. “Let’s get you a beer. Ma! Aunt Therese! Teo’s here, and he brought you a present!”
We were stopped half a dozen times on our way to the kitchen by family members who’d claimed we’d met at the bagel shop or who were big football fans.
“Dude, I remember when you played for Dallas. You were a beast!”
“I remember when he played for Haverton!”
“Do you like olives? I hate them, but if you like them there’s a bunch in the kitchen. I’ll show you.”
Okay, that last one was a little girl with pigtails who was missing her two front teeth.
“That’s Cici,” Vanni was saying. “She’s my sister Maria’s oldest.”
“I’m six,” Cici piped in. “I’m in first grade.”
“Nice to meet you, Cici.”
Mateo swooped in behind the little girl and lifted her onto his shoulders. “Hey, Cici, let’s go hide the olives. You comin’, Rob?”
Cici beamed from her perch. “Let’s go!”
The kitchen was definitely the hub of this house. High ceilings and wide windows over the sink let in the late afternoon light and provided an echo chamber of sorts for multiple conversations in the room. Aunt Sylvie held court at the stove with two younger women I thought might have been her daughters. She was hard to miss in her zebra-print apron and red pants.
“I’m here…with Rob,” Mateo announced.
“And he has flowers for you, Nonna!” Cici added.
Aunt Sylvie pivoted on her heels, briskly shoving her reading glasses atop her head. She kissed both of my cheeks, did the same to Mateo, then took the wine and flowers. “For me? You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. Welcome!”
“Thanks for having me.”
“Teo, get our guest a glass of something, will you? And Rob…eat!”
“Where’s Ma?” Mateo asked, swinging Cici off his shoulders.
“Eccomi!” His mother carried a large platter from the pantry. “Ciao, bello, Teo. Ah! You are here. I’m so happy. You’re hungry, si?”
“I—si.” I figured that was the correct reply. “Thank you, Mrs. Cavaretti.”
“You may call me Therese.” She grinned, and I couldn’t help thinking that Mateo looked a lot like his mother.
Therese was a beautiful woman in her sixties with bobbed raven hair, red lipstick, and an easy smile. Unlike her flamboyant sister-in-law, Therese wore fashionable tailored clothing in muted colors.
She patted my arm as she spoke in rapid-fire Italian to her son, gesticulating toward the stove. I noticed that every burner was in use and every square inch of real estate on the island was covered with food—platters of antipasto, bowls of olives, peanuts, and bread chunks, bottles of soda, beer, and wine, and even a couple of bags of potato chips.
“Do me a favor and grab a slice of prosciutto. I’ll be in trouble if you don’t eat.” Mateo handed me a slice with a piece of focaccia bread.
“In trouble?”
“Yeah. I should have known they’d put me in charge of you,” he groused without heat.
I chuckled, popping prosciutto and bread into my mouth. “That’s not necessary.”
“Fine. I’ll leave you in the kitchen.”
“Uh…”
“I thought so.” He grabbed two beers and held them above his head. “This way.”
“Wait for me!” Cici called out, skipping behind us.
Mateo waltzed through the family room to the bank of sliding glass doors leading to a large backyard…and at least a dozen more Cavarettis playing bocce ball. After another round of introductions, new teams were made and within five minutes I was in the midst of what seemed like a weekly family battle.
“You cheated!” someone griped angrily.
“That’s sour grapes, Cuz.”
“You can shove your sour grapes up your—”
“I’m tellin’ on you!” someone else chirped.
The lighthearted fun was interrupted by Sal, who was on table duty.
“You know the drill. Chop-chop!” He clapped his hands, and everyone trudged to into the house like helpful minions.
I furrowed my brow. “What’s happening?”
Vanni overheard the question and jumped in. “We gotta clear furniture in the family room and set up the tables and chairs. It doesn’t take long. Don’t even try to lift a finger. Ma’ll get mad.”
Mateo dropped a bocce ball and brushed his palms on his jeans. “He’s right. It’s best to stay out of the way. Want to wash up? Dinner will be ready soon.”