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)
The narrow hallway leading to the bathroom was decorated with collage-style family photos in mismatched frames. Like the wall of photos at Boardwalk Pizza, this collection featured a few generations of Cavarettis. I paused to study them, much to Mateo’s chagrin.
“That’s you, huh?” I pointed at a kid with a thick mop of dark hair and a toothy grin covered in flour while his father laughed in the background. “And your dad.”
Mateo squinted. A myriad of emotions crossed his expressive face. I could almost see his internal data bank at work, locating the memory, examining it, and deeming it worthy of further inspection.
“Yeah.” His lips curled on one side. “I was about seven. Dad was teaching me how to toss the dough. There was flour everywhere. It was early in the morning…must have been a Saturday. We were going to open soon and Aunt Sylvie was yelling at us to clean up the mess, but Dad kept saying, ‘One more time, kiddo. One more time.’ It became an inside joke. If either of us uttered that phrase, we’d laugh…and if we weren’t swamped with customers, one of us might even throw a handful of flour.”
I smiled. “You must have been close.”
“He was a good man and a great dad.” Mateo straightened and gestured at a faded baby picture of a toddler and an infant. “That’s Dad and Uncle Sal. They were best friends. Two peas in a pod. They did everything together. Here’s one of them fishing at Yosemite. Oh, and that’s from a ski trip in Tahoe. And oh, here’s one of my cousins and me at Coney Island. Our families visited New York for some great uncle’s hundredth birthday or something. We had a blast.”
I zeroed in on a section of wall dedicated to sports. “This must be your dad again…and your uncle.”
“They both played football.”
I cocked my head curiously. “I thought you look like your mom, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Ah, yeah, I get that. Dad was a good athlete. He played football in high school. Baseball too. He not so secretly wished he was good enough for the big league.”
“He must have been proud of you.”
Mateo frowned, eyes still fixed on the photo. “I think so. I think he—”
“Dinner!” someone hollered from the kitchen.
Mateo jolted as if startled from a reverie. “Um…the bathroom is right there. You go first.”
I nodded, oddly disappointed that the moment was gone.
Dinner itself was everything Mateo had warned it would be. Adults congregated at two long tables in the family room, and kids sat at the round table in the breakfast nook. Food was passed amid a flurry of competing conversations.
I sat next to a beautiful olive-skinned woman who introduced herself as Hilary, a cousin from Aunt Sylvie’s side. She was a financial analyst who lived in Santa Cruz and commuted to San Francisco three days a week. Another cousin—Marta, maybe?—fed me a near constant stream of information about Hilary. She was thirty-four, a Stanford grad, no kids, a huge Taylor Swift fan, a fitness buff…oh, and her last boyfriend was a bum. The Cavarettis didn’t do subtle well.
I gorged on halibut with puttanesca, shrimp linguine, roasted veggies, and the best bread I’d ever eaten in my life while chatting amicably with Hilary and clandestinely keeping an eye on Mateo, who was seated nearby at the head of the table. Occasionally, our conversations overlapped, and I’d have his full attention and…suddenly I’d find myself smiling for no reason at all.
Curiosity and common courtesy had been my reasons for accepting this invitation. But there was a personal element here as well. I got this strange fluttery feeling in my chest watching Mateo interact with his family. He alternately played the doting son and nephew, the goofball cousin, or the heir apparent. I didn’t claim to understand the dynamics at Boardwalk Pizza, but I got the impression that Mateo and Sal were in charge…with Mateo making all final decisions.
Maybe I was wrong. And maybe someday I’d ask. Tonight, I was content to be amongst new friends and grateful he’d allowed me into his orbit.
On the drive home, I regretted the second helping of tiramisu. I patted my belly at a red light and groaned.
“I’m not eating tomorrow.”
Mateo snickered and drawled an annoying, “Right…”
“I’m serious. How do you eat like that and own a pizza shop and still manage to stay in shape? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t eat like that every day. That’s a Sunday thing only,” he assured me. “So…do you wish you’d listened to me and bailed out while you had a chance?”
“No way. I loved it.” I darted a sideways glance and could have sworn he smiled. “Your family is…lovely.”
“I think you mean loud.”
“That too, but they’re awesome,” I enthused.
“Green light.”
“Oh.” I put my foot on the gas and continued through town. “Am I taking you home or…are you coming with me?”