CHAPTER ONE

“Ellana,” my mother’s loud voice echoed through the phone, “You have to come home, Nicky’s getting married.”

“What?” Her words felt like an ice pick through my heart.  “What do you mean, Nicky’s getting married?”  My entire body numbed causing my breathing to become a struggle.  “W—who is it?” I demanded. 

“Some new red-headed broad at his swanky restaurant.” Her response reeked of sarcasm.

“Red head?” 

I didn’t understand her reference to the red hair, but I wouldn’t have cared if the broad had green hair.  I’d been in love with Nicky Soranno since the day we were born just minutes apart when the mothers had become instant friends, and no one dared try to take him away from me.  In the bad news department, Nicky loved me like a sister, nothing more, but over the years I hadn’t been convinced he knew his own mind.

“Not a chance in hell I’ll let it happen?” shot out of my mouth.

“That’s my girl.”  I sensed from the sound of Mom’s voice, she had a smile on her face.  Her pitch escalated as she continued.  “Her name is Maureen McClellan.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him . . . marrying an Irish girl.  Can you imagine it?”

“How long has she worked for him?”

“Ever since you deserted your family in New York and moved to the far end of New Jersey.”  My mother’s dig shot through the air like a Javelin missile, but I ignored it.  “Aunt Nan tells me she’s new to the culinary field, and Nick’s taken her under his wing.”

The jealous green-eyed monster dropped its possessive cage over my body until the word ‘culinary’ registered in my mind.  This sudden development WAS about to ruin my life, but I had to do something.  Turmoil erupted in my stomach.  What about my plans?  The plans I’d made, just yesterday to take the culinary course at the Bergen County Community College? 

“Listen Ellana, you’ve gotta come back here and stop this wedding before Nicky makes the biggest mistake of his life.”

I had trouble digesting her words.  My emotions were now working overtime trying to figure out what to do.  Mom had always been fast on her feet with decisions, and not always based on factual information.  Despite the normal prodding, which would no doubt surely follow, I needed more time to figure it out. 

Putting my dream on hold again seemed so unfair, and part of the reason I’d moved to New Jersey.  Sure I wanted Nicky, but I also wanted a career—the career I didn’t want anyone, except my friend Amy to know about until I felt certain I could actually cook.  After Nicky had opened his big mouth at a family gathering and told everyone I had burned a frozen pizza in the microwave, I’d become the brunt of too many family jokes.

Mom huffed out air.  “I can’t believe he’s marrying an Irish girl.”

And I couldn’t believe he’d decided to take the plunge with someone other than me.  I also felt resentment he hadn’t called to tell me himself.   Regret set in like rigor mortis over the decisions I’d made during this last year.  I’ve worked as a waitress all my life.  Could I have misread Nicky’s intentions when I had announced I’d rented an apartment in New Jersey, and he offered me a job at his restaurant?  Had I missed my window of opportunity?  Had his offer been his way of saying he’d been in love with me, his childhood buddy, and couldn’t live without me? 

Panic coursed through my body.  I had to do something.  But what?   Just as I started to say something, I glanced over at my boss whose stinging glare had the markings of burning a hole through my body.  I braced the phone with my shoulder and grabbed a handful of napkins pretending to be working.  Unfortunately, mom’s voice escalated through the phone as though speaking through a megaphone to a crowded room and caught his attention.

“Listen Ellana, you’ve gotta stop this foolishness.  Quit the damn job at the Righteous Lobster, and get back to New York.”

“I can’t up and quit at the drop of a hat, Mom,” I whispered firmly.  An uneasy feeling assailed me knowing Albe stood and watched me, coupled with the uncertainty of what to do.  “Oh . . . I don’t know.  Why don’t I come home this weekend to see what Nicky has to say?”

“And, you think a weekend is going to solve this problem?” Mom charged.  “You’re fooling yourself.”  She released her infamous humpf—the sound letting you know she’s not happy with your decision.  “I never would have believed I’d be saying this, Ellana, but ever since you moved to New Jersey, you’ve changed.”

I huffed out air at her attempt to load on the guilt.   Unfortunately, it was working.

“You don’t care about your family anymore, and even though you’re not very far away, you don’t come home.  You’re busy life is more important than you’re family.  I don’t know what we ever did to deserve this kind of treatment from you, but if you had come home more regularly, Nicky wouldn’t be getting married to an Irish girl.”

Frustrated, I shot back in retaliation.  “Oh, so this is my fault?” my voice escalated to a higher pitch, and I could feel anger and guilt competing like a whirling dervish inside me. 

“Yeah . . . well . . . I’m sorry, but this is exactly what I’m saying.  It isn’t just me you’re letting down.  Aunt Nan counted on you to help change this too.”  A moment of awkward silence passed between us.  “I don’t know what I’m going to tell her,” Mom continued.  “She’s going to be so disappointed in you.”  Another, Humpf, and I knew this to be only the beginning—more would discharge from of her mouth like a pitcher pouring water.  “Fine!  If you can live with this regret for the rest of your life, okay, but don’t come crying to me.”

Bingo! I huffed out more air.  But could she be right?  When I moved away from New York, Nicky Soranno’s only interested had been in building his empire.  I guess I never figured another woman would take center stage.  Tears welled in my eyes.  I felt like the target while Albe and mom took turns with their arrows flying through the air from his intense stare and my mother’s spoon-fed guilt.  I didn’t stand a chance.

“Look, I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.   I said I’d come for the weekend.  If I need more weekends, I’m ready to invest the time.  I think it’s unfair for you to say these things to me when you know I care about all of you.  I’ve been awfully busy.”  This wasn’t actually true—the busy part.  I needed a break from the Cupid Monger Mothers.  Their constant push made me look desperate for a man and I resented it.  My pleas fell on deaf ears, so I took a sabbitical.

“Too busy for your family, huh?”  Another humpf jetted through the phone, this time with more emphasis.  “I guess Aunt Nan and I thought you loved Nicky.” 

Italian mothers are pro’s when they launch into the guilt tactics.  In the past I’d been willing to bet if the two mothers had entered a contest to determine the leader of the pack, my mother would beat out the competition.  No doubt Nicky’s mother, whom I called Aunt Nan because of our long family history, would run a very close second, but I don’t think anyone could top my mother, Josie Licari.  This is a woman who knows how to push all the right buttons until she gets what she wants.

“Listen, Mom, I’m upset about Nicky getting married, too.  I don’t need you to make me feel worse than I already do.  Has it occurred to either of you, he may not want to be bailed out?”    I couldn’t believe I’d said those words supporting Nick’s decision.  Just saying them made me shudder. 

“But you love him, Ellana.  I see it every time you look at Nicky.”

“Yeah, Ma . . . like a brother.”

“No, no.  You’ll never convince me.  You think I can’t figure out when my youngest, unmarried daughter is in love?”

And there you have it—her youngest, unmarried daughter.

  The sound of Albe’s orthopedic clad feet pounding against the tiled floor in my direction competed against the clinking of dishes from the dishwasher a few feet away. 

“Bye, Mom.”

“Wait . . . wait,” I could hear her saying as Albe lurched forward and yanked the phone from my hand, and spoke into the mouthpiece. 

“Don’t you get it, Mom,” his voice echoed throughout the room, “she’s working.”  He snapped the phone shut in one swift movement.  By now, everyone is the kitchen had stopped what they were doing and stared.

My nostrils flared from anger.  Sure, my mother upset me, but no one speaks to her in a demeaning tone.  The three waiters, who’d been setting up for tonight’s opening, continued to watch, horrified expressions on their faces.  I felt the heat of blood rush through my veins like a pot of boiling water on the stove. 

“Excuse me,” I said, as I yanked my cell phone from his hand.  “Who the hell did you think you were talking to using such a tone?”

“Too bad, baby girl,” Albe shot back, “but when you’re talking on my dime, I don’t care who it is.  Now get to work.  I don’t pay you to talk on the phone when you’re supposed to be working.  I pay you to take care of the customers.” 

“Fine,” I bellowed, my voice bouncing off the overhead pots hanging from the stainless steel rack, “because you won’t have to worry about it anymore, Albeeeeee . . . I quit.”  

As I turned on my heels and headed for the door, the three waiters stood on the sidelines and gave me the thumbs up.  I acknowledged them before I shoved the door open and inhaled the aroma of greasy fries one last time.  I unlocked my car, and quickly slid across the seat.  I tromped my foot on the accelerator and peeled out of the parking lot.  A smug satisfaction cursed through my body, until I remembered I didn’t have a job.  My act of defiance had done more than leave me unemployed.  It had forced me down the road of chance and back to where I’d started—New York.  There’d be no question Sara wouldn’t allow me to live in the apartment for free.  Given the current state of things with Nicky, maybe this had been Mother Fate’s way of telling me to head back home to the Big Apple.

I pointed Old Stella, my 1999 VW bug, in the direction of the apartment to get my belongings.  Sara and I lived in a duplex in Hawthorne, New Jersey, right behind the train station.  Sara, a beautiful exotic-looking Armenian woman with dark hair down to her backside, held a job as a pole dancer at some smutty club by day.  Her nighttime activities included a party girl by night in the apartment.  So not only did the loud music she played while she partied until the wee hours of the morning keep me awake, but the train operator, who’d become a huge fan of hers at the club, honked his horn every time he passed by. 

For obvious reasons, Sara’s boss didn’t allow phone calls during business hours, which meant leaving her a note on the kitchen table.  I doubted she’d even notice I’d left except when it came time for the rent.  Regardless, I felt leaving my share of rent on the table to give her time to fill the vacancy the appropriate thing to do. 

* * *

            I shoved clothes from my closet into ‘Old Stella’s’ trunk, and plopped my suitcase on the passengers seat.  Relief coursed through me as I headed toward the GW Bridge to figure out my plan of action to convince my Nicky we were meant for each other.   I punched the pedal to the metal.  Unfortunately, old Stella ignored my attempts to push her and chugged along as fast as she could go. 

A Janet Jackson song played.  I didn’t feel much like singing, but I forced myself to sing to take my mind off the fact I had no air conditioning, until the musical ringtone from my cell phone collided with my voice.  I checked in the rear view mirror or police cars before answering since New Jersey has a hands free law.  With the coast clear, I answered.

            “Where does your boss get off?”  I could almost feel the heat from my mother’s fiery breath coming through the phone.  “I hope you stood up for me.”

            “Of course, I did.  I quit the job, Mom.”

“Oh, honey, thank you.  What wonderful news,” her voice softened.

“So, I’m on my way home.”  I wiped the sweat dripping down the side of my face with my shoulder.”

“To your apartment?”

“No, Mom.  New York.”

“Oh, Ellana,” she squealed, bringing a smile to my face. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

“I’m sure.”  My mind had been working overtime trying to digest everything.  “You know, Mom, I’m really upset with you about all those nasty things you said earlier about me not caring about my family.  I can’t believe you would say such hurtful things.”  I couldn’t resist giving her a dose of her own medicine.

“You’re right, Ellana.  I’m sorry.”

An apology from my mother’s mouth?  Definitely a first for Josie Licari—and I’m sure, a last.  But it did make me feel better. “I’m really disappointed Nicky didn’t call to tell me himself.”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings?”

“Why would your comment hurt my feelings?”

“Because he knows you love him?”

“Ma, you keep saying the same thing over and over.  I told you before—like a brother.”  I lied and looked skyward picturing God with a piece of chalk in his hand keeping tally of all the lies I’d told today and in the end I’d be taking the fast track straight to hell. 

“I think it’s a little more than like, Ellana.”  She cleared her throat.  “So what time will you be here?”

“Uh,” I said looking at the cluster of traffic beginning to back up, “under normal circumstances, it should take at least another hour, but as usual, it’s close to cramping my style with a bumper-to-bumper tie-up of cars.  I’ll call you if it looks like I’ll be later.”

“Okay, sweetie.  I’ll have your dinner in the oven.  Dad is going to be so thrilled to have his little girl home again, and I can’t wait to tell Aunt Nan the demolition derby is on its way.  Too bad for the little Irish girl, she has no idea who she’s dealing with when it comes to the Licari and Soranno clan members—Maureen what’s-her-name is history.”

I liked the sounds of her biting the dust, but figured I’d play the coy card.  “Ma, you’re putting an awful lot of pressure on me.  I hope I can help out.”

 “Thank you for being such a wonderful daughter.” 

The compliments were flying out her mouth today, and her reference to me being wonderful had more to do with getting what she wanted, than anything else.  She hadn’t sung this tune when I left New York twelve months ago and moved away.  I shook my head, convinced I’d never understand her.  For the moment though, knowing I pleased the one person who almost always aggravated me the most, gave me a feeling of accomplishment. 

I wish I knew why Mom’s approval meant so much to me.  One would think I’d moved on from the adolescent stage of her parental control.  Of course, being single at the age of twenty-six in an Italian family had a monumental affect on the way you were treated.  The old school mentality of mom’s generation had the stigma as somehow being the parents’ fault, and consequently viewed, as you’d never get married without help.  From their perspective this came under the title of saving face.  Now, add insult to injury by having a sister as in my case with five kids, made it next to impossible for any relief.

Granted, I should have been used to her manipulation by now, but the woman had this skill down to a science.  Problem is, her cleverness had such skill you never saw it coming until it was too late.   

So, here’s the thing about our two mothers, Nicky’s, and mine.  Mom tells me I fell in love with Nicky the first time we cooed together, side by side on the blanket when our tiny fingers latched onto each other, but wouldn’t let go.  This is when the push to see us married began.  

And speaking of my mother, she’s a petite Italian woman, four feet-ten inches to be exact, a powerhouse of energy and the mother of two.  Born during mom’s early years of menopause, as in “guess what? I’m pregnant,” she tells me she couldn’t have been happier about the surprise.  I suppose she tells me this so I won’t feel unwanted.  Anyway, I know my mother wants only the best for me, and so does Aunt Nan, but their aggressive hounding about getting Nicky and me hitched makes me look desperate, and therein lies the reason I try to keep my feelings low key.  Although, it appears I may not have succeeded.

The traffic slowed down to a crawl and old Stella pinged.  I prayed I’d reach my final destination before she gave up.   As expected, traffic came to a screeching halt.  A red Chevy convertible with the top down pulled up next to me.  Two young high school aged boys sat in the back seat drumming their hands on the doors to the beat of the music blasting from their radio.  The one guy looked over at me and turned to kneel backward as they moved up a car length and blew kisses in the air to me.  The thing is, I don’t look my age.  I suppose it’ll be a good thing when I’m older, but at the moment, not the desired effect I wanted.

I groaned and ignored his attempts to coax me into a conversation by focusing on my own thoughts until a chorus of horns from idiot drivers distracted me with their impatience.  Stuck in the center lane, I edged my way in between two cars and prayed the angry drivers would let me through.  They ultimately did move over, but not without flashing me the bird.  I don’t know what it is about New York and New Jersey drivers, but flashing someone the bird had become as symbolic as raising the flag. 

I exited the highway without knowing where the exit would lead.  No big surprise there. I totally lacked in navigational skills too.  For years, Dad’s been threatening to have a tracking device inserted under my skin, just like they do for dogs. 

The street’s peacefulness gave me time to think about current events and what I could do to dissuade Nicky from marrying the red head.  On the one hand, I felt a sense of relief knowing I’d left a roommate who’d partied all the time, and quit the job I actually hated, but not without wondering f I’d live to regret my decision.  I mean, maybe I moved too quickly. 

Hadn’t I already paid a high price for my independence?  The constant digs flying through the phone, and the acceleration of interference to see Nicky and me married.  Would moving back home send mom a signal I’d be willing to give it up?  Right then and there, I made vowed not to allow the Cupid Mongers’ the privilege of taking control.  Yeah right.  Good luck with that.

I had a knot in my throat the size of an orange at the thought, but my mind drifted to Nicky and me as kids, and the Cupid Mongers brainwashing techniques.  It gave me a warm fuzzy and made me smile. 

The image of Mom using Bobbi pins to attach a sheer white curtain to my head as a bridal veil with its long train, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.  Those two goofy mothers had decided right from the beginning they weren’t going to risk this event from happening.  I could almost smell the tiny bouquet of wild flowers Mom would shove in my hand every afternoon, it’s unpleasant odor reminding me of a fat man’s sweaty armpit.  As Nicky and I walked down the path towards Aunt Nan, posed as the priest, Mom would hum the wedding march until we were pronounced husband and wife.

 At the time, Nicky and I liked the cool game but that was only because we weren’t aware of their devious ways yet.  Nicky just groans about it now, and me, well, I’m holding on to the dream with all my might.  The thought of being Mrs. Nicholas Soranno has always given me comfort, but it’s never going to happen unless I’m able to change my status as his surrogate sister.  The statement hovered overhead in my mind for a moment.  Why do I want more from him?  He doesn’t treat me very nice—more like a sister to be honest.  So why do I love him so much?  It’s the way he whispers those sweet nothings in my ear when he hugs me that sets my insides ablaze and makes me think the mothers’ are right about him not knowing his own mind.  The guy needs a little help finding his way, and I’m just the woman to do it.

And if it doesn’t happen?  The mothers will be so heart-broken.  This is all they’ve spoken about since we were toddlers and want this more than anything.  To see the two of us as a couple is the epitome of their dreams.  Our family values are the same, our mothers are best friends, we’re both Italian, and we’d have beautiful babies.  What more could anyone ask?

A heavy feeling tensed inside me knowing what the Cupid Mongers expected from me when I returned, and what I wanted.

My daydreaming ceased when I realized none of the surroundings looked familiar.  I pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out a map.  I have no idea why.  I can’t read a map.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  I can read it—I just can’t follow it, so I did the next best thing.  I dialed my best friend, Amy.  She’d long since held the title as Navigational Queen in my book so I felt confident she’d get me back on track.  I was hoping she wasn’t working today at the not so classy restaurant in mid-town.  Her boss had to be Albe’s brother because he was just as rude and hardnosed as my previous employer.

“Hey, Amy, do you have a few minutes?”

“I do.  Where are you?  Lost?

 “How’d you guess?”

“Because you’re always lost.”

I laughed.  “I guess I’m too predictable?”

“I’m afraid so.”

A warm breeze rushed through my opened windows and brought with it the sweet smell of roses from the yard across the street.  The front yards in this neighborhood were beautifully landscaped with bright red, yellow, and pink colored flowerbeds and shrubs.

“Okay, so where are you?”

“In a beautiful residential neighborhood.  I just got off the highway.”

“Heading where?” Amy said, a hint of frustration in her voice.

“Oh, you mean what exit?”

“Right.  And, which direction?”

“Home.”

“Ellana, I don’t know the streets in New Jersey.  I’m a New York kinda gal.”

A huge dog rushed to the side of my car and barked like I was his next meal ticket.

“Ooh, hold on a minute Amy, man’s best friend doesn’t like me very much.”  I shifted the car into gear and drove down the road out of his vision.

“So, what’s up, Ellana?  You sound anxious.”

“Nicky’s getting married,” rolled off my tongue in one fell swoop.

“What?  You can’t be serious.”

“Actually, I am.  I think the word is devastated to tell you the truth.”

“See, I told you not to move to god-forsaken Jersey.”

“Gee, Amy, I honestly don’t know how I’d react if you’d actually supported my decisions,” sarcasm dripped off my tongue.  I could always count on Amy to shoot from the hip.

“So, who’s the lucky woman?” she asked, her voice fading into a gasp.  “No, wait, don’t tell me.  It’s that gorgeous red head, isn’t it?”

“Why?  Did you see them together?”

“At the International Food Show in New York.  The one you missed because you were moving to Jersey.  See, you could have stopped it then.”

“Have you been hanging out with my mother?”

“No,” she chuckled.  “So, what are you going to do about it?” she inquired.

“Well, let’s see.  I just quit my job, I left a note for the party girl at the apartment explaining my departure, and I’m headed home to New York.”

Amy snorted.  “You’re something.  So where are you going to live?”

“Mom and Dad’s . . . but that’s just until I find a place.  Of course, I need a job first, but I’m pretty sure Nicky will hire me.  I mean, he’s asked me to work for him before, so why wouldn’t he now?”

“Right.  That’s gives you firsthand access to him and the bimbo, but you’re not going to blatantly break them up the same way the mothers would do it, are you?”

“No.  Besides that wouldn’t work.  I just want to be around him as much as I can until he realizes he can’t live without me. That’s all.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re going to throw on the charm.” Amy snickered

“Yep, that’s part of the plan.”

“What’s the other part of the plan?” I could hear her taping something on a hard surface.

“To knock his socks off when he learns I’m a graduate of culinary school.”

“Oh my God, you did it,” Amy’s enthusiastic voice boomed through the phone.  You’ll make an excellent chef.”  I heard a phone ring in the background.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the store paying my cell phone bill before they disconnect me.  So, hey, you’re not really moving back in with your parents, are you?”

“Well, I don’t have a choice at the moment.”

“Move in with me.”

“The last time I checked, three constitutes a crowd.” I was referring to her live-in Latino boyfriend.  I checked the time when I noticed the last rays of sunlight fading between the branches of the trees. It was close to seven o’clock.  The katydids were singing in concert with one another, and the fact no one had driven down the road since I’d pulled off to the side, gave me pause.  I quickly rolled up my windows, locked the doors and continued at a slow pace.

“No.  Gio moved out.  He met some sexy chick at the show and they’ve been making beautiful music ever since.”

“And, you’re just telling me this now?”

“There never was anything to tell.  It hadn’t reached the till death do us part stage.”

“You’re so fickle.”  I checked the time again and pictured Mom taping her foot.  “Okay, doll, I’d better hang up.”  We ended our call and I continued down the road suddenly realizing she’d never given me directions.   I redialed and my phone rang before I finished.

“So, dingy, do you want those directions, or not?”  

“Yeah.  I realized it the minute we disconnected.”  I looked at a street sign.  “Okay, I’m on Valley Road.”

“Oh, that’s easy.  When you come to the stop sign, make a left and you’ll see the sign for the highway.”

“But I don’t want to get in the middle of all that traffic again.  Isn’t there another way to go?”

“Sure, there are lots of ways to get to your parents’ place, but you’ll be calling me all night.  This is the most direct route to the GW Bridge, so long as you make sure you’re going east.”

  “Yeah, yeah.  Okay,” I sighed.  “And hey, if you were really serious about me moving in with you, I’ll take you up on the offer . . . after I give my parents a little time.  I’m pretty sure Nicky will give me a job, so that shouldn’t be a problem.   What would my share of the rent be?”

She chuckled, and my stomach tightened, afraid of her answer.  I braced myself.

“Twelve hundred a month.  That’ll include utilities.”

“Alrighty then.”  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow, especially now that I was unemployed, twelve hundred bucks sounded like twelve million.  “If you can hang on for a little while, that is if you can without renting it to someone else, as soon as I have a paycheck, I’ll give you a call.  Hopefully, I’ll be making mucho dinaro.”

“Okay.  Hey, I meant to ask you.  Where did you enroll in culinary school?”

“Bergen County Community College.”

“You’re going to commute back and forth?”

“No.  Given the current state of affairs I have to choose some place in New York.  But a school in the city is going to cost a lot more than in New Jersey.  I don’t know.  I guess I have to figure out one thing at a time.”

“Well, I hope you don’t put it on the backburner indefinitely.”  She huffed out air.  “You know how consumed you become with the drama in New York.”

* * *

I mounted the stairs to my parents’ apartment on 12^th Street, a short distance from the James Beard House.  It felt great being back in New York, but knowing where I’d be living gave me pangs of uncertainty. This had crazy written all over it? 

The stairs in this pre-war building creaked with every step I took.  The familiar reminded me of walking into an antique shop, filled my nostrils and hovered overhead like a cloud ready to burst.  I rushed, taking the steps two at a time to the third floor where my parents’ lived.  Oil, garlic and basil effused and wafted up my nose causing my stomach to growl—a reminder I hadn’t eaten lunch.

I reached my hand out to ring the buzzer when I heard Aunt Nan’s loud voice.  Curious about their conversation, mainly because I didn’t trust either of them, I hurriedly rushed to hide behind a wall which jutted out by Mrs. Weinstein’s apartment, and one I’d used many times to hide from mom.  I’d already had enough of one mother hounding me tonight.  I didn’t need a second. 

“Do you think Ellana bought it, Josie?”  Aunt Nan asked.

“She’s coming home, isn’t she?”