| |
Marco shut the door behind his mother-in-law.
“Dad! Grandma gave you a kiss!” Renzo said.
Marco smiled. “Yeah, she sure did.”
“I told you she likes you,” Renzo said, giggling.
Kate laughed at her son who was leaning on his crutches. He really did need a haircut. She pushed his curly brown hair away from his eyes.
Marco roughly rubbed Louise’s kiss off his cheek. “Felt like a cold fish.”
Kate shook her head at him while Renzo belted out his loudest musical laugh, one of Kate’s favorite sounds.
“Alright. Go wash up. It’s suppertime.” She pointed at Renzo. “And don’t argue. Wash ‘em. And put on a warmer shirt. It’s still freezing out.”
“Fine.”
Marco rolled his eyes at Kate as he held the door for Renzo to hobble through.
“I’ll get him movin’. Be right down.”
While she waited, Kate began plating their food. She looked up when she heard her son struggling back into the kitchen.
“All washed up,” said Renzo. “And—a warm shirt.”
She bit her lip as he banged his crutches into the cabinets and dragged his cast along her already heavily damaged wood floor.
“Come on, Renzo. Can you please try to be more careful?”
“Sorry, mom. Can’t help it!”
She held her tongue and shook her head. The kid was oblivious, but what did she expect? She walked to the stove and lowered her head, breathing in the scents coming from the contents of the simmering pot she’d started earlier.
“Your gravy smells delicious, Mother.”
“Okay. That’s enough schmoozing. And it’s sauce, not gravy.”
“Grandma De Luca calls it gravy.”
Kate frowned. “Don’t start. Sit. Please.”
Marco came into the kitchen and clapped his hands. “Let’s eat!”
Kate delivered plates of spaghetti and Marco brought salad and buttered bread to the table. They held hands and said a quick prayer before passing the bread.
“So,” Kate said, trying to sound casual, “what’s the pay? Did they tell you?”
Marco frowned. “Yeah. Nineteen bucks an hour. Should be forty hours a week. I was hoping for more. I mean, I’m worth more.”
Kate’s heart sank, but she smiled and reached over to touch his arm. “You are worth more, but for now, we’ll take it. You’ll get more down the road. We have to be patient.”
Marco sucked in a deep breath and smiled. “You’re right. Thanks.” He let out a chuckle. “Whoo! What a relief.”
“And ... benefits?” She concentrated on twisting some pasta around her fork. “Did they say?”
He nodded. “Yeah. They’re sending me some stuff on that. Don’t get your hopes up, though. I don’t think it’ll be much.”
Kate turned to her salad.
“Nice work, Dad,” Renzo said, with a mouthful of spaghetti.
Marco smiled. “Thanks, dude. How’s that ankle feelin’ today?”
Renzo shrugged. “Pretty good.”
“Good. Oh, I almost forgot,” Marco said, wiping his mouth. He raised his brows and smiled at Kate. “My mom called.”
Renzo giggled as Kate stopped chewing and frowned. “Uh-oh. I’m not sure I can handle both of our mothers on the same day. Was it the usual conversation?”
“Yep.”
Marco raised his voice and started his perfect impersonation of his mother, Italian accent and all. He pinched his thumb and forefinger together and jerked them toward Kate. “When-a you comin-a visit? I wanna’ see my grandson.”
Kate tilted her head. “Let me guess. She wants to see me, too. She misses me terribly.”
Marco choked on his wine. “Yeah, right. It was more of the usual, ‘I can’t believe it’s been two years since you-visit. I can’t believe you-been away ten years.’”
Kate laughed and continued Marco’s quoting of his mother, using the same hand-waving gestures. “I can’t believe you left New York for that girl.”
Marco high-fived her, his eyes sparkling. “Very good impression.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you. I’m here all week.”
Renzo yanked off a bite of bread. “She likes you, Mama. She just doesn’t like your gravy.” Renzo’s eyes sparkled as he giggled at his joke.
Kate put down her fork and leaned forward. “First of all, it’s called sauce. Spaghetti sauce. Not gravy.”
Marco raised his eyebrows. “It’s gravy at my ma’s house.”
“Well, here, in St. Paul, in our house, it’s called sauce. And I make a fine spaghetti sauce.”
“Alright Renzo. Let’s leave Mom alone.”
Marco turned to her, taking hold of her hand, which now held a forkful of wound-up spaghetti. He jerked her hand toward his. “I love your sauce.”
She frowned. “Good. Now, can we just eat?”
“You alright?”
Kate paused before clanking her fork onto the plate. “I’m sorry, Marco, but nineteen bucks an hour? Seriously? How are we gonna’ manage with that? Huh? Why did you take it without waiting for the other job? That could have been more money.”
“Jesus. What’s with you?” He threw down his napkin and pushed his chair back. “And while we’re at it—what about your job? Huh? Zero commissions in—what? Three weeks? Maybe you’re the one who should assess her job and income.”
Renzo put his fork down and set his hands in his lap.
Kate’s mouth fell open. “I...” Tears welled in her eyes.
Marco touched her arm. “Kate. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m happy about your job. I am.”
They finished their meal in silence, Renzo stealing looks at each of them as he spun his pasta around his fork.
Kate sat back and took a sip of wine. “Maybe we could take Renzo to see your mom after we get caught up on some bills. He should see her. We’d have to pay down one of the cards before we could even think about it. Plus the doctor bills ... ” She shook her head and kept eating.
Marco stared at her. “You’ve made your point, Kate. Money’s tight, I know. It sucks. But, with this new job, things should loosen up—at least a little.”
Kate shrugged. “I’m sure it will. Time will tell.”
Marco stood and brought his plate to the sink.
“Okay,” Renzo said, waving his fork with a meatball stuck to it. “Let’s all try to get along. Money’s not everything.”
Marco turned to him from the sink, and Kate paused from taking another sip of wine. They both laughed as Marco tossed a dish towel at his head.
“Hey! My meatball!”
Kate rubbed Renzo’s head and smiled. “It’s movie night,” she said. “Let’s finish the dishes so we can relax.”
