“I nominated her, too,” Marcos said. “There is no other woman who would be a better bride.”
My mother hired Marcos when he was eighteen years old. She was thirty at the time. By then, he’d had a tough life. He had been in and out of foster care. He’d been homeless as a teen. She’d literally found him leaning against the back of the bar in the middle of winter, starving. She hired him. Now he had a home on two acres, a lovely wife, and five kids.
“Your mom would be perfect, but that Ruthie Deschutes O’Hara, she is my favorite reality show person ever,” Camellia said. “She made me laugh so hard I had to dart myself to the bathroom. She’s bold. She’s a rebel. She’s been through the wringer in life, but she still dares to live with gusto! Gusto! I want to be her. I’m so glad she found her man. He was steamysexy! Good to know there are older men out there who can still make my heart pound and my nether regions feel alive.”
We talked about Tony Beckett’s sexiness.Marry Mewith Ruthie Deschutes had been one of my favorite shows ever. My mom and I would watch while we were on the phone together. But I knew if my mom was onMarry Me, she would be just as much of a hit as Ruthie. She would blow that dating show’s ratings sky-high.
Next, we got the bar decorated for Christmas. We strung white lights through the open wood rafters, wound other strings across the bar, and threaded still more strings through the backs of booths and around the windows. It positively sparkled in there. We brought out the eight-foot-tall plastic Santa my mom bought decades ago. Santa holds a beer and looks a little drunk. She thought it was fitting.
We soon had three Christmas trees with ornaments and lights lighting up dark corners. One had liquor bottle ornaments, one had various wineglasses and beer steins, and one white tree was decorated all in pink, my mother’s favorite color—because when I was a little girl, my favorite color was pink. She told me, “There’s your tree, Bellini!” and I remember looking at all the pink and white lights on the tree filled with pink and white ornaments and holding my mom’s hand in absolute wonder.
I had no idea that growing up in a bar and being able to name and make dozens of different alcoholic drinks was not something that most children did. I felt like I was making magical potions.
14
Bellini and Maisie
To: Bellini O’Donnell
From: Maisie Brown
Subject: Roxy Belle is giving me gas
Hello Bellini,
Haven’t heard from you. Looking forward to knowing that you’re on your way with Roxy Belle. Portia, your fire-breathing editor, called me and breathed down my neck and kicked at my knees.Christmas With Roxy Belleis selling as if Santa was bribed to put it on his bestseller list, andRoxy Belle Is Thankful onThanksgivingis still flying off the shelves like turkeys running from a hatchet.
You know we like to keep that momentum flying, so she wanted assurances that your next Roxy Belle will be done at the end of December. I know you said January, but December is best.
I will buy you candy canes if the answer is yes.
Yours favorite agent,
Maisie
To: Maisie Brown
From: Bellini O’Donnell
Subject: Roxy Belle and her reindeer
Maisie,
Greetings!
I’m writing away in my head, with jingle bells ringing,
Bellini
To: Bellini O’Donnell
From: Maisie Brown
Subject: Lies. And it’s the Christmas season, too!
You’re still not on track at all, are you?
No book. No story. You’re home running a bar and a Christmas show, and your mom needs help, and you’re with her six sisters and all your cousins and your friends from elementary school, and you’re singing Christmas carols, and you’ve written nothing, right? Not one word.
