Kenny picked up a toothpick and speared a green olive and a cube of cheese. He’d never eaten olives and wanted to know if he would like them. He popped them into his mouth, slowly chewing the salty olive and hard cheese that was so different from the sharp cheddar cheese his mother used to make baked macaroni and cheese.
“Do you like it?” Frankie asked, as he picked up a small piece of marinated artichoke.
“I do. This is my first time eating olives.”
Frankie smiled. “Hang out with me and my family, and after a while you’ll become an unofficial Italian.”
“What do you call this?” Kenny questioned, pointing to the plate with some food that was unfamiliar to him.
“Antipasto salad. We usually serve it before the main meal. It’s made with chunks of Italian cold cuts, provolone cheese, green olives, pickled giardiniera, which are vegetables and pepperoncini.”
“It’s delicious,” Kenny said, filling a small plate.
“I agree,” Ray said, after he’d swallowed a mouthful of the salad. “What else are we eating for dinner?”
Frankie smiled. “Of course, there’s going to be pasta with gravy and meatballs.”
A slight frown appeared between Kenny’s eyes. “You put gravy on pasta? Why not tomato sauce?”
Frankie’s smile grew wider. “Italians call sauce gravy. Nonna starts making her sauce on Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday, she has enough for dinner and leftovers for the rest of the week.”
“You have pasta every night?” Kenny had asked Frankie yet another question.
“Yes. It’s like a side dish, like rice or potatoes.”
“Your grandmother is like mine,” Ray said. “She does most of the cooking for my family, because my mother works. I love her rice and beans, and my favorite ispernil, which isPuerto Rican roast pork shoulder. But the best part is the crispy skin we callchicharrón.Whenever she makes it, the whole apartment smells like pork for days.”
“When are you going to invite us to your house?” Frankie asked, laughing.
“I’ll have to ask Mami and Papi if I can invite my friends over during the summer. She has two weeks’ vacation, and she always takes one week in the summer and the other in December.”
“Kenny doesn’t have to ask his mom, because whenever we come over to study, she always feeds us,” Frankie said. “Your mother makes the best fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and cornbread I’ve ever had.”
Kenny nodded, smiling. Justine Russell told him she didn’t want his friends to go back and tell their parents that she wasn’t hospitable enough to feed their children after they had spent hours in her home.
He’d always told her in advance that they were coming over, so she would cook enough for everyone.
“Don’t forget her peach cobbler and sweet potato pies,” Ray added.
“You’re right, Ray,” Frankie said. “You guys will get to taste my Nonna’s cooking, and the only one left is Ray’s grandmother’s.”
“Abuelaloves to cook, so I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having two more kids around the table.”
Kenny stared at Ray. “Are you certain? After all, your folks have six kids.”
“Two more is not a big deal. Frankie’s grandmother makes a big pot of sauce, and myabuelamakes rice in a largecalderothat will last for days. Rice, beans, plantains, and some meat is all you need to feel full.”
Kenny pointed to Ray. “Your house is next.” He turned to look at Frankie. “I meant to ask you if your grandfather is still alive.”
Frankie drained his glass of lemonade. “No. The mean,old sonofabitch died seven years ago. No one, and I repeat, no one cried at his funeral. Not even Nonna. My mother refused to come here when he was alive. She allowed my father to bring us for family gatherings because she wanted her children to know the other side of their family.”
Ray slowly blinked. “He was that bad?”
“May God forgive me, but I hated him,” Frankie said, as he made the sign of the cross over his chest. “He was known as Sal theSerpente, because he was like a snake who would strike without warning. I don’t know why he was so mean, especially to his four daughters. Poppa told me his father changed when his oldest daughter died from diphtheria. Then he began to beat the others because he claimed he didn’t want them to grow up to becomeputtaneor whores. What he did was drive them away. One joined a convent to become a nun; another got hooked on drugs and eventually overdosed. The police found her decomposing body in an abandoned building in West Harlem.”
Kenny gasped. “Oh, how horrible!”
“Her death really hit Nonno hard, and my father said he wouldn’t let anyone say her name in his presence. The youngest girl met a boy on Mulberry Street during the Feast of San Gennaro, and when my grandfather discovered they were meeting in secret, he threatened the boy. He didn’t know the boy was the nephew and godson of an underboss in the Lucchese family.”
