On his deathbed, my father had squeezed my hand and whispered,“I want you to know I’ve always been proud to have you as my son.”
I shook away the memories.
“Thanks, Mom. But I’m not looking for a boyfriend. Like I said, I’m going to enjoy being single and see what happens.” I took her plate and mine to the sink to clean up.
When my mother finished her coffee and prepared to go upstairs, she gave me a fierce hug. “Don’t ever settle for someone who doesn’t see you as good enough and an equal partner.”
“Yes, Mom.” I rolled my eyes behind her back.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” she said as she walked out the door.
I shook my head and laughed.
The rest of the day I worked on an article about the emergence of restaurants growing their own vegetables and having living herb gardens inside. In my travels, I’d been to a restaurant in Montreal where a wall was dedicated to a multitude of herbs and the chef would simply snip off what was needed for the dishes. I wanted Mike to follow suit and put Mangia in the forefront of innovative restaurants that concentrated on fresh, local ingredients. He didn’t need one hundred different entrées on the menu. Quality, not quantity, would attract and keep customers. I intended to bring that up with him when I saw him later.
* * *
At four, I showed up to Mangia. My five-year-old niece, Tina, raced across the restaurant to fling herself at me, and I kneeled to grab her as she tumbled into my arms.
“Uncle Torreeeee,” she squealed, and I picked her up and spun her around.
“Hey, pumpkin.” I kissed her dark curls. “No screaming at your uncle. Save that for your daddy. Where is he, by the way?”
“In the kitchen, swearing.” Val flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder as she approached me, dark eyes sparkling. Mike and Val had known each other since high school, and he knew he wanted to marry her since their first date.
“Hi, gorgeous.” I kissed her cheek. “How’re you feeling?”
Val was in the early months of her pregnancy. She and Mike had been trying for several years for another child, and I knew they were deliriously happy about the coming baby.
“I’m great. That’s what I keep telling your brother. I can go visit someone who has a little cold and bring them soup even if I’m two months pregnant. I’m not a hothouse flower.”
“I’ll set him straight.”
A heavy arm draped over my shoulder. “My gay brother’s gonna set me straight about my pregnant wife? That’s a good one.”
I elbowed him in the ribs, and we hugged. “Let your wife do what she wants. She’s the smartest woman I know, even if she did fall for you.”
“Really, Torre. It was the only way I could legally become part of your family and close to you.” She winked. “See ya.” Holding Tina’s hand, she disappeared into the kitchen.
“She should’ve been a comedienne instead of owning a restaurant.”
“Well, she did marry you.” I smacked him on the shoulder.
“Okay, funny man. Let’s go over the main courses. You want a glass of red?”
“Yeah, sure.”
We sat at the bar, and I picked up the menu. Mike had different house specials every night, depending on what he found fresh. Tonight it was grilled branzino, butternut-squash ravioli with lobster sauce, and balsamic chicken stuffed with mozzarella and spinach.
“These look delicious.”
“Yeah. I grew the squash and spinach in the back, and the cheese is homemade.” He puffed out his chest with pride.
“Love it.” I scanned the menu. “When you print this again, can I suggest you play up the seasonal aspect of the vegetables and how you grow them yourself?Homemadeisn’t enough anymore. People are more attuned to where their food comes from.”
“Oooh, okay. Thanks. I’ll do that for tomorrow.”
“Great.” I sipped my glass of rich Chianti. “When I serve, I’ll make sure to mention it to the customers. Do you have reservations for tonight?”
