Frankie: You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Not a bad thing at all, Frankie, but who spoils you? Who makes sure you’re taken care of?
4
Frankie
I mentally talliedthe lost money when I heard dishes shattering in the kitchen. After months of relentless begging for me to give him a job, my youngest brother, Matteo, had gone over my head and convinced Mama he was responsible enough to work for the family business. And being the baby of the family, she’d caved. In the three weeks since he’d started, I swore I could see the stacks of white stoneware shrinking. The whole reason I hadn’t been willing to put him on the serving floor was that he’s a klutz. Seriously, the boy could trip over air. But, as per usual, whatever Mama said was the final decision, despite the fact Papa had handed control of Marino’s over to me as a graduation gift. Telling him I hadn’t busted my ass for four years so I could go home smelling like garlic and oregano for the rest of my life didn’t piss him off. No, I could’ve dealt with that reaction from him, but I couldn’t stand the slump of his shoulders or the way he clenched his chest.
“I understand, Francesco,” he’d responded. Although he wouldn’t meet my eyes, I could imagine his were brimming with unshed tears. “You always were our most driven child. Strong. Responsible. I guess…”
Papa sighed heavily, sniffling a few times. I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say before he’d stopped himself, but I couldn’t silence the words before they were out of my mouth. “You guessed what, Papa?”
Papa led me to the edge of the room, away from the rest of the family. I resented the fact that my graduation party was being held in the banquet hall above Marino’s so Mama and Papa would be on-hand in case of any mishaps during the Saturday dinner rush. That was why I didn’t want any part of the family business; few of my childhood memories were free of Marino’s interference. I resented the Italian restaurant that’d been my family’s life for two—soon to be three, apparently—generations.
“Out of my five sons, you are the only one who’s man enough to keep our legacy alive.” I bristled at his logic. While I had no doubt he loved us, his approval was based on little more than superficial traits. In his mind, I was the strongest leader because I’d been one of the assistant captains of my lacrosse team. I was the smartest because I earned my college degree in less than four years because I’d taken transfer credits during high school. I was driven because I didn’t back down once I set my mind to something. Never mind that Freddie loved cooking and actually dreamed of running the restaurant after college. No one knew that my entire life was a steaming heap of shit-filled lies. If Papa knew, he’d hand over his baby to anyone but me.
I reached around to massage the knots out of my neck, pushing memories of how I’d wound up chained to this desk out of my mind. It was futile; nothing would ease my stress as long as I was stuck here. What I needed was for business to die down so I could change into the clothes I’d shoved into a duffel bag this morning and forget the demands and expectations everyone had for me.
Crash!I’d lost count of how many trays Matteo had dropped tonight, but that was the last one. I shoved back from the desk and stormed down the hall to the kitchen. “God dammit, Teo! If you keep that shit up, you’re going to drive all our customers away!”
“Language, Francesco,” Mama scolded. She was crouched in front of my brother’s mess while he called out the dishes he’d ruined for this party. I cuffed the back of his head before lifting Mama off the ground. Of course, she went right back to cleaning up the broken plates and splattered food as soon as I released her. “Stop, Francesco. I’ve got this.”
“It’s not your mess to clean, Mama,” I argued, shooting a glare in Teo’s direction. “If he can’t handle a simple four-top, maybe this isn’t the job for him.”
“You were no better when you first started,” she reminded me. “All of you boys seem to forget you didn’t walk into this kitchen and instantly know how to do your job.”
“I didn’t drop entire trays of food,” I countered, kneeling to help Mama wipe sauce from the grout between the tiles. In a lot of kitchens, they’d run the mop over the floor and call it good, but not Marino’s. Mama busied herself throughout the rush making sure the kitchen was pristine at all times. Drove Freddie batshit crazy. At least once per shift, he stormed up to me, demanding I find somewhere else for Mama to be, as if I held that type of power. If I did have any control over her, she’d be sitting at home in her recliner or out with her cult of friends in their red hats. But no, she was determined to hang around the restaurant untilshewas as certain as Papa had been that I wouldn’t drive the family business into the ground.
“No, your problem was you couldn’t remember a table number to save your life,” she reminded me. “Do you know how hard it was for your father to stand before angry guests, biting his tongue while they criticized his first-born? No. You don’t. Because just as I’m doing with Matteo, I kept you in the kitchen, teaching you how to be a better server. And eventually, you not only stopped making mistakes, you were one of our best servers until you left for college. You impressed your father so much that he gifted the restaurant to you.”
More like chained me close to home for the rest of my life, but I was smarter than to allow that thought to escape. “You’re right, Mama.”
She smiled tightly, nodding towards my baby brother. I groaned, knowing that no matter how old we were, she’d never stop mothering us. I stood and placed a hand on Matteo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Teo. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. You’re doing a good job for being the rookie.”
“I’m not.” His posture sagged and he rested his forehead on the pass-through, yelping when his flesh touched the hot stainless steel. Good brother that I am, I bit back my laughter, not wanting to make him feel even worse. “Maybe you were right, Frankie. Maybe I’m not cut out to work around people.”
“People aren’t your issue,Capretto,” I teased, purposely using the nickname Matteo had been stuck with since he was a toddler so he’d know I wasn’t still pissed at him. “You just need to slow down. No one will be upset about waiting an extra thirty seconds for their food, but they will get irritated if they see you apologizing to every table including theirs because it has to be remade because you dropped it. And taking your time will save Freddie the hassle of kicking your ass later.”
“Okay.” Matteo took a deep breath as he started loading plates onto his tray. “Thanks, Frankie, for not staying mad at me. I really am trying.”
I wrapped my hand around the side of my brother’s head and kissed his temple. At nineteen, he was constantly trying to live up to the image he’d built of the rest of us in his mind. I hated knowing that outbursts like I’d just had made him feel he’d never be on-par with the rest of us. “You’ve got this,” I whispered before wiping a bit of marinara off my pants. I needed to look like the leader Papa believed me to be so our guests weren’t angry with Teo.
I visited the table whose food was delayed and apologized profusely. One of the men in the party looked ready to blow a gasket, but was quickly appeased by the offer of a free bottle of wine. Add another twenty bucks to what my youngest brother’s mistakes had cost. Fucking lovely.
Once I felt confident Freddie and his crew were remaking the orders Teo had dropped and weren’t razzing him for the dropped tray, I slinked back to the office.God, how can it only be eight o’clock?Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my phone light up with a new notification.
Calvin: Don’t work too hard. I left dinner in the fridge for you because I know you get sick of eating at the restaurant.
How in the hell did he know that? It was true, but I couldn’t remember ever complaining to him about it. That thought was quickly shoved out of my mind by guilt. Between work and Calvin practically forcing me to fantasize about him, I was so keyed up I’d been planning on hitting the club tonight. But I couldn’t, not with everything up in the air between us. The truth was, part of me wanted to see if there was some point to Calvin’s demands.
Me: Thanks. Hoping I’ll be able to get out of here in about an hour.
Calvin: Good. You work too much.
Me: Yeah, well someone has to do it.
I’d never been a fan of texting. Yes, I realized that made me an anomaly among my generation, but it seemed like an impersonal means of communication and left too much open for misinterpretation. If it’d been one of my brothers or a friend texting all day every day, I’d have gotten annoyed and ignored them, but I couldn’t help but smile every time my phone buzzed this week with a new message from Calvin. Part of me hoped my phone wouldn’t go back to silent after we talked tomorrow morning.
