I was tempted to flip him the finger, but just as I was about to do that, Mrs. DiMartino stood in the doorway.
“About time you got here, Vincent. Dinner’s practically on the table, and it was going to get cold with us waiting.” She glared at her son and then turned to me, her eyes softening. “Amanda! So glad you could come today. Come in, come in.”
“I’m sorry we’re late. It was actually me holding us up.” I figured confessing this right off the bat might win me points for honesty. “I apologize.”
“Who’s late? No one’s late. You’re fine.” She opened her arms and pulled me into a brief, tight hug. “Welcome. Now I think you know everyone, but if you don’t, just introduce yourself. I gotta go finish the salad.”
“Hey, girlfriend!” Ava called out to me from where she stood at the counter, cutting tomatoes. “Welcome to the craziness. Liam’s in the living room with my dad and Carl, if you want to say hello.”
Vincent paused behind me and dropped a kiss onto my cheek. “See? I told you. Nothing to it.” He winked as he walked through the kitchen toward a doorway on the far side, through which I could hear a television.
“Um ... what can I do to help?” I stood in the middle of the busy room, watching women bustle around, and I felt imminently useless. Mrs. DiMartino was pouring oil and vinegar onto the salad. Ava was putting something together—when I looked closer, I saw it was fresh mozzarella and tomatoes. Angela stood in front of the stove, stirring a steaming pot of water. And an older lady whom I was relatively certain was Vincent’s grandmother was slicing bread.
“Not a thing.” Mrs. DiMartino pointed to the kitchen table. “If you don’t want to go in the living room—and who can blame you, they keep that game on the TV up so loud it’s a wonder they don’t all go deaf—then have a seat here.”
“But I want to help. I mean ...” I shrugged. “I don’t know what I can do, but I don’t want to sit while everyone else is working. Are you sure there’s not something?”
“Amanda, when Ma says, sit, you sit.” Ava tossed a reassuring smile at me over her shoulder. “Today, you’re a guest. Next time, she’ll yell at you when you walk in the door and hand you a knife to start chopping garlic. So savor this time. Enjoy it. One day, you’ll look back at it fondly.”
“Ava Caterine. The things you say.” Mrs. DiMartino shook her head. “Amanda, honey, sit down. I promise if there’s something that needs to be done, I’ll tell you. For now, tell us how you are. Vincent says you’re graduating from law school next month? Your parents must be so proud.”
“Um, thanks. Yeah, I think they are.” I slid out one of the ladder chairs from the scarred kitchen table and sat as directed. “I’ll just be glad to have it over.”
“Have you decided where you’re going to work after?” Ava reached for the salt and sprinkled it liberally over the tomatoes and mozzarella. “Ma, I need the oil and vinegar.”
“So come get them. I need to put out the butter.”
“I don’t know yet. I have to study for the bar and pass it before I can figure that part out. I know a lot of my friends have gotten offers—and so have I—but I want to take some time and figure out what I really want.” And more and more often lately, I’d hesitated to say where I wanted to work, because now that Vincent was part of my future—I hoped—taking him into consideration was important. I didn’t want to commit to a job in the city when he lived and worked down here at the Jersey shore. I’d already decided to take both the New Jersey and the Pennsylvania bar exams. That wasn’t unusual; most firms in the city preferred that their associates could practice in both states, as they often had clients from the other side of the Delaware. But it was now more important to me than ever, because if I decided I wanted to set up my own small firm somewhere down here, it would be much easier for me to be admitted to the bar in my home state already.
“I can’t even imagine that.” From her spot in front of the stove, Angela turned to beam at me. “I hated tests in school—and taking one that says whether or not I can do the job I just spent three years studying to do? The pressure would kill me.”
“Ange, you’re smart. You could do it.” Her mother-in-law patted her shoulder. “And Amanda is going to do just fine. She’s smart, too.”
“Amanda, did you know Ma was going to be a lawyer?” Ava glanced at her mother. “She was studying pre-law in college, before she got pregnant with Carl.”
Angela’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t know that. Were you really, Ma? You would’ve made a great lawyer.”
Mrs. DiMartino narrowed her eyes Ava’s way. “That was meant to be kept between us, Ava. Remember?”
Ava lifted one shoulder. “The fact that you were going to night school to get your degree? Why is that such a secret?” I saw a loaded glance between mother and daughter, and finally, Mrs. DiMartino sighed, waving her hand.
“Fine, yes. I was in night school, but once I got pregnant, I dropped out to start a family. It’s not a big deal.” I didn’t miss the way her lips tightened as she lifted the salad bowl and carried it out of the kitchen.
“Not a big deal now, but back then, it was.” Ava’s grandmother spoke in a low voice. “About broke her heart. My girl had worked hard to get to a place where she might do that. She loved that baby, sure, but she was sad about having to give up the dream.”
Mrs. DiMartino sailed back into the kitchen. “Angela, is that macaroni ready to be drained? Ava, get the bowl. I’ll put up the gravy. Ma, the basket for the bread is in that cabinet under you. Let’s get dinner on the table before we all starve.”
Growing up, I used to watch television shows that featured large families, and I’d been fascinated by the idea of all those people who were related to one another gathered around one table for a meal. It was completely out of my realm of experience; family meals for me meant three of us, and since my parents were often not around to cook, it usually also meant either takeout or eating at a restaurant. It wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t feel as though I’d suffered from the lack, but it was different.
Now, sitting smack in the middle of twelve people, all of whom except me were talking at once, I realized just how different my experience had been. In my family, everyone took turns talking. We asked questions, and then we waited for the answer. We had conversations with measured and rational give and take.
This didn’t happen at the DiMartino table. It had taken me by surprise, the suddenness of it; sure, there had been a little chaos as everyone came to the table, all of the women carrying food. They’d even let me bring in the bread, which made me feel like less of a loser, less of a guest, and more like someone who belonged. The men wandered in, talking about baseball and scores and bases. Frankie danced around the chairs until Vincent directed her to sit down. Carl settled the baby into a high chair that looked as though it had held generations of babies. Everyone except Mrs. DiMartino, who was still bustling around, doing last-minute fixes, began to pull out chairs to sit down, with Vincent’s father taking the head of the table. It seemed as though the whole family knew where to sit except for me, so I stood uncertainly on the periphery of things.
“Amanda. Babe, come sit.” Vincent stood behind a chair and pulled it out, smiling at me. “Don’t just stand around, or Carl will eat everything before you get a chance.”
Mrs. DiMartino tsked. “Vincent, don’t pick on your brother. Ava, you didn’t put a spoon in the caprese. Run grab one, please. Ange, where’s the parmesan? Ma, sit down, sit down, I got all this. Daddy, do you have a napkin? Frankie, did you wash your hands, sweetie?”
“Yes, Nonna.” The little girl lifted the hands in question. “With soap. Can I sit next to Amanda?”
