Chapter Eleven

 

 

FORRESTER SHOOK the water off his jacket, then hung it up on a hook. Due to the rain, a gaggle of children watched a movie in the living room. The cries of a baby—Tony and Missy’s, no doubt—and feminine voices drifted up from the basement. The house had two kitchens. One upstairs and one down. Ma always cooked downstairs when she hosted large gatherings, because she didn’t want anyone to see the mess.

He kicked off his flip-flops and added them to the giant pile of shoes by the back door. No one wore shoes in Maria Giordano’s house and lived to tell about it.

“Uncle Frankie!”

Setting the hamburger buns on the table, he braced himself as Dino’s two youngest, Giovanni and Natalia, plowed into him, each attacking his pockets. Cousin Joanne’s kids joined in too, all of them asking, “Did you bring us candy, Uncle Frankie?”

He pried the two off. “There’s nothin’ in my pockets, ya little twerps.”

The kids pouted until he made a great show of revealing a huge bag of candy from inside his jacket. “Oh, you mean this candy?”

While they had a slew of uncles, he guaranteed his position as favorite via candy.

Giovanni snatched it and huddled with his male cousins, keeping it from the girls. Dino Junior, or DJ, was eleven now and in the I’m-too-cool phase to do more than offer Forrester a nod from over the top of his Nintendo 3DS.

“You better share, Vanni!” Natalia yelled.

“Say thank you to your uncle Frankie,” his sister-in-law’s voice came from the stairwell in the kitchen.

“Thank you, Uncle Frankie!” a chorus of children’s voices sang.

“You can call me Uncle Forrester,” he reminded them loudly.

“I called you Uncle Forrester.” Natalia gave his legs a hug. His goddaughter barely came above his knees. “Thank you for the candy.”

“I knew you were my favorite for a reason,” he told the little girl as he scooped her into his arms and kissed the top of her curly brunette head. He pulled a candy necklace from his pocket. “Here,” he whispered, “make sure you rub this in your brothers’ faces too. And don’t share any of it with them.”

Her brown eyes lit up, and she squeezed his neck in a hug. “Thank you, Uncle Forrester!”

When he put her down, she raced into the living room and announced, “Uncle Forrester loves me more than you chumps. He told me not to share it with you either.”

Forrester laughed.

“You’re gonna make her a brat doing that kind of stuff.”

He turned to see Amanda carrying a pot of sauce from the basement. Even six months pregnant, she looked like a blonde bombshell, and her huge boobs were huger than usual and accentuated by a skintight purple sweater, which didn’t look like it came from the maternity department.

The Giordano men, Forrester included, all had a blond-track mind.

He took the heavy pot from her, and she heaved a tired sigh. “Thanks.”

“No problem. And how could Natalia ever be a brat? She’s perfect.” Forrester set the pot on the stove and smiled at his niece playing in the living room—actually, she’d just punched her older brother in the kneecap.

“Says you. When Nonna gets here, keep an eye on her. We don’t need her to fix”—she did air quotes—“the sauce.”

“No doubt.” Sadly Nonna had forgotten most of her recipes, but she didn’t think so. She was always going behind Ma and adding spices to things. The oregano-overloaded meatloaf had been memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Hugging his sister-in-law, he kissed both her cheeks. “Happy Mother’s Day, Preggo.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a sarcastic grin at the nickname he used every time she got pregnant. They’d had a gender-reveal party last month, and the cupcakes had all been pink.

He gave her belly a Buddha rub. “How’s my new little niece doing?”

“Kicking me in the kidney all day,” she answered, brushing her perfectly styled hair out of her eyes with the long acrylic nail of her third finger. Forrester didn’t think he’d ever seen the beautician less than fully made-up and perfect.

Forrester leaned in to whisper to her belly. “Be nice to your mommy, bambina. She’s the only normal one in this family.”

“You can say that again.” Amanda laughed and pushed him away. She’d been with Dino since Forrester had been twelve, and he loved her like a big sister.

“You have a name yet?”

“No clue. Once we see her, we’ll figure it out.”

He pointed at the pot of sauce. “You need any more help?”

She gestured to the basement door. “Yeah, you can carry up the tray of antipasti Joanne finished.”

After a quick stop to hide the chocolates in Nonna’s nightstand—Ma didn’t like her to have sugar—Forrester headed downstairs. The overwhelming heat and smell of oregano and garlic enveloped him as he stepped back into the eighties. Aqua carpet lined the floor of the kitchen/family room, and dark walnut cupboards and puffy white couches with peach and teal strokes of color filled in the rest. Tucked in the corner, their foosball table had been commandeered as Ma’s craft table. The old projection big screen still worked for ball games. The macramé owls Nonna had made for Ma hung on the paneled walls beside photos of the family through the years.

The moment he entered, women swarmed him, all talking at once, some in English and some in Italian.

“Ciao, Frankie, come stai?” That one came with a kiss from Zia Sophia. Just like her mother, Nonna, she was on a mission for the young ones to know how to speak Italian.

“Sto bene, grazie, Zia.” He returned the kiss with an “I’m fine, thank you, Aunt.”

“Did you get the hamburger buns, bambino mio?”

“Right here, Ma,” he answered. She always called her sons “baby,” though she was three times smaller than they were. She wore stylish gray pants and a pink blouse with a flowered apron. Oddly, she wore no makeup today, not that she needed it.

At sixty-five, Maria Giordano still turned heads with her slender figure and big chest women half her age would kill for. Her hair fell to her shoulders and curled like Forrester’s and Joey’s, though it had now turned salt-and-pepper. He was glad she hadn’t let Amanda dye it. Otherwise, she’d look so young they would have to beat men off with a stick.

He hugged his mother, kissing her on each cheek, then a third kiss on her forehead just for good measure.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Ma.” He gave her a hard squeeze.

She let out a gasp, and he loosened the hug immediately. “Oww! Are you trying to squish me?”

“Sorry, I’m just glad to see you.” The fine lines around her warm brown eyes and mouth spoke of years of laughter and a good life, making her the most beautiful woman in the world, in Forrester’s opinion.

“Says you.” Ma gave him a playful swat. “Why didn’t you come home last night?”

“I didn’t wanna drive in the rain. It was easier to stay in Gilead.”

“You and Joey insist on keeping me up at night. He waltzed in around four in the morning, like it was no big deal. No phone call or text to tell me he’d be out that late either, nothing. You might be grown men, but you still live with me and it’s just common courtesy to tell the other people you live with what’s going on.”

Ahh, the price of still living at home. Having to check in all the time like I’m still a kid. “Sorry, Ma, but I texted you. Remember?”

Waving that truth off—the rant was obviously intended for Joey—she took hold of his cheeks, turning his face into the light to get a better look at him. He allowed the indignity. “Did you go tanning? You know that’s bad for you.”

He wriggled out of her grasp. “No. Why would I go tanning? You know I burn easy.”

She kept staring up at him. “Well, your face is all flushed. What’ve you been doing?”

Forrester’s face heated as more than six sets of eyes scrutinized his flushed cheeks. Leave it to his mother to notice his high color from rushing around to get here after being with Kyle. He always stayed red after exercise and sex—far longer than he would’ve liked.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Zia Sophia suggested. With all of her makeup and jewelry, she looked older than her sister Maria.

“If he’s sick, I don’t want him around Baby Anthony. He’s already cranky enough. The last thing he needs is to be sick,” Missy announced. Forrester’s nephew was in his baby carrier beside her on the couch, his face scrunched up and red as he cried, reminding Forrester of the baby Mandrakes in Harry Potter.

“I’m not sick. I hit the gym before I came here,” he lied, snagging a cookie off the table.

Short, curvy, blonde, and ordinarily cute as a button, Missy looked on the verge of tears as she scooped up her constantly bawling infant. Forrester felt sorry for her—the kid was just like Tony.

“Don’t spoil your dinner with cookies.” Ma looked over his shoulder. “What? No Holly? I thought things were getting serious after she came to Easter dinner.”

Forrester rolled his eyes.

“You should marry that girl,” Zia Sophia said, not for the first time.

“We’re just friends.” He gave her an irritated scowl, then beamed at his mother, changing the subject by making a show of pulling out a small gift box. “For you.”

Hand on her chest, she grinned at all the women in the room. “Oh, bambino mio, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, like I’d live that one down.”

“Just hush and lemme see what it is,” Ma scolded and took the box. She glanced at Zia Sophia. “You think there’s a daughter-in-law in there?”

“If not, there’s a nice girl at Amanda’s salon who’s single,” her sister said.

“Get her number,” Ma said, untying the ribbon.

Forrester groaned. He wasn’t entirely sure if they were joking or not.

“Oh, Ma,” Amanda said, “leave him alone. Frankie doesn’t need you to find him somebody.”

Forrester gestured to her with elaborate appreciation. “Thank you, Amanda. It’s nice to know some of you women aren’t trying to marry me off.”

Amanda shook her head and laughed, joining the rest of his female relatives crowding around as Ma opened the small box. Probably waiting to compare it to their gifts and either gloat their kids had gotten them something better or complain they’d been skimpy.

Kyle had been right, of course. The dangly pearl earrings he’d purchased were a big hit.

 

 

WITHIN AN hour, the tiny house overflowed with dozens of loudmouthed Italians and their offspring as more cousins showed up. Dad and his six siblings had all managed to produce four to six kids each, and all Forrester’s first and second cousins were proving just as fertile.

Maybe that was why he was gay, to slow the Giordano bloodline from overtaking the population.

While there was a measure of familiarity in the dull roar of yelling voices, Italian accents, and the chatter of the game in the background and children running underfoot, the chaotic mess left him with the urge to retreat to the peace of his bookstore. Instead, he slipped up to his bedroom to text Kyle.

A dorm room’s worth of furniture crowded the small bedroom he and Tony had shared growing up. He’d purged a lot when he’d come home, even stashing his books and comics at the store, but his collectibles and housewares were all packed in boxes lining the one wall. His bed, couch, favorite easy chair, TV, and other electronics filled in the rest of the space.

Forrester texted Kyle a simple: Hi

The phone chimed in a matter of seconds. Hi yourself :-)

A giddy rush of happiness filled him. You were right, jewelry was a big hit, major points

Told you LOL

Send me Jasper’s Instagram

LOL okay @Jasper_thewild_Boston

Forrester chuckled. “That’s about right.” Smiling, he sent, I had a great time last night

Two little boys burst out of the upstairs bathroom, startling Forrester while he waited for Kyle’s response. His cousins sailed right by his open bedroom door, thundering down the stairs like a herd of elephants. “No running on the stairs!”

“Okay, Uncle Frankie!” they called back, not bothering to slow at all.

Maybe he should rethink all the sugar he gave them. Nah! He had to make sure someone visited him in the nursing home. Candy seemed like as good a plan as any.

His phone chimed.

Dude!!! The orignl Day Earth Stood Still is showing 2morrow nite!!! Wanna go?!?!

Forrester grinned in surprise until he noticed Lucas had sent the text. Scowling at the interruption, he answered Lucas: Not sure

The phone dinged twice.

Lucas: Y not? U got practice?

Kyle: Me too! Counting the minutes to finish our story

Careful to make sure he answered Kyle and not Lucas, he wrote back: Can’t wait to come—he grinned and deleted the last word—cum over. Might not be there till 9, that okay?

Then he sent to Lucas: Sorry, I might have plans

You’re welcome to cum @ my place anytime, Kyle sent back with eggplant and peach emojis.

Skin flushed, Forrester lowered his cell to his leg and suppressed a shudder. Unfortunately, he bumped the touch screen, popping him out of SMS. He reopened it, then sent: I think you’ve fallen under the spell of the magical ass! He added a wizard emoji and a peach.

The response took almost a whole minute before it came through. Guy last nite knew my ass was magic but WTF r u talking about?

Forrester did a double take. “Shit.”

He’d sent the message to Lucas. Quickly he typed back: Sent u wrong mssg, I can’t go tomorrow. TTYL

Then he sent the original message to Kyle, feeling somehow it wasn’t as funny the second time around. Thankfully Kyle seemed to think so. LMAO I’m totally under its spell!

Forrester covered his mouth to smother a laugh. Shooting a glance down the hallway to make sure no one had spied him yet, he told Kyle: Soon I’ll know all ur secrets (((mad scientist laugh)))

Ur such a dork! LOL

Forrester grinned. U luv it :-)

I do :-)

“In tavola!” a loud voice called from downstairs.

Jumping at the call that food was “on the table,” he texted: :-)Can’t wait 2 c u later! Foods on tho GTG

He waited to see if Kyle would respond and wasn’t disappointed.

Have fun! Txt me when ur done :-)

Another smiley face. Grinning, he started to stuff the phone into his pocket, but then it dinged again.

Lucas: Who has a magic ass? Did u hook up?

His buddy never let anything drop, and Forrester would tell him all the details anyway, so he sent back: U never believe me! Hot Kyle from the store

U fucking liar!!!!!

He grinned madly and sent a bunch of random happy and dancing emojis. It’s true! I’m seeing him again 2nite!

No fucking way! So awesome!!!

I know, right?

He tucked his phone away and joined the mayhem in the dining room. No one even noticed he’d been gone.

Being a holiday, there was more food than usual. The first course, antipasti—olives, salami, crackers, and the like. Next, the pasta would come out. Then when normal people had dessert, his family served salad. After salad everyone sat around talking and preparing bellies for the roast meat and vegetables. Then the wine and cheese came out, to be finished by dessert.

After dessert, there would be more time scheduled for conversation. Forrester always ran out of things to say with people he saw too much. Though conversation never stalled with Kyle. They liked too many of the same things. Then again, Kyle was easy to be quiet around too.

Swimming in pleasant thoughts, he went over to see Baby Anthony, who had finally fallen asleep in Tony’s arms.

“Somebody’s in a better mood,” Forrester observed, adjusting the blanket to smile at his nephew’s tearstained face, now peaceful in sleep.

Tony smiled down at the tiny baby lying against his big chest, bouncing him a little. “He just wanted his daddy.”

Missy harrumphed as she set down another tray of antipasti. “Or you just waited to pick him up until he’d already cried himself to exhaustion.”

Chuckling, Forrester helped himself to a handful of olives.

“Manners, Frankie,” Zia Sophia reminded him, holding out a plate.

“Scusa, Zia,” he replied, putting his olives on the plate. He wiped his hands on his pants and found an empty stool at the bar, which faced the dining room. A small TV sat on the buffet, and just like Dad always did, Dino sat next to it, watching a game as Amanda prepared his plate.

“Forrester, will you get the door?” Ma asked. “Joey’s back with Teresa and Nonna.”

“Sure, Ma.”

He opened the door and waited as Nonna and his cousin Teresa walked up, arms full of still more food. Joey brought up the rear.

Teresa smiled a hello, holding out a pan.

“Hey.” He took it and peeked under the lid. “Ooh, lemon cake.”

She nodded as she took off her shoes.

Teresa rarely talked, which ironically made Forrester uncomfortable around her, so he hastily turned his attention to Nonna before he fell victim to the need to fill the awkward silence with her.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Nonna. How was church?” Forrester asked and shut the door behind Joey.

His grandmother patted his face and pinched his cheek. “I asked Teresa to make that cake special for you. And church was all right. I’d give it three stars,” she rattled off in Italian. Her salt-and-pepper hair was still long, and she wore it pulled back in a bun with two sticks—sometimes pencils, if they were handy.

It took him a second to translate what she’d said. Smiling, he set the cake on the counter then leaned down and gave the little woman a hug, kissing her cheeks. She kissed him back, probably leaving some of her orange lipstick on his face. He smiled at Teresa. “Thanks for the cake.”

She only nodded.

He leaned in close to Nonna and whispered in Italian, “I hid some chocolates in your nightstand. Happy Mother’s Day.”

Her dark eyes sparkled. “Grazie, how’s the store?”

“Good. Va bene.”

“You making lots of money?” she wanted to know when he took her coat. Though she’d moved in with them because of her memory, she still had a healthy grasp of money.

He assured her in Italian that business was doing well.

But it would be better if he’d gotten a liquor license to serve wine for after-hours book clubs. That had been soundly shot down by the town council, however. Apparently, there weren’t enough people in Gilead village limits to justify a second liquor license, and the Six-Shooter Saloon sure as hell wouldn’t give up theirs.

“Gramps would’ve been so happy to have a bookstore to go to again,” she said wistfully in Italian.

Smiling at his grandmother, he said, “Maybe you can come out and visit? Dino got me a freezer so I can sell gelato. I’ll get pistachio, your favorite.”

“E di Antonio.”

“Sì, Tony’s favorite too.”

Practically every relative had come out to his store last summer, turning A Novel Idea into My Big Fat Italian Bookstore. His grand opening had been the biggest in town because of it, which had been good for business. Now a year later, a few of them straggled through on occasion, but not often, reinforcing Forrester’s two separate worlds—gay in Gilead and mostly straight in Shiloh.

Would it always be like that?

As Nonna joined her daughters in the kitchen, he wondered if she would care her husband’s namesake was gay.

“S’up?” Joey shook off the rain.

“Nuthin’ much. How was church?” He laughed and accepted a hug.

Joey made a face. “We didn’t go to church. We went to the movies.”

“What?”

“Whoops, don’t tell Nonna I told you that. What are we eatin’?”

Chuckling at the ruse, Forrester said, “Ma’s setting out the gnocchi and ziti right now. And Zia Sophia made a roast.”

“Nice.” Joey rubbed his hands together in hungry anticipation.

Forrester put the lemon cake in the fridge, making a note to save room for it. The biggest perk of being a single man in his family? Everyone wanted to feed him.

He snagged a beer and a wine cooler out on his way back to Joey. “Did you check the Sunday paper?”

Joey cracked open the beer and took a hefty swig, then wiped the foam from his chin with the back of his hand. “What for? Nobody reads the paper.”

“Yeah, well? You gotta find some want ads. You need a different job, or I’m telling Ma you’re hanging with Alfie again.”

Joey looked around nervously. “C’mon, Frankie, don’t be a tool.”

A loud crash in the kitchen followed by curses made them both jump. Forrester followed the noise.

Ma had dropped a pan of ziti, its red contents splattered all over the immaculate kitchen.

He rushed over to help her. “Ma, you okay?”

She waved him off. “I’m fine but the second tray of ziti isn’t.”

“Don’t worry about that. There’s plenty of food,” he assured her, crouching down to help pick up the heavy tray. Zia Sophia and her daughter Gina fussed about scooping up the pasta mess.

His mother’s lower lip trembled like she fought tears.

Shocked, he took hold of her elbow. “You sure you’re okay?” he whispered so no one else could hear. How had he not noticed how tired she looked? “You don’t look so good.”

Hands covered in red sauce, she flashed him a sharp glare. “Look who’s so sweet,” she said sarcastically, patting his cheek and smearing on a liberal amount of ziti. “Why don’t you just tell me I’m fat and wrinkly while you’re at it?”

“Ma!” He wiped off the marinara. “Cut it out. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Ma laughed and stood, tossing him a dish towel to clean his face. “Lighten up, Forrester. And yes, I’m fine, just tired from getting everything ready, and you know how my sinuses act up this time of the year. Don’t worry about it.”

She put her back to him, ending the conversation as she coordinated cleanup for the ziti catastrophe. His family wasn’t for truths they didn’t like. This truth being when he took a good look, her pants seemed loose. Ma was always trying to lose those “last three pounds.” He’d ask Amanda before he left if Ma was dieting again. Maybe he should be home more. Leaving Ma to take care of Nonna and wait on Joey hand and foot—Forrester swore he’d never folded a sock his entire life—was obviously wearing on her. Then again, maybe she’d simply aged without Forrester really noticing.

Thinking about his mother getting old was far sadder than the sacrilege of tossing out an entire tray of ziti.