Page 13

Lola

The last thing I want to do on a beautiful fall day is drive to my parents’ house for brunch.

My roommates, along with most of Westvale’s women’s basketball team, came to Philadelphia to celebrate Izzy’s twenty-first birthday and since her birthday is the last one before they start official practices it was the perfect excuse to get out of Westvale.

Since Philadelphia is only a few hours drive away, and I know all the good clubs in town, it was a no-brainer on where we should head for the quick trip.

We came down last night and will be heading back to school tomorrow because there is some big frat party the girls don’t want to miss on Saturday night. At least if this brunch doesn’t go well I’ll be able to drink until I forget all about it tonight.

My parent’s house is just outside the city and I have to say it’s nice watching the tall gray buildings turn into beautifully manicured lawns.

The leaves are just starting to change to oranges and reds, complementing the old brick houses.

Growing up, I was lucky enough to experience both the hustle and craziness that comes from living in a big city and the peace and serenity that comes from riding horses through pastures that seem to go on forever.

My pulse quickens as the long winding cobblestone driveway that leads to my parents house comes into view. I offer up a little prayer to whoever is listening that this meal goes smoothly. I don’t need more of a reason to drown myself in Dirty Shirley’s tonight.

My heartbeat evens out when I notice my grandparents’ SUV in the driveway– they are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary in a few days, so I’m happy I get to see them while I am home.

If you’re wondering why I just didn’t tell my parents that I was coming into town for a day and a half? It’s simple, they’d find out anyway.

That’s the curse of being from a large Italian family. There is a zero percent chance I wouldn’t run into someone who knows someone in my family, who would go back and ask my parents what I’m doing home.

Wasn’t I just lucky that neither of my parents had to work today!

All of my friends were invited to brunch too, but I wasn’t going to subject them to the dysfunction that is my parental relationship. I was ecstatic when they said they were going to invite Nonno and Nonna too. They’ve always been a good buffer between me and my parents.

The coffees I grabbed from my favorite local coffee shop are still steaming when I set them down at the entryway table.

“Hey, fam!” I greet everyone as I slip off my shoes. The sweet scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls fill the house, making it feel almost homey.

“Ohh Lola, darling,” my Nonna says; her thick Italian accent entering the room before she does. When she finally sees my smile, her face turns downward, and she lets out a deep sigh. “Oh honey, why are you so skinny? You’ve lost too much weight.”

I have lost exactly zero pounds, my Nonna just wants to feed me, and I learned a long time ago that it’s not worth fighting her on. I’m going to eat her food either way.

“I’m fine, Nonna. I’ve just been waiting to eat your delicious cooking.”

We hug and I love being around my Nonna because if you think I’m short at five-foot-three, my nonna makes me feel like a giant at four-foot-eleven.

“Come, come,” she says, her hand lagging behind her body motioning for me to follow behind her. Her signature kitten heels clatter on the tile floors.

The spread already laid out on the island is enough to feed three of Oliver’s hockey teams. It takes a minute for my parents to notice that I’m here. They are enthralled in some story my Nonno is telling. All three of them deep in the throes of laughter.

“Hey guys,” I greet everyone, going around and making sure I kiss everyone before I settle on the stool next to my dad.

“How are you, Lowy?” My Nonno asks over the sizzling home fires.

Just so you know, if you’re not my Nonno, don’t even think about using that nickname. I hate it and he knows that but doesn’t care because he loves it.

“How’s school going so far, Lola?”

I eye my mom. All traces of laughter are gone. I spend a second trying to gauge if this is her baiting me into a fight or if she came around to the fact I am not changing my major back.

I won’t start fights, but I’ll be the one to end them.

“It’s only been a few weeks, but I’m really enjoying my classes so far.”

I turn away from my mom knowing that cutting our conversation short will piss her off. “Nonna, did I ever tell you what country I got for my restaurant class?”

The cappuccino I brought her is pressed to her lips as she shakes her head.

“Italy!” I’m so excited I dig through my purse and find the little notebook I keep in there just in case inspiration strikes.

My mom comes and joins us at the end of the counter.

I run through all the recipes I want to test out with Byron.

Going into detail about things I want to change to make the recipes mine.

“Oh, this one sounds good,” my mom says, pointing to the pesto recipe I scribbled down a couple of days ago.

“Thanks, Mom.” I’m taken back by something that looks a lot like pride twinkling in her eyes. “I haven’t had a chance to make it yet, but I think this one could be a real contender.”

I’m not sure what to make of her compliment. Every other time I’ve tried to talk about what I want out of my career, she and my dad both cut me off instantly. Always telling me it sounds more like a hobby than a way to make a future for myself.

She grabs a stack of plates and I know what she wants me to do without uttering a single word.

I set the table. Every meal we’ve eaten as a family since I was a kid has been at a formal dining table.

Tablecloth. Placemats. Forks on the left.

Knives on the right. My mom even has a placemat appropriate for every occasion.

I actually don’t mind it. I think there is something to be said for knowing proper etiquette and knowing how to handle yourself in social situations. Apparently getting a few tattoos and then all of that has to mean nothing to you.

I take them from her. Today’s tablecloth is covered with fall-colored flowers.

The glasses next, and it’s my dad that stops me this time. “How’s Cookie doing with the change?”

“She’s good. Took her a couple of days to get used to the new living situation, but after that, she remembered how much she loves the barn in Westvale.” I giggle to myself before adding, “Charlotte is so good to her; she always sneaks her extra treats when I’m not around.”

“That sounds like Charlotte.” My parents have a lot of criticism about my life choices but one thing they have never questioned is my choice of friends. They’ve always loved them. Probably hoped I’d be more like them.

When we’re all settled at the table my Nonno bows his head before the rest of us so I do the same. He recites a prayer that he says before every meal.

I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop when brunch ends and there hasn’t been any snarky comments or raised voices. I actually had a really amazing time.

We FaceTimed my siblings, while my grandparents were telling us stories about the early days of their relationship. I learned that Nonna really made Nonno work for it.

I text my brother under the table asking him if I should tell him about his budding relationship with the volleyball player he brought home from Byron’s party the other week. He glares at me through the phone and I have to excuse myself so I can laugh without drawing attention to myself.

My Nonna is already at the sink washing dishes once I calm myself down. I take the spot next to her and start drying.

“Are you using your Italian at school?”

I shake my head. Who does she think I’m speaking to in Italian? Drunk frat bros?

She mutters something under her breath before forcefully shoving a frying pan in my direction. Then we speak to each other in her native tongue.

Thirty minutes later and about six different versions of good-bye–if you are Italian, you get what I’m saying-I get in my car and finally exhale.

Today felt like the turning of a page. For the first time I feel like my parents respect my decisions.

My phone is finally done connecting to the Bluetooth in my car when a bell chimes through the speakers. The last thing I expected to see was a text from Byron.

Byron:

Party at the Hockey House tomorrow ????

Indy:

I’ll be there!!

You know what, fuck it. Riding my high from a good visit with my parents I text Byron back.

Me:

Sounds good, keep a bottle of tequila chilled for me ??