My Big Fat Fake Wedding(51)

Papa hums while Nana smirks a little. “So, how did you end up here, then?”

“It seems that all those bad acts, and again, I am sorry,” he says, kissing my knuckles, “were an immature teenage me not being able to recognize that I was head over heels for Violet. And Friday night, seeing her and hearing what she said, it felt like everything just clicked into place and I had a second chance with her that I never even knew I wanted. Even before I drove Violet home that night, I knew I wanted to marry her . . . and by some miracle, she saw me the same way.”

Nana looks unconvinced as her suspicious eyes flick from Ross to me, but it’s Mom who speaks first. “Oh, Violet, why didn’t you tell us? I mean, for Colin to break it off so quickly after getting engaged—”

“I know, Mom,” I say, feeling Ross squeeze my hand. “I guess I was so shocked when Colin broke it off, and then when Ross and I saw each other and things . . . well, like he said, clicked so hard . . . everything’s been happening so fast, but I’m so happy. I’m sorry, Mom. I just didn’t know how to put it in words.”

“You could have told us,” Aunt Sofia scoffs, making me laugh. “What, girl?”

“Aunt Sofia, I tried to tell you guys today. Several times, in fact. But every time I tried to say something, you and Nana would start cursing at each other in Italian and invoking Susan Lucci. You know how hard it is to get a word in edgewise with you Italian women when you’re arguing over cooking?”

Papa laughs. “Eh, benvenuto nel mio mondo,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get a word in for over fifty years without much success.” He leans over and places a liver-spotted hand on Ross’s shoulder. “You will learn, son. Best to keep your mouth shut until it is time to say ‘Dinner is delicious.’ and ‘Thank you.’”

“Oh, hush, Papa,” Nana admonishes him, but she’s smiling. “I guess we did sort of talk over you the whole time, Violet.”

“Please,” Ross says in a voice dripping with sincerity, “I know this is sudden. And it might just be a little crazy on the surface. But Violet and I . . . just give us a chance?”

It’s just right, and Nana nods, getting up. “I’ll give you enough of a chance to eat some of my lasagna . . . provided Sofia didn’t ruin it with her salt.”

“Don’t make me say her name again. I swear I’ll do it . . .” But then she looks over at our new dinner guest and makes the decision to behave, for once. “Never mind,” Sofia says, following Nana into the kitchen.

As Nana plates the lasagna, the inquisition really starts. “So, Ross, what do you do?” Nana asks. “You have a good job?”

Ross grins, nodding. “Yes, ma’am. I’m an executive vice president at my family’s company.”

Nana nods, and while her voice remains pleasant, I see the glance she exchanges with Sofia. They might fight like a couple of drunken Marines and they may say absolutely vile things about each other . . . but they’ve been sisters for seventy years. They’re a unit. They’re family.

And more importantly, when they want to, they can unleash a torrent of questions that would break a Mafia boss on the stand. Frankly, the Supreme Court’s got nothing on my Nana and Aunt Sofia.

It’s not that they ever raise their voices or that they’re insulting or intimidating. It’s just that their questions are confusing, bouncing around from subject to subject seemingly randomly. But it’s not random, not at all. It’s calculated and strategic.

I’ve faced this from Nana alone, and it’s both comforting and confusing. You’re answering questions about your favorite cookies when BAM! you’ve got a seemingly innocent question about a college experience you’d rather not share with your grandmother on your hands.

If you’re lying, or bullshitting, or just trying to get one over on Nana, she’s going to catch you. Why? Because she never, ever forgets a detail.

And with Aunt Sofia backing her up . . . my stomach twists into a cold lump of clay in my gut even as the lasagna-filled plates are passed out.

“So, Ross, I remember you were a football player. Why’d you go into business instead?” Nana asks. “I would have thought that a big, strong athlete like you would want to stay on the field.” See? Memory like an elephant, and it sounds almost complimentary, but she’s just getting him to relax and play along before she zings him.

“Well, football was a passion and taught me so much. If an NFL contract had come my way, I would’ve been on cloud nine. But the reality was, that wasn’t going to happen. The plan was always to go into the family business, and I love my work there.” He drops his voice low. “Maybe even more than football, but don’t tell my old coaches I said that or they’d probably still make me run drills. I don’t doubt they could.”

Nana smiles, completely charmed. Sofia picks up the baton.

“So, what are your plans for our Violet? One-, five-, and ten-year, please.”

“Dio Mio! Aunt Sofia! Please, we’re already moving at breakneck speed. Could you give us a minute?” I beg a little too loudly.

And I just spilled way more about our new relationship than I intended. Damn, I walked right into that, and I know better.

Nana holds up her hand, and Aunt Sofia gives her a soft high-five. But it’s Mom that does the follow-up. “Okay, so maybe not all that.” She waves at Sofia, who’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “But something, Violet. Tell us your plans.”