Page 4 of Love You, Mean It

“Ithink it’s lovely that she gets to argue someone else into submission on occasion,” I said. As though to punctuate the point, the side door shot open and Mimi burst into the mudroom, stamping her feet far more aggressively than the dusting of snow on her boots called for. “Speak of the devil…”

“Don’t you start with me, Eleanor,” Mimi grumbled as she plopped onto the bench to wrench off her shoes, her legs barely reaching the floor—Auntie Susan and I had both inherited Mimi’strim, compact frame, all ropy strength withzerotits. “I’m in no mood. Frank?Frank!Get in here, we need to talk!”

I grimaced at Bella. We teased about how definitively Mimi wore the pants, both with our grandfather and most every other person she met, but she’d always had a marshmallow center. It just happened to be hidden under a very thick shell of hard work studded with crunchy bites of judgment. Mimi never hesitated to let you know her very clear views on how things ought to be done, whether you were talking about a moral obligation or how to make red sauce. It was just what passed for fun with Mimi; she liked sparring with someone who didn’t back down. I’d inherited her throw-the-first-punch nature right alongside my washboard chest.

My grandfather shuffled in from the next room, vague worry corrugating his forehead. “Everything alright, dear?”

“No, everything is very muchnotalright,” Mimi snapped, standing with a grunt. She was closing in on eighty, and her once dark hair was now mostly white, her familiar face striated in all directions. But her dark brown eyes still glittered with fierce intelligence, and she was probably in better physical shape than I was. Since she and Grandpa had stepped back from actively running the deli about ten years ago, Mimi had not only taken up local politics, she’d also leaned into both nature hikes and a very serious yoga practice. We used to joke that she’d outlast us all, though that hit a hard stop once Dad died.

She made a beeline for the wine, pouring herself a generous glass and taking a huge gulp before thrusting it toward my grandfather with such ferocity the wine nearly sloshed over.

“They’re trying to run us out of town.”

“Who do you mean, dear?”

“The entire goddamned lot of them! The traitors!” She slammed the glass down on the counter so hard my mother winced. “After how many decades? But of course that means nothing compared to some hoity-toity city shop…”

“Mimi, why don’t you sit down, you’re obviously upset.” Bellastood to pull out a chair, flashing me awhat the fuck?face. I shrugged. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Mimi like this.

Mimi sucked her lips in, face tautening as though it was preparing for an explosion, then exhaled loudly and took the seat Bella had offered. I hurried to place the half-sliced loaf of focaccia and the tub of cheese between them. No one loved the R. J. Pegg focaccia we stocked at the deli more than Mimi. She scraped a thick blob of ricotta over an end piece and tore into it fiercely.

“Why don’t we start at the beginning.” Ma used the slow, careful tone she usually reserved for the angry patients and patient-spouses who thought bullying a nurse would somehow get them better care. “Did something happen at the meeting?”

“Yes,something happened. All our neighbors justhappenedto sell us out without even a second thought,” Mimi fumed.

“We’re gonna need a few more details, Mimi,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

She turned her fiery glare on me, but I just raised my eyebrow another quarter inch. She wasn’t the only Greco woman used to striking fear into the hearts of lesser mortals with her temper alone. After maintaining the standoff a second or two, Mimi took another bite, chewed furiously, then closed her eyes, presumably channeling her yoga breathing or some such. Finally, she turned to my mother.

“You know the old Taylor’s department store, down on Jefferson?”

“Of course. It’s a sporting goods shop now, isn’t it?”

“Itwasuntil about a month ago. Phil Bray is retiring to Arizona, and his kids don’t want to take over, so they’re selling off the stock.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Bella murmured reflexively. I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d never been inside Bray’s. Her workouts consisted of Pilates at her fancy gym and occasional aerial yoga, and while I loved hiking in the woods around Milborough, we both shared a deep abhorrence of camping, which was most of Bray’s raison d’être.

“It’s about to get worse,” Mimi said, jaw set grimly. “Do you know what that prick Ted Taylor plans to do with the place?”

“Margaret…” my grandfather murmured, frowning. As long as I’d known her, Mimi had had a foul mouth, but it always seemed to startle Grandpa. Still, she wasn’twrong.The Taylors had been among Milborough’s wealthiest families for over a hundred years, and somehow they managed to add to their pile with each new generation of country clubbers. Ted Taylor had always strutted around Milborough as if he owned the place. The fact that these days hedidown a lot of it somehow only made it more galling.

Mimi ignored Grandpa, turning to me to deliver her next pronouncement:

“He’s trying to bring in Mangia.”

I gaped, stomach plummeting so fast it almost made me dizzy.

“Like the…what would you even call them, a food department store?” Bella said, the worry lines appearing on her forehead again.

“That’s the one.” Mimi nodded grimly. “And if they pull it off, mark my words, it will mean the end of Greco’s Deli.”

We all stared at Mimi in stunned silence while her words sank in. When Mangia came to Boston, it had been major news, the multistory emporium of all things Italian—from artisanal oils and obscure brands of torrone to wines from every region to multiple miniature restaurants—a definitive point scored in the one-sided fight it was perpetually waging against New York.

Clearly the company was looking farther afield these days. It made sense; it wasn’t just city dwellers who wanted the fantasy Mangia sold. EvenIunderstood the appeal. You could take in a brief lecture on the food history of Umbria, meet a friend for lunch, and finish all your grocery shopping without ever leaving the premises. Shit, they probably had entire deli cases given oversolelyto mortadella. Ruth Pinsky would have a field day.

I swallowed hard—my mouth had started to flood nauseously with saliva.

“You said he’strying.The Taylors haven’t sealed the deal yet, right?”

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