Page 44 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

So we now had less than four weeks to prepare a wedding, two of which, if I was lucky, Marcy would be happy and out of my hair.

*

With my parents gone off on holiday, three days later the taxi bearing my aunts pulled up into our drive and they piled out as we all flew down the steps, Maddy and Warren in the lead. Soon, there was a jumble of arms and legs and kisses everywhere along with manyMamma mia,look how you’ve growns, to which Maddy curtsied and Warren stood ten feet tall, grinning shyly, not yet used to female attention.

‘Alright, everybody,’ Julian said, taking their suitcases, helped by the newly strengthened Warren. ‘Let’s get into the shade. You guys must be exhausted from your flight.’

My aunts fussed some more over the kids on the way up and I knew everything (well, almost everything) would be alright. At least the wedding plans would be going smoothly.

In the space of an hour, Paul and Zia Monica were on their PCs under the pergola and Zias Maria and Martina worked their magic on the phones, all around the same table, wheeling deals while Renata worked on the seating plan. There was nothing left for me to do but choose between options presented and feed my mini army some good old Italian goodies, so I rustled up some snacks.

‘Quanto?Howmuch?’ Zia Maria shrieked over the phone at the poor guy from the printing company in Siena, making us all jump.

So much for poise and class.

‘Sei pazzo? No, grazie.Are you nuts? No thank you!’ She slammed the receiver down.

I’d never seen her do that before. Zia Maria was a concentrate of class and cool. She lifted her eyes and grinned.

‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard an invitation costing as much as the dinner itself.Banditi! Boy, that felt good.’

Paul suddenly looked up at her, his face bright. ‘Honey, you want to come work for me? We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty!’ he offered, and Zia Maria blushed.

‘No, thank you. I have Le Tre Donne to get back to.’

‘And two sisters to boss around.’ Zia Monica mumbled through the pen in her teeth as she surfed the net. ‘You’d think she owns the restaurant all by herself.’ She looked up at me. ‘Are you sure you want calla lilies and not white roses, honey? Callas are expensive.’

‘Absolutely. I already did the white roses on my…’ I stopped, remembering that farce of my first marriage. Everything, from the dress to the cake to the meal, had been an absolute disaster and Marcy had only made it worse, as usual. But that was another story.

To fuel my miracle workers, I brought out another tray of food:focaccia, with tiny haminvoltiniparcels,sesame breadsticks,torta Cecina, which is a kind of savory pancake made with chickpea flour. And don’t forget theeggplant, mint and pine nut pockets, all washed down with lemon-mint iced tea. They jumped onto the tray like schoolkids at a picnic outing.

Without Marcy we were all serene and relaxed. Julian was out in the fields while Warren and Maddy were with Renata’s kids in the back garden. And it was pure heaven, like I’d always dreamed. I had my favorite people under my roof and in three weeks, Julian and I were finally getting married. I closed my eyes and breathed a contented sigh. Live, love and be happy. The rest we’d simply have to figure out as we went.

‘Good, huh?’ Paul sighed after a moment as we all savored the food mixed with the fragrant summer air.

‘Fantastic,’ Renata agreed, closing her eyes and letting the breeze caress her skin.

‘Peaceful,’ Zia Maria added, and we all giggled, knowing she didn’t need to explain why.

We polished off our food and sat there, all content in a typical tranquil Tuscan summer afternoon. Oh, if only Marcy had been different. She could have been a part of this all, I thought, wishing Emanuela, my real mom, had lived to see us grow up. She’d have loved the kids. And they’d have adored and looked up to her.

‘I just don’t understand why she won’t talk to me about my own mom,’ I said, following my own train of thought, and they all turned to me.

‘Oh, sweetie, forget about Marcy,’ Zia Martina said, her hand on my shoulder. ‘You know she’s Miss Drama Queen. And all your dad has to do is take her on vacation and he’s forgiven.’

‘What exactly did he do?’ I asked.

‘That’s the thing. The poor guy did nothing wrong.’

‘Except marry Marcy.’ Zia Monica giggled. ‘Ah, my heart goes out to him.’

‘She’s always been jealous of our friendship,’ Zia Maria explained. ‘Even when we were young. And of course the guys we dated were all, according to her,morti di fame, dirt-poor losers.’

Renata and Paul giggled. I couldn’t help myself and grinned. It was typical of Marcy, bringing someone else down when she felt she was nowhere near their level.

‘She’s always accused us of having an affair, all together, of course, with your poor father! Can you imagine that? And he puts up with her!’

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, so it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Dad was a lamb.

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