Page 65 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“This is Amalfi, Mom. It’s the restaurant we’re eating at. Best food in the city.” I explained, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Most people held expectations on how ‘the other half’ lived. She’d grown up middle class, met a man, got married ant went on to live a beautifully middle-class life. If I’d never met Pen or Sierra—my gateway friends—I’d probably think the same way.

Now though, my mouth began to water as Blake turned his beemer into a parking spot and shut off the engine. But it seemed Carl wanted Italian food even more than me. He hopped out first, offering his hand to my mother to help her out of the car.

Knowing his opinions on chivalry, especially towards his wife, I waited until Blake rounded the car to open my door, holding my hand out for him to guide me out of the seat. I let him take the lead in ushering us inside the welcoming, brightly lit space.

“Blake! Gloria!” The hostess, who happened to be the owner’s mother, greeted us. Maria Theresa wore her big hair dyed in a reddish-brown shade of auburn. She liked to think of herself as Vermont’s answer to the 1950s Italian starlet Sophia Loren. I already knew the beauty of Ms. Loren, given Pen’s love of all things vintage. But if you walked into Amalfi not knowing the—assets—of the Oscar winner, you left knowing where she’d grown up: Rome. Who she’d married: Carlo Ponti. And what movie won her an Oscar:Two Women.

Maria Theresa even married a Carlo of her own. Only this Carlo—Carlo Carrano—hailed from, you guessed it, the Amalfi Coast. Carlo Jr. bought his father out when the older man hadbeen ready to retire. Though just because he retired from owning a restaurant didn’t mean he’d retired from showing up to sit, and talk, and laugh, and tell stories to everyone who had the good sense to sit and listen. These were the kind of salt-of-the-earth people who welcomed you as customers, but sent you off as family after your very first visit.

Carlo Sr. sat at a booth on the far side of the room. He waved us over.

“Maria Theresa, this is my mother, Elizabeth, and her partner, Carl,” I said. Maria Theresa’s eyes lit up. “They’re visiting here from Michigan.”

“Your mother?” she asked excitedly. “Carlo,” she shouted to her husband. “This is Gloria’s mother!”

“Mom, Carl… this is Maria Theresa. That’s her husband, Carlo Sr., over in the corner.”

“Great to meet you,” Carl said, holding out his hand for her to shake, which she did eagerly before leading us over to the table next to the booth Carlo Sr. occupied. His back rested against the wall under the enormous poster-sized photo of Maria Theresa standing with her arm around one Ms. Loren. They’d met at the airport once back in the sixties.

“Oh, my…” my mother said, staring at the photo, and Carlo smiled a toothy grin.

“Which is Sophia and which is my Maria?” he asked, jovially laughing. “When I met her, I had to marry her before some other man swept her off her feet.”

“He swept me off my feet, all right—we hadto lieto the priest, given that our Lucia was born nine months afterwe met, not afterwe married,” she said with absolutely no embarrassment.

My mom threw her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter, but Carl never even tried. While the others took menus, I waved mine away. Amalfi’s spaghetti alle vongole—basically spaghetti and clams, might’ve been the best dish I’d eaten in my life—and I’d traveled throughEurope. They bought farm-raised clams so as to deliver the freshest mollusks possible, given Vermont’s landlocked location.

Maybe I wanted this dinner to go well to butter them up before we got down to admitting the real reason we invited them out here—or,oneof the reasons. Deep down, I think I just wanted my mom back, but I lived in fear of losing her for good. I liked Carl. I felt like he liked me. I wanted that to continue. He gave great hugs. I couldn’t lose the hugs. He’d only just started giving them.

Blake took the lead with our conversation, understanding that I needed this dinner to go easy, and that we had time to give them the hard. We spent our time eating delicious food. My mom told stories of my childhood foibles and I asked Carl plenty of questions.

“Do you have a family?” I asked.

“Never been married, but I have a daughter, Lola. Her mom and I split custody. She’s up in Houghton.”

“Michigan Tech?” I asked, next.

On a nod and with a proud grin he answered, “My baby’s going to be an engineer.”

“I have a lot of connections,” Blake said. “She wants an internship or when she’s looking for a job, let me know.”

“You’d do that?” Carl asked.

“Family helps family,” Blake responded before taking a sip of his wine.

Then Carl smiled. “I should correct myself. I’ve never been married but will be next month.”

My eyes went huge as I gasped, then as any woman would do, dropped my gaze to my mother’s hand. How had I missed this?

The dinner turned into a celebration with Blake ordering the best bottle of wine in the place. Maria Theresa and Carlo, and theother patrons celebrated with us until we left the restaurant to drive them home.

“Wow,” my mother gushed in awe, and I had to agree. Our home, deserved a “Wow.” Blake had great taste.

Maisie met us in the circle drive to roll my mom and Carl’s suitcase inside. Blake and I both tried to protest as we were perfectly capable of wheeling in a bag. But Maisie insisted that this was what Blake generously compensated her for and how it would be offensive of us to deny her this, as she’d assume we thought that she couldn’t properly do her job. To compromise, we took the carry-ons.

Maisie rolled the bag up the stairs while Blake and I were able to carry ours. The wheels caught on each lip and thunked when they hit the marble of every step until she reached the second floor. My mom and Carl followed us into the guest bedroom that she’d made up for them.

Maisie put them inthe sunshineroom. No, Blake didn’t give his guest rooms official names, but this room reminded me of running through an open field in the bright, happy sunshine. Don’t worry, he’d hung up blackout curtains—or, most likely, Maisie hung up the blackout curtains—so guests were able to sleep in the mornings until they were ready to face the day.

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