Page 65 of Bountiful
Zara’s mother had just put about ten dishes on the long table in about as many seconds, two of which were giant pans of lasagna. “TV off, Benito!” she hollered. “And bring a corkscrew to thetable!”
“Can I help you in any way?” I’d asked a moment ago, watching her make lightning-fast adjustments to the meal she’d prepared. Now I knew where Zara got her efficientdemeanor.
Mrs. Rossi had given me the side-eye. “Do youactuallycook?”
“Only bachelor food. Eggs. Burgers. Chicken. But I take coachingreallywell.”
She’d sniffed. “I have everything under control. But it’s good to know you’re not completely helpless, like some of the men in this family.” She’d turned toward an open doorway and bellowed, “ON THE TABLE!LET’SGO!”
Zara had set the flowers I’d brought in the center of the table. Now she was seated beside me. Her brother Alec was already seated as well, and shooting me grumpy looks. Another brother—Damien—had given my hand exactly the bruising shake that I’d give his if he’d gotten my sister pregnant. But now he was ignoring me from the seat besideOtto’s.
Benito was the last to sit down. I noticed that Zara’s fourth brother was missing, but I didn’taskwhy.
And then there were the uncles. Otto had an identical twin, Art. But I found them easy enough to tell apart. Otto was the sterner man, and his hair was grayer. Art had less to say, but he smiled when his sister put a lasagna down in front of him, and he didn’t seem to want tokillme.
“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “Twins run in your family?” I asked, thinking of Zara and Benito. I gave Zara’s elbow a squeeze. “Only one at a time for you?Slacker.”
“God, bite your tongue!” Shelaughed.
But then I heard Alec mutter under his breath. “Maybe you just couldn’t get thejobdone.”
You couldn’t pay me to touch thatcomment.
“Thanks for these,” Art said, cracking open a can of Heady Topper. “You’ll have one, right?” heaskedme.
“Sure, I’d love one.”Or ten. “Want one?” IaskedZara.
She shook her head. “Can I have just a sip of yours? Nursing is literally abuzzkill.”
Otto snorted. “Offer the nursing mother a sixteen-ounce beer at noon,whydontcha?”
“Right. Sorry,” I said, feeling myneckheat.
Zara gave me a sympathetic look. I winked at her. Otto was a prick, and her brothers looked ready to pounce. But I honestly didn’t care what they thought of me. I was here for Zara and the baby. They were the only ones whomattered.
Luckily, Zara’s mother finally took her seat. “I’d like to say grace,” she announced, so I bowedmyhead.
I always felt like a fraud at moments like this. Nobody had said grace at my house when I was a child. Hell, I couldn’t remember ever sitting down to a home-cooked meal. Even when I’d lived with my grandparents, food sometimes appeared on the kitchen counter. And when it didn’t, I heated things from cans for Bess andmyself.
“Thank you lord for blessing us with this meal, and may we know thy everlasting grace—” A baby’s squawk erupted from the other room, and sheflinched.
“Sorry.” Zara pushed back her chair and stood. “I knew she wouldn’t go for a naprightnow.”
“Amen!” Otto declared, then reached for the spatula in one of the lasagna pans, and his nephews reached for theirbeers.
Mrs. Rossi raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m sorry, God. I tried. Thank you for theseblessings.Amen.”
Dishes were passed, and I waited for Zara to reappear. She came back with Nicole in her arms just as Benito offered me a piece of lasagna. I picked up Zara’s plate instead, extending it toward her brother, who plateditup.
“No, you eat,” Zara said when I offered her the plate. “I’m going to cut up a few things for the babyfirst.”
Other dishes were passed, and my plate became loaded down with two different salads, a slab of ham, and cheesy potatoes. There were olives in a cut-glass dish and green beans topped withalmonds.
“You must have been cooking all week,” I remarked to Zara’s mom. “This isdelicious.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at me from the other end of the table, but somehow it still looked chilly. “I like to make a big spread for the family on Sunday. Then I walk out the front door and let Otto and Art deal with thecleanup.”
“Totally worth it,” Art said, helping himself totheham.
