It Had To Be You

  “Rosa, this is better than my mother’s.”

  “Thank you.” My aunt’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “I’ve had plenty of years to perfect my recipe. There’s been a lot of trial and error along the way, but I finally have a recipe I’m happy with.”

  “I’d be happy with it too, if you don’t mind sharing.” Francesca gave her a warm smile. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but Emilio is very encouraging.”

  “We eat out a lot,” Emilio said between bites. “That’s how I encourage her. There’s nothing like a five-star restaurant to encourage a woman who doesn’t know her way around a kitchen.”

  This brought a chuckle from many in the room, especially D.J. He knew my cooking skills were limited at best. Not that there would be a lot of five-star restaurants in our future. No, I sincerely longed to cook like Aunt Rosa. Someday, anyway.

  I looked back and forth between Francesca and Rosa, realizing they were both my aunts now—though three decades separated them. Weird. I still couldn’t get over the fact that I had an aunt not much older than myself.

  As I pondered this, Emilio started telling stories about the various new restaurants in Napoli, and before long, Bianca and Bertina chimed in, sharing all of the many changes that had taken place in my parents’ hometown since their last visit. After that, we told stories, sang old songs, and shared in the love that only a family knows, until the clock in the front hallway struck ten. At that point, D.J. announced that he needed to get some shut-eye.

  Walking him to the door, I whispered, “So, what do you think of my nutty family now that you’ve met the Italian contention?”

  “Honestly?” he asked. “Bella, I think you’re the most fortunate person on the planet. You’ve got great relatives. They’re a blast to be around. And all of them clearly love the Lord.”

  “Well, all but Sal, not that he’s technically a relative.”

  “True. But he’ll come around. I’ve been praying for him.”

  “Me too.”

  D.J. kissed the tip of my nose as he pulled me close. “Our children are going to be so blessed, Bella. They’re going to grow up surrounded by people who love them … and love God.”

  My heart swelled—not just at the idea that D.J. was already thinking ahead to the children we would one day have, but at the realization that he was right. His parents and brother were committed to the Lord, with deep abiding faith leading the way. And my family, however goofy at times, was equally as committed. Of course, there were probably times when D.J. thought we needed to be committed … but that was another story.

  I gazed into his eyes, overcome with emotion. Suddenly, I didn’t want to wait until February to get married. I wanted to start my happily ever after right here, right now.

  On the other hand, I had no decor, no cake, and no plan of action. I’d been so busy planning for everyone else’s wedding that I’d barely had time to give thought to my own. That would come in time. I hoped.

  “A penny for your thoughts.” D.J. gazed at me tenderly.

  “Oh, just thinking how amazing it’s going to be when I’m Bella Neeley.”

  “I can hardly wait.” He leaned down and gave me a kiss … one that convinced me that—no matter how difficult things got—this was a guy worth waiting for.

  5

  Moonlight Serenade

  After D.J. left, I climbed the stairs, more than ready for bed. The last few days had really knocked the wind out of my sails. As I reached the top step, I was reminded of my earlier attempt to try to reach Jenna. Once I arrived in my bedroom, I fetched my phone from my purse and looked to see if she had returned the call. Confusion set in when I saw that she had not.

  “What’s up with you, girlfriend?” I asked, setting the phone on the bedside table. “Are you ignoring me?”

  I slipped out of my clothes and into a comfortable nightie, then reached for the Crisco to remove my makeup. I’d learned a few things from my mama of late. Of course, most of her beauty secrets she’d acquired from the ladies at D.J.’s church, but she still took the credit.

  The sound of laughter rang out from the guest room next to mine. Looked like Bianca and Bertina were having a high old time with Mama and Rosa. Their relationship—though tested by miles—was still going strong, even after all these years. Surely Jenna and I could make it through ours with just as much finesse, in spite of my busy schedule and her preoccupation with Bubba Neeley.

  At once I thought about something I’d heard in a sermon: “It’s about the people, not the project.” This statement was never truer than now. Still, with two weddings to plan, keeping people front and center wasn’t always easy.

  A rap on my door caught my attention. I hollered, “Come in,” then smiled as I saw Deanna standing there, dressed in her pj’s and robe.

  “Feel like having a sleepover?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Sure. Did they kick you out of Armando’s room?”

  “No, just thought it would be more fun this way. We have a lot of catching up to do. Unless you’re too tired, that is.”

  “Never.” It’s the people, not the project. Focus on the people, Bella! When would I ever have another chance for a sleepover with my Italian cousin, after all?

  She reached into the pocket of her robe and came out with several small chocolates. “I brought these from home. I remembered they were your favorite.”

  “No way!” I reached to open one of the delectable goodies and popped it in my mouth, overcome by its creamy goodness. Deanna grinned. “Some things never change. You always did have a sweet tooth.”

  I nodded, my mouth too full to respond properly.

  At that moment, another rap on the door sounded, and Aunt Bianca—at least, I think it was Bianca—popped her head inside. She took one look at my cousin, and her anxious expression shifted to one of relief. “There you are, Deanna. Your mama was wondering what happened to you.”

  Okay, this one is Bianca. Perhaps I would be able to tell the twins apart by week’s end.

  “We’re having a slumber party,” I said.

  Deanna held up the chocolates and elevated her brows in a playful sort of way.

  Bianca took that as a sign to join us. She practically sprinted to my bed and hopped aboard. I smiled as I looked at her Scooby-Doo pajamas. Who knew Scooby was popular in Italy? Seconds later, another rap sounded at the door. Bertina stuck her head inside.

  “There you are!” She put her hands on her hips and stared at Bianca and Deanna. “I thought maybe the Rapture had taken place and I’d been left behind.” She giggled and scurried into the room, climbing on my bed alongside her sister and daughter. Only then did I notice she also wore Scooby-Doo pajamas. Man. The twins had this matching thing down to a science. Made me wonder what the rest of the week was going to look like.

  Before long, Mama joined us. Then Rosa. Then Sophia. By this point, the whole atmosphere had really shifted to a party scene. The only female missing was Francesca. I had a feeling neither she nor Emilio would be emerging anytime soon.

  “Remember all of those things we used to do at slumber parties when we were kids?” Sophia said, climbing onto the bed alongside the rest of us. “Wrapping houses. Tossing water balloons at cars.”

  “W-what?” Mama gasped. “You threw water balloons at cars?”

  Sophia clapped a hand over her mouth and laughed. “I can’t believe I just confessed that.”

  “When I was a girl, we would call boys on the telephone.” Bertina giggled. “We were brazen.” She looked at her sisters and sighed. “Mama would’ve had a fit.”

  “Back then, girls didn’t call boys,” Bianca explained, giving me a knowing look.

  “Now they just send text messages,” Sophia said. “The rules have changed, I guess.”

  “Whenever I went to a slumber party, we always did each other’s hair and makeup,” Mama said. Her face lit up. “That would be so much fun! We can practice for the wedding!”

  She sprinted out
of the room and came back with her humongous makeup bag. The ladies began to squeal with delight as they looked through it, and all the more as she began to explain her beauty secrets. Out came the tube of hemorrhoid cream, which she rubbed into the crow’s-feet around Bianca’s eyes. Out came the udder cream, which she used to soften Bertina’s hands. Out came half a dozen other products, most purchased at the local feed store or Walmart. The women found these things delightful. Even Deanna went on and on about how she wished they had a Walmart in Napoli.

  “Now I want to do Rosa’s makeup,” Mama said. “We need to practice for next Saturday.”

  “But it’s eleven o’clock at night,” Rosa argued. “And I’m in my nightgown.”

  “Who cares!” Bertina crossed her arms and gave Rosa a look of warning. “This is going to be fun.”

  Bianca reached for the makeup bag and tossed it Mama’s way. “Just relax and enjoy yourself, Rosa.”

  I wondered if Rosa knew how to relax and enjoy herself, but I didn’t say so.

  The sisters spent the next twenty minutes meticulously applying foundation, powder, blush, lipstick, eye shadow, eyebrow pencil, and mascara. Rosa fussed and fumed, not used to sitting still for so long, and definitely not used to this amount of pampering. While Mama worked on her face, Bertina painted her fingernails and Bianca gave her a pedicure.

  When they finished, Rosa stood and approached the mirror over my dressing table, gasping as she saw herself for the first time. “O-oh my.” The face that stared back at her was beautifully made up—not too much, not too little. Just right.

  “Rosa!” I stood beside her, gazing at her reflection. “You look like a movie star.”

  “Laz won’t recognize me.” She giggled. “And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself!” Bertina said with a wave of her hand. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

  Rosa grimaced and shook her head.

  “Of course she is. Beauty runs in our family,” Bianca assured us all.

  Mama dove in, going on and on about what a head-turner Rosa would be on her wedding day. Listening to my mama and aunts and their girlish chatter brought a smile to my face. Made me wonder if one day Sophia and I would have a conversation like this—say, in forty years or so. Though, of course, I wouldn’t have to wait till then for my wedding day. Hopefully, she wouldn’t either.

  My sister approached and began to fuss with Rosa’s long hair. “We need to put this in a nice updo.” She turned to me. “Bella, do you have any rubber bands? Hairpins?”

  Minutes later, Rosa was seated on the chair at my dressing table, having her hair done. After a bit of work on Sophia’s part, it was beautifully styled. We all gasped at the change. Honestly, Rosa was right. Laz might not recognize her. The transformation was pretty amazing.

  The conversation rose to a roar at this point as we all oohed and aahed at my aunt’s appearance. She stood and turned with her back to the mirror, and Sophia handed her a handheld mirror to use as well. Now seeing the whole picture, Rosa began to cry.

  “It’s so … pretty!”

  “That reminds me of a song.” Bertina began to sing, “I feel pretty, oh so pretty,” from West Side Story, and within seconds, we all joined in, creating a rousing chorus.

  That’s pretty much where our party ended. Francesca appeared in my doorway with a sour look on her face. I found myself distracted, however, by her red negligee. So distracted, in fact, that I actually squeezed my eyes shut to force the image away. At once, everyone stopped singing, freezing in place. Bertina clamped a hand over her mouth. I couldn’t be sure if she did so to stop the song from flowing out or to keep from saying anything about Francesca’s attire.

  “Ladies, I know you haven’t seen each other in ages,” Francesca said, her accent thicker than ever, “but I’ve got to get some rest, and you’re making it impossible. It was a long flight. A very long flight.” She gave my aunts a pensive look. “Surely we all need our beauty sleep.”

  You could’ve heard a pin drop at that proclamation. Something about the words beauty sleep sounded like an accusation. The slumber party ended immediately, though I had my suspicions Bianca, Bertina, and Rosa would’ve tossed a few eggs at Francesca’s head if they’d happened to have any handy. And Sophia surely would have hurled a water balloon at her.

  Francesca disappeared from view, and Bertina’s eyes narrowed to slits. She whispered, “Il pessimo vicini e il parente piu stretto.”

  For this one, I had to ask for a translation.

  “The worst neighbor is the closest relation,” Deanna whispered. “She’s trying to say this is going to be hard for Rosa, marrying into Laz’s family, especially with a woman like that in the mix.”

  Rosa’s expression softened as she looked at her hair in the mirror once again. “Not so. Francesca just needs the love of the Lord, that’s all. I’m not giving up on her. She’s a sweet young thing.”

  “Emphasis on young,” Bianca said as she rolled her eyes.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being young.” Rosa nodded, rubbing at her crow’s-feet as she gazed at her reflection. “We were all young once. Remember?” She turned back to her sisters with a smile.

  A collective sigh went up, and the excitement fizzled out of the room. Nothing like being reminded of your age to shift things out of slumber party gear. Even Deanna—who couldn’t stop yawning—decided she’d be better off sleeping in Armando’s room.

  After we parted ways, I settled into bed with Precious at my side. The little monster took my comforter in her teeth and began to chew with vigor. Still, I loved her. Couldn’t envision things any other way. Pulling the fabric from her teeth, I scolded her, then gave her a kiss.

  As I rested my head against the pillow, I thought about what had happened earlier, when Sal met Rosa for the first time. The look on his face. The judgment in his eyes. So what if she wasn’t the thin, young beauty that Francesca was? Did that mean she wasn’t as valuable? How dare he formulate an opinion based on appearance only. Oooh, it made my blood boil!

  I found myself growing angry and decided I’d better do business with the Lord about this before it ate me alive.

  My words poured out like Rosa’s olive oil, and I shared my thoughts with God in rapid succession. He, in turn, calmed me down and reminded me that he saw every one of us as beautiful, no matter our appearance.

  When my prayer time ended, I started thinking about Bianca and Bertina in their matching Scooby-Doo pajamas. How fun would it be to reach your fifties and still be best friends?

  As the words best friends flitted through my mind, I thought again of Jenna. Reaching for my phone, I checked to see if, perhaps, I’d missed a call from her during our slumber party chaos. Sadly, no.

  “What’s up with you, girl?” I asked, putting the phone back down. “Why are you avoiding me?”

  I reached to turn off my lamp, then rolled over, ready to put all thoughts of slumber parties and best friends out of my mind.

  6

  Band of Gold

  On Monday morning, I met with the members of the swing band. They wanted a look at the facility to see how and where they would set up on the big day. I couldn’t help but smile as they pulled up in a renovated school bus with a large gold wedding ring painted on the side and the words Band of Gold emblazoned across it. Looked like their name had a dual meaning. They must play at a lot of weddings.

  I watched in surprise as the band members exited the bus. Truly, I’d never seen so many elderly men in one place before. If I had to guess, I’d say the average age was somewhere around seventy-five. One of the men appeared to be much older, and a few were probably in their late sixties. Approaching the bus, I looked around for Gordy, the leader of the band.

  “Bella Rossi?” A white-haired gentleman approached and extended his hand.

  “The one and only.” I extended my hand and was surprised at his strength as he grasped it. Looks could be deceiving.

  “I’m Gordy.
These fellas are my band members. Happy to meet you. I can’t tell you how excited we are about this gig.”

  “Same here. And I know my aunt and uncle are thrilled that you had the evening free on such short notice.”

  “It’s a fluke, really. We were supposed to play a retirement home event that day—a Christmas banquet—but it fell through.”

  “Their loss is our gain.” I offered him a warm smile, wondering about the fact that he still held my hand. Man, the fellow had a tight grip.

  I managed to wriggle free just as I caught a glimpse of Laz and Sal approaching from our house next door. Sal took one look at the band director and nearly hyperventilated. For a minute there, I thought we were going to have to resuscitate him.

  “Gordy? Gordy DiMarco?” he said as he approached. “Is that you?”

  Gordy turned Sal’s way, his brow wrinkled. “Yes. I’m Gordy DiMarco.”

  “You don’t remember me … us?” Sal waved his arms, suddenly loaded with zeal. “Sal Lucci.”

  “From Atlantic City!” Gordy gasped. “How could I forget that name?”

  “The one and only!” Sal grabbed him, gave him a tight squeeze, and began to speak to him in Italian, carrying on and on about the old days in New Jersey.

  Laz stood off in the distance, a confused look on his face. A moment later, however, his face lit up. “Gordy DiMarco!” Laz pointed at the fellow. “I remember you now. I once sold you a vacuum cleaner when you lived in Jersey. Sal put me in contact with you. You were …” He paused a minute and raked his fingers through his thinning hair. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “You were one of Sal’s, um, friends.”

  I knew what that meant. Sal’s ties to the mob in Atlantic City—however loose—had been infamous. Had this soft-spoken man standing before me now once been a mob boss, perhaps? Surely not.

  Gordy nodded. “I remember those days.” He paused for a moment, the expression on his face shifting to one of chagrin. “You know, things were different back then. I was different back then. I’m not that Gordy DiMarco anymore.”