The Queen of Minor Disasters (34 page)

           
Thankfully, my soufflé puffs beautifully in the oven, and I admire it as
I dust it with powdered sugar, a dollop of whipped cream, and two strawberry
slices. Surprisingly, baking is the only thing that’s going well in my life. So
well in fact that I’ve gotten a few orders for whole cakes. I’ve also been
toying with the idea of pastry school. I looked up a few programs for the fall
and winter months, and have been emailing back and forth with an admissions
officer for a program in Philly.

 As I walk to the table I
imagine myself cooking for Roberto in the Lancetti’s enormous gourmet kitchen.
I shake the thought out of my head and hurry to the table before the soufflé
deflates.

           
“Here ya go,” I say placing it in front of him. “Just be careful, the
ramekin is hot.”

           
He smiles. “It looks delicious.”

           
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Lancetti nodding with approval.
Here we go again.

           
I meet Lucy at the coffee station as I move to make them espressos. I
didn’t even take an order, but I don’t need to. They’re Italian; they can’t
finish a meal without a nice stiff espresso.

           
“How’s it going, Stell?” she asks.

           
“Fine,” I say and tighten the hand piece.

           
“You seem a little… tense,” she says looking at me.

           
“No, I’m fine.”

           
“Okay,” she says placing two cups of coffee on her tray and leaving me to
make the espressos.

           
A few minutes later, I return to the table with the espressos and a sugar
bowl. I place one in front of each person and Mrs. Lancetti smiles at me.
Roberto is halfway through the soufflé. His face is twisted into a smile, the
same way everyone looks when they take a bite. I’ve got him with this one.

 “Stella this is amazing,”
Roberto says and looks at me with interest.

“Well, some people think I’m
amazing too,” I reply and turn to leave.

           
In the kitchen, Lorenzo and Mario are discussing football while they
plate up food. I’m not really interested in what they’re saying so I just sort
of space out for a while, and take a breath. All of my tables are served, and I
still have a few minutes before I need to drop off checks.

           
Suddenly, I see the kitchen door swing open. Roberto enters and walks
over to my brothers. I want to leave the kitchen, but I’m pretty sure he saw
me, so there’s nothing I can do except look at the Bain Marie and pretend that
I’m interested in salad ingredients.

           
They talk for a few minutes and then I hear Roberto say, “The dinner was
awesome tonight. I had the sea bass.”

           
“That’s my sister’s favorite dish,” says Mario. God, why does everyone
want to pawn me off on this guy?

           
“Really?” says Roberto looking at me. “I thought we had similar tastes.”

           
Oh really? I thought we wanted different things. What a phony. I give him
a half smile and look back at the fixings for the salad. I start counting black
olives floating in their brine.

           
“The soufflé was excellent,” he says, still trying to make conversation.

           
“Thanks,” I mumble. Eight, nine, ten, eleven…

           
“And for the record, I think you’re amazing too.”

           
I want to disappear. My brothers both look at me for a minute. Then
Roberto says goodbye to them and leaves the kitchen.

           
“What’s wrong with you?” Mario asks.

           
“What do you mean?”

“He was trying to talk to you
and you were just standing there.” He points to the Bain Marie just as Lucy
walks in the kitchen.

           
“Luce, your friend just blew it, big time,” Lorenzo says.

           
“Whatever, he’s a jerk.”

           
“What happened?” Lucy asks.

           
“Roberto was trying to talk to her and she ignored him,” Mario explains.

           
I leave the kitchen before they can say anything else. Thank God Labor
Day is in five days. I’m so ready for summer to be over.

           
I walk back towards the table, and to my horror, my mother is talking to
Anna Lancetti. I try to quietly drop off the check but they see me.

           
“Stella honey, are you excited for your birthday?” Mrs. Lancetti says
looking at me.

           
I shrug my shoulders and drop the check on the table.

           
“Do you have any plans?” Roberto asks. I look at my mother, then at Mrs.
Lancetti. This is getting ridiculous.

           
“I’m working.”

           
“Teresa, you can’t make your only daughter work on her birthday,” Mrs.
Lancetti says.

           
“It’s ok,” I say quickly. “I like working.”

           
“Stella, why don’t you take the night off. You guys go out. Have fun,” my
mom says. I can’t believe I’m being bombarded like this. As I see it, I have
two choices: I can suck it up, say yes and go out with Roberto, or I can stand
up for myself.

           
“I’d like that,” Roberto says smiling at me.

           
For a split second, I consider going out with him, if only to appease our
mothers. But then I remember his words of the other night. “Well,” I say,
looking right at him, “I guess we want different things.” Before anyone can say
a word, I turn and walk away.

Yields 2 servings

So what if we have similar
tastes. Roberto Lancetti is a jerk and I’m glad I finally put him in his place.

2 sea bass filets

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 medium onion, diced

4 Roma tomatoes, diced

1/2 cup clam juice (white
wine)

1/4 cup dried black olives

salt and pepper to taste

fresh basil, chopped

1)
     
Heat olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium
heat. Add the onions cook until translucent.

2)
     
Add the tomatoes and sauté together for a few
minutes.

3)
     
Push the tomatoes and onions to the side and place
the sea bass in the center of the pan. Cook each side for about 2 minutes.

4)
     
Add the clam juice and bring to a soft boil. Reduce
heat and cover the pan.

5)
     
Allow the sea bass to poach for 10-15 minutes,
depending on the thickness of the fish.

6)
     
Add salt, pepper, and black olives.

7)
     
Top with fresh basil before serving.

You can never go against
Teresa DiLucio without facing her wrath.

Luckily, I am able to avoid
her for the rest of the night because she leaves with the Lancettis. I’m just
hoping that she’s already asleep when I walk in the house.

           
Slowly, I unlock the door and try to creep in. But there they are, the
DiLucio girls, waiting to judge me.

“Here she is, Ms. America,” my
mom exclaims when she sees me. She and Gina are sitting on the couch drinking
tea. Lucy sits with her feet up in my Dad’s La-Z-Boy. She smiles guiltily and I
can tell right away they’ve all been talking about me.

           
“Stell, why don’t you just go out with him?” Gina asks. “You looked so
cute together at the wedding.”

           
“You would think that, right?” I say, my head in the fridge. All of the
sudden, my appetite is back, and, as usual, I missed dinner. The fridge is
empty except for a gallon of milk and two cups of strawberry yogurt. I grab the
milk and move to the pantry, where I find a box of Frosted Mini-Wheat’s. Not
exactly ideal Food Therapy, but at this point I’m pretty desperate. “But,” I
continue as I pour the cereal in my bowl, “he’s not interested in me.”

           
“Are you crazy?”
my mom asks. “He asked you on a date.”

           
“Because you and his mother forced him into it.” I shovel cereal in my
mouth.

           
“Why would you think that?” my mom asks.

           
“You sent me flowers and made me think they were from him!” I still can’t
believe I let that one slide so quickly.           

           
“Oh please Stella,” my mom waves her hand in the air.

“Come on Mom. You and Mrs.
Lancetti have been planning our wedding for twenty years.”

           
“Do you like him?” Gina asks.

           
“Of course,” I reply automatically. I‘m caught off guard by the question,
but after I respond, I realize that I do like him. In fact, since the wedding I
can’t stop thinking of him. I just keep replaying the night in my head, analyzing
every detail, right down to the minute I ruined everything.

           
“Then go out with him!” Gina squeals. “This is too cute. I mean, you guys
have known each other
forever
.
This could be
it,
Stella.”

           
Suddenly I feel like I’ve stepped into a Match.com commercial.

           
“This is
not it
.”

           
“You never know, Stella.” My mom looks at me with a smile.

           
“Look, he’s not into me.”

           
“Yes he is,” Lucy
interjects. “I know it.”

           
I shake my head. “He’s not. And anyway, I want to be single for a while.”
This isn’t exactly true, but I figure it will shut everyone up.

           
My mother scoffs at this. “You’re not getting any younger.”

           
“I’m only twenty-se…”

           
“Twenty-eight,” Gina points to the clock. “You’re twenty-eight as of one
minute ago. Happy Birthday.” The way she says it makes me feel like an old maid.

           
Happy birthday to me.

I don’t really feel like
running on the morning of my birthday, but like clockwork, I get up at 6:00
and, of course, I can’t fall back asleep. I really want to just throw the
covers over my head and camp out here until midnight. But I kick myself out of
bed. I stumble around the bedroom, looking for running shorts and can’t find
any, so I pull on a pair of bright red boxers I’ve had since the nineties. I
can’t believe I actually used to wear these things as shorts. Why do I even
still have them? I look at myself in the mirror. For the first time in my life,
I’m down right
skinny
. If I lose
any more weight, I’ll look like one of those drug addicted Calvin Klein models.
I debate just running in shorts and a sports bra but decide against it. I’ve
never been a showy kind of girl and I’m not going to start now,
even if
I have the flattest abs of my
life. I pull on a white cotton tank top, lace up my Nikes, and tip toe down the
steps.