“I do not understand,” Mama said as she washed the ahi steaks and laid them out on the waxed paper. “There is no way to know how many people will want fish tonight. It is a bad idea, Angela. Too expensive. We should make more cannelloni and lasagna.” She’d said the same thing at least five times in the last hour.
Angie shot a wink at Mira, who was trying not to giggle. “If there were a nuclear war, we’d have enough lasagna in the freezer for the whole town, Mama.”
“Do not make fun of war, Angela. Chop the parsley finer, Mira. We do not want our guests to speak with a tree stuck between their front teeth. Smaller.”
Mira laughed and kept chopping the parsley.
Mama set out the parchment paper with exquisite care, then brushed olive oil on the surface. “Mira. Hand me the shallots.”
Angie backed quietly out of the kitchen and returned to the dining room.
Five-fifteen and already they were more than half full. Rosa and Lauren were busy taking orders and pouring water for the guests.
Angie went from table to table, greeting people in the way she remembered her father doing. He’d always snap to attention at every table, straightening napkins, pulling out chairs for the ladies, calling out for “More water!”
She saw people she hadn’t seen for years, and each person seemed to have a story to share about her father. She’d forgotten, in the focus of her own family’s loss, how big a hole his absence had left in the community. When she was certain that every table was being handled well, she went back into the kitchen.
Mama was a wreck, a whirling dervish of nerves. “Eight fish specials already, and I ruined the first batch. It cooks so fast. The parchment exploded.”
Mira was standing off to the side, chopping tomatoes. Clearly, she was trying to stay invisible.
Angie went to her mother, touched her shoulder. “Take a deep breath, Mama.”
Her mother stopped, puffed her chest out in a heaving sigh, then caved inward. “I am old,” she muttered. “Too old for—”
The door banged open. Livvy stood there, dressed in a knee-length pleated black skirt, a white blouse, and black boots. “Well, is it true? Did Mama change the menu?”
“Who called you?” Mira asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Mr. Tannen from the hardware store came into the cleaners. He’d heard it from Mr. Garcia, who works at the printers.”
Mama studiously ignored her daughters. Bending forward, she seasoned the fish steaks with salt and pepper, dotted the tops with fresh thyme and parsley and chopped cherry tomatoes. Then she sealed each parchment package and set them on a cookie sheet, which she placed in the oven.
“It’s true,” Livvy whispered. “What is it?”
“Tonno al cartoccio,” Mama said with a sniff. “It is not a big deal. Over there I have halibut. I am making your Papa’s favorite rombo alle capperi e pomodoro. The tomatoes were very good this week.”
The oven beeper went off. Mama pulled the cookie sheet from the oven and dished up the plates. Tonight’s ahi special was served with marinated roasted bell peppers, grilled zucchini, and homemade polenta. “What are you all staring at?” Just then Lauren and Rosa came into the kitchen. Mama handed them plates. When the waitresses left, Mama said airily, “I’ve been thinking about changing the menu for years. Change is a good thing. Your papa—God rest his soul—always said I could do anything with the menu except take off the lasagna.” She made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Now quit standing around like log bumps and go out there. Lauren could use your help. Mira, go get more tomatoes.”
When Livvy and Mira left, Mama laughed. “Come here,” she said to Angie, opening her arms. “Your papa,” she whispered, “he would be so proud of you.”
Angie held her tightly. “He’d be proud of us.”
Late that night, when the final burst of guests had been served, and their dinner plates cleared away to make room for tiramisu and bowls full of rich zabaglione with fresh raspberries, Mama came out of the kitchen to see how her food had been received.
The guests, most of whom had known Maria for years, clapped at her arrival. Mr. Fortense yelled out, “Fabulous food!”
Mama smiled. “Thank you. And come back soon. Tomorrow I make asparagus-potato gnocchi with fresh tomatoes. It will make you weep.” She looked at Angie. “It is my brilliant baby daughter’s favorite dish.”
When the last customers finally left at ten-thirty, Lauren was exhausted. The tables had been full all night. A couple of times there had been lines at the door, even. Poor Rosa couldn’t possibly keep up. For the first hour or so, Lauren had been going so fast she felt nervous and queasy. Then Angie’s sister had shown up. Like an angel, Livvy swept in on a cloud of laughter and eased Lauren’s burden.
Now Lauren stood by the reservation desk. Rosa had gone home at least an hour ago and the women were all in the kitchen. For the first time all night, Lauren could draw a relaxed breath. She pulled her tip money out of her apron pocket and counted it.
Twice.