Mostly, I’m in awe of the dynamic of such a fabulous large and loving blended family. Teresa’s mom laughing in the corner with Gio’s mom, all the aunts taking turns attending to Gio’s birdlike grandmother, ninety-five and a white-haired pistol, holding court in the corner and eating like a starved buffalo. The barely controlled chaos, the gentle ribbing, the constant hugging and kissing and ballbusting, and the enormity of the love in this house. I watch the little kids crawl into whatever adult lap is nearest for a snuggle, and it makes me think of Geneva and her affection for me, how nothing feels better than wee arms around your neck, or the feathery kiss of tiny lips on your cheek. The way they all have that kid smell. And my heart breaks wide open and all I can think is that it would be so nice to have family like this, big and brash and present.
We’ve always been a small clan. I never knew any of my grandparents, Claire and Buddy never had kids, and no one seems to be in touch with the extended family at all. We’d occasionally take in friends at holidays, to fill out the table a bit, but most often we were just the five of us. And then four. And now we are three. I tried again to get Mom and Claire to come today, but apparently there was a marathon on TCM that needed attending to. I promised to stop by on my way home with leftovers for them.
“I’m glad you’re here, El, thanks for coming,” Teresa says, watching me look down the table at the bacchanal. One thing about a dining table this long and this full and noisy, it creates little pockets of privacy and intimacy. Everyone else is engaged with each other, and we can sit in our own little bubble at the end, marveling at the astounding messy fabulousness of it all.
“Thank you so much for having me. Really, what a wonderful tradition.”
“Yeah. It’s endless, the cleaning and cooking and cooking and cleaning, but it’s worth it. Do you ever think about it? Would you want this? Any of it?”
I smile at her. “I never really knew if it was for me, but now . . .”
“Now?” She looks at me expectantly.
“The idea is kind of appealing, to be honest. Not at quite this scale . . .”
She laughs. “Yeah, I’d keep it somewhat rational if I were you. But family, a husband, maybe kids?”
“It’s not an unpleasant thought.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You met someone,” she says.
I can’t help it, I grin. “Maybe.”
“O-M-G. Who? How?”
“A friend of Lawrence’s. Very nice man. It’s going well, so far. I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“Holy shit, that is so great. I’m really happy for you. But when do we get to meet him?”
“When I know for sure.” Or as sure as I can know. When he’s met my mom and Aunt Claire and they tell me that they like him. When the words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” aren’t still so foreign and exotic on our tongues. I want him to come back and ring in the New Year with me. Maybe tell me he loves me. I want to be really, really super sure before I let him meet Teresa and Lynne. Especially Lynne.
“Okay, okay. Can I have his name?”
“So you can go all stalkery with the Google and find shit out about him online? Absolutely not!”
“Damn. Does Lynne know yet?”
“No, she’s been so busy with the new job and the new dog that I haven’t seen her.”
Teresa’s face falls a bit. “That poor doggie.”
“Oh, they’ll be fine, just need to do the training.”
“I meant spending Christmas in the kennel!”
“What?!” I hadn’t heard anything about this.
“Yeah, she had church last night and family stuff today and then I guess she is leaving for the week to visit friends in L.A. through New Year’s, so she boarded him starting yesterday. I feel so bad—he’s so small and she just got him, and nine days seems like a long time to be apart.”
“I thought she was staying in town!” I can’t believe Lynne would just take off and leave her new puppy.
“Yeah, she was going to stay and work, but apparently Angelique closes all her stuff down between Christmas and New Year’s every year, and some friend of hers reached out, so she just planned it last minute.”
“That is so shitty.” I can’t help myself.
“Well, she deserves a vacation . . . I mean . . .”
“No, it’s shitty, T. It’s selfish. She has a brand-new puppy. That is a huge responsibility. Nine days is a really long time to be apart, to have training interrupted. It isn’t fair to the dog. For what? Convenience while she goes to family functions? A vacation? She could have taken the gift of the week off to be here with him and training every day, to really bond and get him on a good schedule. Instead, she just drops him off like luggage with strangers and takes off? C’mon, Teresa, that is really self-centered behavior.”
I can see the conflict in Teresa’s eyes. Deep down, she knows I’m right. But her impulse to defend Lynne is strong. “I know he’s a handful, and she’s doing it all on her own . . . maybe she needed a break? She said the place she is boarding him will be doing training stuff with him while she’s gone.”
“T. There’s no such thing as dog training. There’s only people training. Yeah, anyone can teach a dog to sit or high-five with enough time and treats; that’s tricks. But the key to puppy training is that it’s essentially training the owner to behave in certain ways, to support the dog in being the well-behaved version of himself that he naturally wants to be. If your dog shits in the house, it isn’t the dog’s fault—the dog doesn’t want to shit in the house—it’s the owner’s fault for not taking the dog out in time. If the dog is destroying stuff, it’s because the owner isn’t providing enough attention or activity. A dog isn’t inherently destructive; he’s just bored or understimulated. Lynne doesn’t need someone else to train her dog, she needs to train herself to be attuned to the needs of the dog, to giving the dog a schedule to rely on. Jesus, T, how old were your kids before you left them behind for a week’s vacation?”
Teresa blushes. “I’ll let you know when it happens.”
I shake my head. Of course she’d never gone on vacation without her kids. “Okay, then. Proving my point. Also, side note? You want a little more spice, maybe plan a trip for the two of you and let someone in this room watch your boys for a week. They’ll be fine. Just saying.”
“Noted. And you know Lynne. She’s not instinctive about that stuff.”
“No, she isn’t.” I can see on Teresa’s face that the conversation is making her uncomfortable, and it’s Christmas, so I pivot quickly. “Anyway, whatever. I hope she is having a nice Christmas and that she has a good vacation. More importantly, are you getting ready for your big teaching day?” I’ve got Teresa scheduled for a full day with Ian early in January to teach him some classic Italian dishes, including how to do pasta from scratch, basic Sunday gravy, meatballs, and a classic risotto.
“I hope so. I’m a little nervous. From your description he’s a much more sophisticated chef than I am.”
“He’s got some serious skills, but he needs some of that Mama cooking in him. A little bit of the Italian soul food in his repertoire.”
“Well, I can help with that!” She spears a chunk of sausage and pops it in her mouth.
“Yes, you can.” I twirl a forkful of linguine and stuff it in my face, marveling at how the simple slick of good olive oil, a hint of garlic and parsley, and slippery noodles are so perfect.
“I keep meaning to tell you, I took the boys to that Mexican place you recommended!”