The five-story house was assigned by age, with the oldest closest to the ground. The first floor held the common kitchen, dining room, and entrance parlor. The second floor had the most rooms, configured with four small bedrooms and one bathroom.
Aunt Jo and Uncle Dom were in one room; Nonna had another; and Dominic, Elsa, and the baby shared the other two. The third floor, where Mabel and Gio lived, had two rooms. Because Mabel was expecting, the second room was in the process of being turned into a nursery. They shared one bathroom with the fourth floor, where Nino and Lena lived in one large room. A staircase ran from the entrance parlor to the top of the house. Mail and messages were left on the steps, as were baskets of laundry to be carried up and down for convenience.
In the kitchen, situated in the back of the house on the main floor, the enormous black enamel pasta pot full of water was bubbling. Elsa added salt, which caused the water to crest into foam. “Lena, please tell Mom the water is ready.”
Lena opened the basement door and hollered down to their mother-in-law, “We got a full boil, Ma.”
“On my way,” Aunt Jo hollered back.
“Look who’s here. The phantom Nicky,” Mabel said as she sliced the fresh bread and dumped it into a wooden basket lined with a starched cloth napkin.
Nicky took a seat as Lena prepared the crudités: olives, celery, fennel, and carrots in a cut glass dish.
“You look good, Mabel.”
“I’m an ice truck.”
“Don’t say that, Mabel,” Lena said supportively.
“Look at my face. It’s like a wheel of Parm.”
“You still have your cheekbones,” Nicky assured her.
“Where? Who are you kidding? I picked up a book of nursery rhymes for the baby. He’s going to have a mother that looks like the dish that ran away with the spoon.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Elsa said quietly.
“You hardly gained any weight with little Dominic. You’re long and slender like Dovina, like one of those exotic models from Europe. Probably because you are from Europe. They make them lean over there.”
Elsa smiled and picked up the salad bowl to take into the dining room. She pushed through the doors gracefully.
“Plus she has an air of mystery,” Mabel said softly. “War bride.”
“We’re all war brides,” Elsa said as she returned, catching her sister-in-law gossiping.
“Sorry, Elsa.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. We all married soldiers, so we’re all war brides.”
“That’s a good point,” Nicky said. “And now you’ll all be peacetime mothers.” He fished an olive out of the jar and ate it. “The family expands.”
“Along with my waist.” Mabel patted her stomach.
“It doesn’t matter what size you are. You look sharp,” Lena assured Mabel.
“Thanks to my wardrobe. My mother made me twelve maternity tops—all from the same pattern. Simplicity Number 512, if you’re interested. One day you’ll see me in gingham checks, the next day stripes, a few solids here and there, and even florals that will be easy to convert into table skirts when this is over. So far, I’ve only worn this one, and I’m already sick of them.”
“They’re cute,” Lena chirped.
“You think so? I’ll save them for you. Have you ever seen a collar this big? My mother said if you have a big collar on a maternity blouse, people look at your face and not lower. I say they look at the big collar.”
“All the magazines are showing pilgrim collars and mutton sleeves,” Lena offered.
“Gio thinks I look like one of the guys that signed the Declaration of Independence. But what does my husband know about fashion?”
“Not much,” Nicky confirmed.
“Go easy. The man is color-blind. Anyhow, it’s impossible to look stylish in this condition. They should sell graduation gowns in the maternity department. Save us all a lot of heartache. ”
“And it would encourage you to have a smart baby,” Nicky said, chewing a slice of the fennel.
“I’m not worried about that. Our baby will be very good at arithmetic. Have you ever watched Gio take bets? His mind holds more numbers than a bingo drum.”
“How are we doing, girls?” Aunt Jo pushed through the basement door carrying a tray of homemade cavatelli. Elsa took the tray from her and carefully folded the pasta into the pot of boiling water.
“Call the boys,” Aunt Jo instructed Nicky.
“Will do.” Nicky moved to leave the kitchen.
“You don’t kiss your aunt when you haven’t seen her in weeks?”
“It’s been a couple days, Aunt Jo,” Nicky said, but embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re very needy.”
“You’re her favorite,” Elsa assured him.
“Yes, he is,” Aunt Jo agreed.
“You love him more than your own sons,” Lena teased.
“At least as much. Right, Aunt Jo?” Nicky gave her another quick hug.
“At least.”
Jo went into the mudroom and lifted her grandson out of the playpen and brought him into the kitchen.
“He needs a bottle, Elsa.”
“It’s ready.” Elsa lifted the bottle of milk out of the warmer and tested it on her hand on the way to handing it to her mother-in-law.
“May I feed him?” Jo asked.
“Of course.”
Jo took her grandson into the dining room as Mabel, Lena, and Elsa worked in sync to bring Macaroni Night, always on Tuesday evenings, to the table. Elsa lifted the cavatelli off the stove and drained it in a colander in the sink. Lena prepared the pasta bowl with grated cheese, as Mabel arranged the meat platter with fragrant Italian sausage, delicate meatballs, and succulent pieces of pork smothered in the marinara.
Elsa ladled the thick tomato gravy onto the cavatelli in the bowl as Lena cranked fresh Parmesan cheese over the mixture. Elsa lifted the bowl and carried it into the dining room. Her sisters-in-law followed, carrying the platters of meat, bread, and salad. Dominic poured homemade red wine into the glasses. Jo leaned down and kissed her ninety-two-year-old mother on the cheek before taking her place at the head of the table. She cradled her grandson in her arms, and fed him a bottle.
Gio entered from the living room, dressed up in an Italian suit, a silk shirt, and a flashy yellow tie, followed by Nino, who wore the gray pants of the Western Union uniform, with his pale blue work shirt opened at the collar.
Nino was lean, with the sparkling black eyes, regal nose, and full lips of the Sicilian side of the family. The brothers took their seats at the table as Dominic poured them each a glass of wine.
“Elsa, can he try a little of the cavatelli tonight?”
“No. We started him on bananas today. We’ll see how he does.” Elsa kissed her husband on the cheek.
“You’re starving my grandson,” Dom thundered as he entered from the parlor. “Here,” he said as he handed a small box to Lena. “I was on the turnpike today. Stopped at Stuckey’s. Turtles for later.”
“Thanks, Pop.” Lena took the box into the kitchen.
“What, no ice cream?” Jo asked.
“I didn’t have time to stop at Howard Johnson’s.”
“I like their saltwater taffy,” Lena offered.
“Well, tonight you get turtles.”
“Thanks, Pop.”