Page 15 of Forecasting the Forward

“How many times have I told you to call me Mary?” the woman says, popping one fist on her hip in faux aggravation.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m Texan. We take a while to learn,” Jacob jokes.

“I find that hard to believe. Come on. I’ll seat you in the back so you won’t be bothered on your date,” she says with a wink.

I’m about to argue, but Jacob beats me to it. “Oh, we aren’t on a date. I know my place. This beauty would never give me the time of day. We just got rained out on a double date, and we both craved pizza.”

“I wondered why you both appeared wet,” she says with a laugh. “Is it raining?”

“No,” I interject. “A fire at another place caused the indoor sprinkler system to go off.”

“Yet the two people you were on dates with didn’t come with you?” she inquires. I stifle the laugh that fights to come out. If I had to bet, I’d say this is a family owned establishment, and Mary Fratelli is part of a large Italian family. My friend Natalie just married into an Italian family, and the stories she’s told me about how they’re all up in each other’s business make me laugh all the time. I thought maybe she was embellishing, but it appears Mrs. Fratelli is cut from the same cloth.

Natalie was one of my only local friends, and while I was happy she’d found her man Alex, I’m sad she lives up in Eternity Springs now, because I never see her.

“Well,” Jacob says, scratching his scruffy chin as he tries to explain, “I thought I was there to meetthisbeautiful woman, and the other gal was there for my buddy, Levi. But the other gal wanted me, and thought to set Levi up with Becca here. I had no interest in the other woman, but I’m also not about to take a girl from my friend.”

“Of course not. You’re a good boy. You’d never do that.” Mrs. Fratelli looks fondly at Jacob. Almost like a mom would look at her son.

Exactly as my parents look at my brother.

And how they never looked at me.

As Mrs. Fratelli sets menus down at a booth in the back of the restaurant, I slide in one side. The red leather is well-worn and soft. A family photo hangs on the wall, showcasing a large brood of people.

“The two in the chairs are Mary’s grandparents,” Jacob explains, pointing to the couple in the middle of the photo. “From what I’ve been told, they moved out here from New York City in the 1950s to start Fratelli’s Pizza. Mary has been working here since she was a teenager. She married another Italian guy who was all too willing to continue on with Fratelli’s Pizza. Now their kids work here, too.”

“I love stories like that,” I say softly. “How amazing it must be to be part of a family like that.”

“You don’t have a large family?” Jacob asks quietly.

I shake my head. “No. My family is small. I don’t really have a relationship with any of them, so the size is moot.”

“None of them?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“It’s a long story, and I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay.” My eyes whip to his, surprised at how easily he acquiesced. “What? I’m not gonna force you to talk about your history, darlin’. Mine isn’t the best either. How about we just keep it to small talk, then enjoy our pizza? Doesn’t have to be deeper than that.”

“Unless it’s deep dish pizza,” I quip, making Jacob chuckle.

“I draw the line at talking about that crap.”

After ordering, Jacob regales me with tales of his hockey team. If I didn’t think men were gross before, I certainly do now. Stories of jockstrap tampering, smelly socks, and the weirdest superstitions I’ve ever heard of. A prior teammate had some kind of abused Barbie doll he took with him to all of his games? That can’t be right. One guy is convinced if he doesn’t poop an hour before a game, he won’t play well. Another refuses to wash his underwear for an entire season.An entire season.

And yet women line up to sleep with these neanderthals.

“Boys are disgusting,” I mutter after Jacob tells me about an awful superstition involving two of the guys and sex. With one girl. At the same time.

“Technically, that wasn’t disgusting. Well, I guess it depends on how they’re fucking,” Jacob muses. “DP wouldn’t be as gross.”

“DP?”

I notice a very faint pink creep onto his neck. “Um, double penetration.”

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