Page 27 of Summer, in Between
There’s my beloved family, all gathered around the dining table, you know, the heart of the home, where laughs are shared, problems halved, all that crap.A tray of Nonna’s lasagne forms a centrepiece, cut into neat grids.It’s surrounded by platters of chicken, bread rolls, salads and cheeses.A water jug and a bottle of red wine bookend the table.Dad’s at the head, Nonna to his side.Sandwiched between my grandmother and my mother is Paul.Paul GD Lightwood.The only seat left for me is opposite him.I sit and look around the table.
‘I wonder...’
‘What?’Matty hates being left out of any potential grain of conversation, no matter how flaky.
‘Hey, do you think if maybe it’s possible, if perhaps, we might be Italian?’
Dad laughs.
‘I’m serious,’ I say.‘This is like a scene straight out of a mafia movie.We’re being so stereotypical it’s offensive.’
Mum takes Paul’s plate and serves him a slice of Nonna’s lasagne.
‘Thank you, Mrs Kelty,’ he says.
‘Actually, it’s Marea,’ says Mum.‘I never changed my name, but please, call me Angela.’
‘Thank you, Angela.’He takes a bite.He turns to Nonna, his eyes wide.‘This is incredible.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she waves him away, beaming.She’s had half a mouthful of red and she’s blushing like a schoolgirl in a musical.
Lunch is pretty much our standard casual performance.My brothers are tearing at food with their bare hands, our Nonna slapping them, we’re talking over each other with mouths full.Dad teases Nonna, she pretends she’s offended, she barely restrains herself from hand feeding Tommy, he barely restrains himself from letting her.Mum and Dad do their nausea-inducing lovestruck eyes at each other before stopping mid-sentence to reprimand each other or any of us.The only difference is the tall, uber-good looking, muscly surfer god at the table.
He looks completely at ease.He’s bantering with my brothers, asking Mum about her work, complimenting Nonna on her cooking.
I’m about to have my third serve of lasagne when she shoots me a dagger and uses her head to gesture to the salad.She doesn’t give my brothers the same treatment; Matty is onto his third piece with no recriminations; they’re growing boys is her classic defensive fallback.Anyway, if we’re being sexist, it’s a well-known fact that a girl who pretends not to eat is a massive turn-off to the opposite sex and so I lift the spatula anyway.‘Paul?’
He doesn’t hesitate, holding his plate before me.As the lasagne lands on his plate, a splodge of tomato sauce flicks and hits him square in the middle of his t-shirt.I couldn’t have aimed it better if I tried.
‘I am so sorry.’I lean across the table, taking the mineral water and dipping a serviette before pressing it to his chest.The water soaks through and under the heel of my hand I feel the ridge of his abs.Oh good lord, how many sit ups make these possible?‘This should get it out, but I can wash it for you?’Who even am I?
‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ he laughs.‘For food this amazing I don’t care if you marinate my clothes in it.’
‘I get the feeling you’re not too precious about getting grubby, Paul?’asks Dad.‘You’re in the wrong industry if you don’t like getting dirty.’
‘Yeah, absolutely, I have no problem with getting dirty,’ he says.
Matty kicks me under the table.
‘Same with Cat.’He waggles his eyebrows at me.
‘Real funny.’I sit back in my chair and send a hard kick his way, missing.‘Dad, you should see Paul’s car.It’s nothing like yours, it’s spotless.You could eat dinner off the floor.’
‘Yeah, you could catch a third world disease from your car, Dad,’ says Matty.
‘It’s “developing country”, you tool,’ I say to him.‘Third world is offensive.As are you.But yes, Dad, your car is a health hazard.’
‘And that’s why myprincipessawill be a doctor,’ says Nonna.
‘You’re going to do medicine?’Paul puts down his fork.‘Wow!’
‘Not without a decent score in Year Twelve maths, she’s not,’ says Dad.
‘Dad!We’ve been over this: if I work hard, I’ll get the marks.But maybe, yeah.Depending on my marks, it’ll be law or medicine, that’s the plan.’
‘Either way we’ll be covered,’ says Dad.‘She’ll be able to write prescriptions or having a lawyer in the family will come in handy if anyone ever sues us because their building collapses.’
Mum and Nonna do the sign of the cross, Mum laughing, Nonna deathly serious.
