Page 67 of The Road to Home Base
“Si, si. Inglese, ma. Inglese,” Rome said tersely.
Donna swung back to me and squeezed my shoulders. “I wasjust telling Rome that you are very handsome. Very handsome! It is good to meet you, Alex.”
“Mrs. Moretti you are—”
“Donna. Please. Just Donna.”
I smiled. “Donna. It’s great to meet you, as well. I have to say, you are beautiful.”
She slapped the air and stepped aside. To Rome, she said, “Lui è intelligente.”
“English, ma!”
The towering form of Rome’s father stepped forward. The two were practically carbon copies, except his father had aged more. They shared the same height, same impossibly ocean blue eyes, tanned skin. Where Rome let the natural waves of his hair out, his father slicked it back with oil.
Arrigo Moretti went in for a hug before I could shake his hand. Just like his son, Arrigo crushed me, and I let out an involuntary “oof” as he squeezed.
“It’s good to meet you, Alex.” Rome shared his father’s deep, resonate voice. I noted, however, that his English was barely accented, unlike Donna’s.
“Good to meet you, too, Arrigo,” I said. “Rome has told me so much about both of you. I’ve been really looking forward to this.”
We filed into the kitchen where a spread of breakfast foods lay before us. Rome popped a bottle of champagne and filled four flutes, then splashed a bit of OJ into each.
The Morettis each said, “Saluti!” at the same time and I followed up with my attempt at repeating the word.
It didn’t take long for Donna to jump at her next opportunity to grill me. The moment Arrigo mentioned something about the Riders to Rome, Donna grabbed my attention by lightly patting me on the hand. She asked about my photography and revealed she had perused my website and marveled at the pictures; the nighttime Zakim Bridge shot in particular. In return, I was ableto learn a little bit more about her. She and Arrigo had grown up in the same village in Sicily and, before they married, knew they would immigrate to America. They had their sights set on Connecticut, but the allure of all the bays and oceanfront of Rhode Island had them changing their mind.
And oh, the stories of Rome’s childhood. While she entertained me with hotheaded little Rome and his enormous ego, the man in question continued to side-eye me worryingly, as though he kept up the conversation with his father while eavesdropping on mine. I learned that it took him years to keep his ego in check. What finally did the trick was when Arrigo sent him away to an expensive baseball camp where Rome faced repeated defeat by better players.
“Okay, okay, enough, enough,” Rome eventually said when Donna started into a story about when he came home crying after his time at that camp.
I held up my hands. “No way. This is really getting good,” I said. “So was it, like, a soft sobbing? Or are we talking full-on blubbering mess?”
Donna’s brow pinched together. “Oh, yes, we are talking blubbering,” she said, over-enunciating the last word. “What is the word? Inconsolable.” She reached over and rubbed Rome’s arm. “Mybambinowas not well for awhile. But look at him now!” Donna’s face beamed. “He is finally settling with someone and we could not be happier. Do you see marriage in your future?”
It felt like someone had sucked the air out of the room. Rome’s eyes went wide. My face flashed red as I looked away. Arrigo shook his head and sighed. Donna looked at each of us with confusion.
“It is a perfectly reasonable question, no?”
“Donna,” Arrigo said as he walked across the kitchen and stood behind her. “Let’s not prytoomuch.”
We poured a second glass of mimosas, then it was Arrigo’s turn to target me. He corroborated Donna’s history with him and then revealed he had actually met my brother once during pregame warmups. He said Devin was a nice man and he could see the family resemblance. Arrigo carried himself in a similar fashion to Rome, a sort of masculine presence without trying. Almost as if he had expectations of the person across from him.
They left after about two hours when they said they needed to get everything ready for the party later. Donna planted double kisses on my cheeks and gave me a puzzling smile as she held my face in her hands. Pride? I couldn’t decipher it. She seemed almost… triumphant? Arrigo squeezed the life out of me before leaving.
As I closed the door to Rome’s house, I turned to do a download of everything that just happened. To my surprise, he stood with another bottle of champagne. The cork popped and bounced off the ceiling before scuttling away under a table.
“We need to celebrate how well that went,” Rome said. His cheeks were already colored. “Also, I need you even more liquored up before the party, so let’s keep this thing going.”
I couldn’t say no. “Well okay,bambino. Let’s keep this thing going.”
?
Juiced up with liquid courage, Rome and I left his house and walked three doors down to his folks’ place. He had tried to get handsy with me when we finished the bottle of champagne, but I successfully staved him off. Tonight would be a big night and I wanted him fully charged.
We didn’t go through the front entrance at Rome’s parents’ place. Instead, we rounded to the back. Most houses on the street fit the same style as Rome’s, albeit in various colors. Likehis, the parents’ had a scenic view of the ocean. Only a few clouds dotted the sky on an otherwise perfect early fall afternoon.
We arrived to a churning mass of Sicilian partiers. I involuntarily took a step back from Rome as my eyes befell a large, back patio thronged with the Moretti clan. Sinatra piped through hidden speakers. A grill sizzled with the smell of deliciously spiced meat. Laughter—so muchlaughter.
