Page 74 of Love at Teamsgiving
I glimpsed the Nebraska license plate but only committed the first two numbers to memory—six and two.
I’m about to call the police, but Mama insists we consult Armando—Mr. Cruz—first.
As if I’m a kid being dragged to wherever my parents want me to go, an hour later, I’m sitting at Miguel’s kitchen table with a plate of day-old spaghetti in front of me. I don’t care what anyone says, the dish is better the next day. Italians know this.
Four of the five brothers are embodying Don Corleone and his mob thugs right now, even though they’re half-Mexican. They speculate, question, and crack their knuckles.
“Quite honestly, it sounds like something you guys would do,” I say, referring to the brothers’ shenanigans back in the day.
Charlie clutches his chest. “Ouch, Juniper. That hurts. Have a little faith.”
Paulie says, “We wouldn’t sabotage our own worksite—or you, despite the fact that you broke our brother’s heart.”
My cheeks match the tomatoes on the counter because I am so in the wrong right now that I want to crawl under the table. Considering recent events, it also feels like I have egg on my face.
Undeterred, they confer about the details of what transpired.
“They think they can try to run us off the block?” Mr. Cruz says, New York accent thick.
“They want to drive us out of town?” Joey adds.
Tony says, “We’re not going to be threatened.”
“When did my hair salon become a group enterprise?” I ask.
“We’re family,” they all say at the same time.
I shrink in my seat a little because they didn’t feel like family after Mikey and I called off the wedding. After Dad died. Or was I the one who pushed them away?
The slouch goes deeper as they discuss the egging and I fixate on the family comment. Although Mikey made it clear where his loyalties were, they never turned away from me. No, I distanced myself from them. In much the same way, I knew Papa’s dream for us was home ownership in a nice town, they’ve always known that I wanted to have my own salon.
And here they are, showing up for me without question.
My bad. My very, very bad.
Gumming up courage in the face of five fierce men and two fiery mamas, I say, “Guys, I’m sorry for being?—”
They shake their heads without letting me finish, dismissing a need for an apology like it was no big deal and they’ve already moved on.
The door flies open and a sweaty Miguel fills the frame as the October wind whips behind him. His shoes are untied and his eyes are wild. “I came as fast as I could.”
Searching the room, his gaze lands on me and his shoulders lower on an exhale after he sees that I’m okay.
Mr. Cruz says, “Everything is under control, son.”
“Tony texted and said,Family meeting.”
Mama and Carlotta tag team, explaining what happened at the salon when we ducked for cover as eggs flew at us.
“This has to stop,” Miguel says.
“At least it seems like the problems arede-escalating. They went from roof cave-in to smoke machine to throwing eggs at the windows,” Paulie points out.
Charlie says, “Thankfully, the salon sign isn’t up yet.”
Not that I’ve figured out what I’m going to name it. As if I need another thing to do. I drop my face into my hands, wishing away all the work. “But the windows were so clean.”
Mikey rubs my back as everyone guesses who might be behind the vandalism.
