Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel (8 page)

Mama looked away from me and scrutinized Drew, her face lighting in a smile. “Well now . . .”

Please, Mama, watch what you say.

She turned back to me and shrugged. “Color me confused.”

“Beg your pardon?” His brow wrinkled.

“Oh, just thinking out loud. Nice to meet you, Drew. I’ve heard so much about your work. We’re all fans.”

I glared at her, in part because I didn’t happen to be a fan, and in part because she shouldn’t be conspiring with the enemy.

From behind us, Bella’s voice rang out. “Hannah, I know we’d planned to get some shots at Parma John’s, but I don’t think we’ll have time today.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Really. I have so many great shots already. Plenty to choose from.”

“I’m sure. Can’t wait to see them. I hope you can stay for lunch. I know Aunt Rosa would love that.”

Before I could respond, Mama turned to face Bella and began stammering. “Oh! Oh, oh, oh!”

Time to make introductions. “Bella, this is my mama—”

“You have to introduce me to your aunt,” my mother interrupted before I could even finish giving her name.

“My aunt?” Bella shifted the baby to her other hip. Tres
chose that moment to start crying. Bella passed the baby off to me, then gazed at my mother. “You want to meet my aunt Rosa?”

“Do I ever!” Mama clasped her hands together. “You have no idea what an honor this is. Is she home?”

“Yes, she just went inside to start cooking lunch. It’s Saturday. She and Laz always cook for the whole family on Saturdays. You would be welcome to join us, of course.”

Mama gave me a little wink. “This was meant to be. Your father has his bowling league on Saturdays.”

Mama. Tell me you did not just agree to have lunch at the Rossi home.

“You want to come inside and meet her?” Bella asked. “She’s always happy for company. And she could probably use your help since the whole crew is here today.”

My mother’s cheeks flamed red. “Oh. No. I. Couldn’t. I’m. No. Cook.” Her stammered words caught me off guard.

“Well of course you are,” I threw in. “You’re an expert at all sorts of things.” I began to list her credentials as if she were applying for a job as chief cook and bottle washer.

“I mean, I’m not an Italian cook.” Mama’s eyelashes fluttered.

“You will be in no time if you hang out with Rosa.” Bella grinned. “To be honest, I couldn’t cook a thing when D.J. and I got married, but Rosa has turned me into a gourmet. You should taste my ravioli.”

“I’d love to.” Mama and I spoke in unison and then laughed.

“Perfect. Because I’ve agreed to make some for this afternoon’s get-together. C’mon in and we’ll put you to work.”

Mama gazed my way, a near-frantic look on her face. “You . . . you won’t tell your father?”

“I hate that you feel you have to hide your cooking passion from him, but no, I won’t tell him.”

“He wouldn’t understand.” She sighed. “If it’s not his familiar meat and potatoes, he won’t eat it.”

“But what about our shopping spree?” I reminded her. “You were supposed to be Christmas shopping today, remember? What about that list of gifts you made?”

“I can order your father’s gifts online. He’ll never know the difference.” She winked. “Same for your sisters and the babies. It’s easier to order online, anyway. And look on the bright side—I’ll save money on gas.” She offered a smile meant to convince me, no doubt. Not that I needed convincing. Sticking around sounded like a lot of fun.

Apparently Drew liked the idea too. When Bella offered the invitation to stay for lunch, he practically sprinted indoors.

Mama and I followed Bella into the house. In the spacious kitchen, we found Rosa standing at the island, kneading dough, and Laz nearby, stirring a pot on the stove. The most luscious aroma filled the room. Mama, usually not one to shy away from a situation, froze up the moment she saw Rosa. I could read the rapt awe in her expression—Mama’s, not Rosa’s—and wondered if she would ever be the same.

Thank goodness Bella made the introductions. My mother found her tongue and sprinted into a glowing conversation about Rosa and Laz, singing their praises like a television advertiser. Then Drew joined in, adding his two bits about cooking. Like the guy knew anything about cooking.

Okay, after hearing his detailed recipe for soda bread, I had to wonder if maybe I’d judged him too soon. Sounded like he knew his stuff, both with photography and with cooking. Figured.

The ladies worked together to make homemade garlic
twists, and I looked on alongside Drew, who turned to give me a friendly smile.

“Next time we all get together for a meal, we should add some Irish food to the mix,” he said. “I make a mean corned beef and cabbage. My mom says it’s better than hers, and that’s really saying something.”

“Ooh.” Rosa looked at Drew, a smile turning up the edges of her lips as she waved a large spoon in his direction. “Say that again, young man.”

He repeated himself and shrugged.

Rosa’s eyes sparkled, and she clasped her hands together. “The Food Network has asked me to branch out and add a few other items to my springtime season. It’s mostly Italian food, of course, but we’ve already covered most of the favorites, so I’m looking at ways to incorporate foods from other cultures.”

“Then you should ask my mom to make her sausage and potato coddle,” I said.

Where those words came from, I couldn’t say. I could no more picture my mother making a guest appearance on the Food Network than I could imagine her whipping up a tiramisu for dessert. And if my father ever found out . . . I shuddered just thinking about it.

“That’s it!” Rosa clasped her hands together and giggled. “We’ll do an Irish-Italian segment, merging both worlds.” She turned to Lazarro. “What do you think?”

“I think we’ll end up with some of the best food this side of the Mediterranean.” He grinned. “Or the English Channel.”

The two of them dove into a lengthy chat about the various foods they would feature. Mama and Drew joined right in, adding their voices and opinions to the fray. Mama promised to wear her Irish Lass T-shirt on the episode. Perfect.

“We’re only missing one thing,” Rosa said, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Some sort of dessert.”

“Hannah makes wonderful buttermilk scones,” Mama said. “She makes them every holiday season. They’re a real hit with the rest of the family and with my husband’s lodge buddies.” She went on singing my praises, as if I’d somehow earned a spot on the Food Network because I could bake a scone.

I shook my head as they all looked my way. “Oh no. No. No. No.” Another firm shake of my head should convince them they’d better not broach this subject. Sure, I could make buttermilk scones, but on television? No way.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Rosa grinned. “In fact, we’ll focus the segment on people your age, since you and Drew will be featured. Bella and D.J. can come along for the ride. And we’ll fill the audience with several other young folks. It’ll be so much fun. A springtime food extravaganza!”

Off she went again, talking about the episode as if I’d agreed to do it. Which I hadn’t. And never would.

Drew kept looking at me with those pouty, puppy-dog eyes of his. Who could resist that? Even the toughest McDermott in the history of all McDermotts would melt under such an intense gaze, sword or no sword.

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it.” I had no idea where those words came from. Still, I couldn’t very well take them back now, could I?

“Perfect!” Rosa beamed with obvious delight. “I always say the family that cooks together stays together.” She gave Mama a little wink. “I also say that a good marriage is like a good lasagna: only those involved actually know what goes into it.”

This got a nervous chuckle out of my mother, who no
doubt wondered if my father would know a lasagna if it jumped up and bit him.

Thank goodness the conversation shifted and Rosa invited Drew to help her make the manicotti. He agreed and went to work without question. I looked on, wondering how in the world I’d landed in the kitchen of an Italian master chef with Jacquie Goldfarb—okay, Drew Kincaid—so close by.

Not that I really minded. Something about being here, surrounded by Bella’s amazing family members, made me wonder if perhaps the leprechauns had cast some sort of strange spell over me. Might have something to do with the tantalizing aromas wafting up from the stove.

Oh well. I couldn’t really argue with bliss, now could I? And, judging from the look in Drew’s eyes as he gave me a little wink, neither could he.

May your thoughts be as glad as the shamrocks,

May your heart be as light as a song.

May each day bring you bright, happy hours

That stay with you all the year long.

Irish blessing

S
haring a midafternoon feast with the happiest Italian family on Galveston Island proved to be pure delight. Not only did I get to know Bella and her husband better, I truly felt as if I’d bonded with Rosa as well. And Bella’s mother, Imelda, went out of her way to make me feel welcome in her home. She also fell head over heels for my mother, and all the more when she figured out we lived just a couple of miles away.

“I can feel it,” she said as she gripped Mama’s hand. “We’re going to be fast friends.”

In our world, nothing moved fast. Well, unless my dad happened to be taking his fiber pills. Still, I had to wonder if these two women could really survive a lasting relationship, their lives being so busy and all.

Mama responded with a smile and a hint of tears. “I would love that,” she whispered. “I really would.”

I pondered my mother’s reaction, realizing the truth. Her very predictable life didn’t leave much time or room for real friendships. Sure, she belonged to the ladies’ group at church, but beyond that, her entire world revolved around Dad. And me.

Imelda, my mother’s polar opposite in both appearance and posture, offered a broad smile. “Well, I don’t know if you’re interested in the Grand Opera, Marie, but I’m on the board and would love to get your take on a script we’re looking at for St. Patrick’s Day. It has an Irish-American theme.”

“Perfect.” Mama’s cheeks flamed pink. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

I could hardly believe my good fortune. Who knew these women would sweep in and make my sweet mother feel so at home? And the icing on the cake? Bella’s in-laws arrived just in time to join us. Interestingly enough, they rode in on Harleys.

Dwayne and Earline Neeley were introduced, and Mama took to Earline like a cat to cream. D.J.’s mama was a little older, but she had the energy of three women. And who could top that I’ve-been-out-in-the-wind-on-my-Harley hairdo? She laughed and shared the stories about their day, filling us in on their motorcycle ministry, which explained the leather jackets with the Kingdom Riders logo on the back.

Drew looked on, laughing and talking as if he somehow
fit right into this fascinating bunch. Maybe he did. Maybe he came to the Rossi home on a regular basis. From the way he got along with D.J. and Bella’s oldest brother, I had to wonder.

As we settled into our spots around the huge dining table, I stared at the feast in front of us. From across the table I caught a glimpse of Mama’s face. I’d never seen her look so happy. In fact, I was pretty sure I saw tears in her eyes. Who could blame her? This happy-go-lucky environment probably put her in mind of our own family . . . a few years back. If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear my sisters’ voices ringing out.

Okay, my sisters didn’t squabble in Italian, and we never had the scent of garlic permeate our dining room—ever—but the ambience was the same, regardless.

Family.

As I glanced around the table, I had the intense feeling of belonging that came only when one was surrounded on every side by family. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed feeling like this till now.

If I closed my eyes, I could envision the table at my house. Three people seated at a table for six. Minimal foods. Minimal plates. Minimal conversation. I couldn’t help but contrast that with Bella’s family table. Loaded down with foods. Tantalizing aromas of garlic and oregano. Chatter in abundance. Swirling conversations in both Italian and English. Kids laughing. People hugging and kissing. Voices raised in sheer delight, mixed with just the right amount of squabbling to keep it all in balance.

Bella, you are one lucky girl.

Not that I believed in luck. Still, she was blessed, no doubt about it. And as Drew—seated to my right—passed the large serving platter of eggplant Parmesan, I had a twinge of jealousy, realizing Bella was blessed by the colorful foods that
greeted her each day too. Vibrant red tomato sauce. Brilliant green peppers. Deep purple eggplant. Then again, if I ate like this every day, I would have to invest in a new wardrobe. How Bella stayed slim and trim was beyond me. Of course, she worked harder than anyone on the planet and took care of two children to boot.

Boot—ha! I glanced down at her feet and smiled as I took in the sparkly cowgirl boots.

I tried to nibble on the various foods in ladylike fashion but found it difficult. Eating with abandon came more naturally, so I went for it. Drew did the same, pausing only to add funny tidbits to the conversation. He glanced my way with a smile, and I relaxed, realizing that he probably didn’t mind if I enjoyed my food. From the way he shoveled down the manicotti, I could tell he wasn’t holding back. Why should I?

Several times during the meal I noticed Bella looking back and forth between Drew and me as if to ask, “What’s up with you two? Are you really a couple?”

I’d have to fill her in later. Oh, wait. I couldn’t. If I told her why Drew had come to my rescue, then she would know that her brother had hit on me. I couldn’t risk upsetting her, could I?

Over the next several minutes, I swallowed down more than the food. The photographer in me took note of several details that most people would have overlooked: Tres passing nibbles of his eggplant to the yappy little dog under his chair. Marcella, Bella’s sister-in-law, the quiet observer, taking in the faces and voices of those at the table. D.J., the loving father, cradling baby Rosie in his arms when she started fussing. Rosa, the energetic one, making dozens of trips back and forth to the kitchen. Laz, the entertainer, telling stories about the old country. And Bella—sweet, loving Bella—caring for
all of the young ones at the table, never flinching once when they made a mess or too much noise.

At one point I caught Laz rolling his eyes at the antics of the older boys. Just as quickly, though, he had them laughing with a funny story. Then Drew added his two bits to the story, and before long the boys were howling with laughter. Who knew the guy was a comedian?

Imelda, Bella’s mama, observed all of this with a quiet smile, a look of pure satisfaction on her face. In fact, my own mama looked pretty content as well. No doubt she missed these chaotic scenes around our much-too-large-for-the-three-of-us dining table.

Rosa must’ve picked up on Mama’s expression. She placed a tray of garlic twists in front of her and smiled. “So, Marie, tell us about your family.”

Mama pulled away the napkin she’d tucked into the neckline of her T-shirt, revealing the Irish Lass logo beneath. “Well, let’s see now.” She dabbed her mouth with the napkin, then looked my way as if asking for permission to share. “I have four daughters.”

“Four girls? Wow.” Drew chuckled.

“Yes, four girls.” Mama smiled. “Close in age too. Grew up as best friends.”

Please don’t tell them I’m the oldest.

“Hannah here is my oldest, and the others are stair steps, each a year apart.”

Rosa reached for the bowl of grated Parmesan and passed it to Laz. “My goodness, you must’ve had your hands full.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Mama’s girlish laughter rang out. “But I came up with ways to make things easier, trust me. Little tricks of the trade. I’ve been thinking about writing them down to help young mothers with their little ones.”

“Tricks?” Laz gave Mama a funny look, then passed the Parmesan my way. “Like what?”

“Well, for instance, getting four little girls dressed for church every Sunday morning can be quite a challenge. So I would remedy that by dressing them on Saturday night.”

Drew let out a snort. I elbowed him, and he went back to eating in silence.

“Yes. I’d bathe and dress them on Saturday night.” Mama grinned. “That was my secret weapon for arriving at church on time on Sunday mornings.”

“She’s leaving out the part about the lecture we would all get every Saturday night as she tucked us in,” I added, sprinkling excessive amounts of grated Parmesan on my food. “‘No tossing and turning. You’ll wrinkle your pretty dress.’ ‘No water before bed. You might have an accident.’”

“My youngest, Deidre, ignored that last one.” Mama grinned. “Oh, but I had a thousand other shortcuts too. Maybe I’ll list them all one day. If I can remember them.”

“I’ve only got two little ones, but I could use a list like that, trust me.” Bella gave her son a winsome look. “Thank God I’ve got D.J. He’s such a huge help with the kids.” She looked at her husband with such affection that it actually caused my heart to skip a beat.

Mama’s gaze swept across the table to D.J., who held a now-sleeping Rosie in his arms. “You’re very blessed. My husband never really helped with the children. But then, we’re from a different generation, I suppose. Back then men left the tending of the babies to the women.”

“Times are definitely changing,” Bella said with a nod. “But I appreciate a man who can change a diaper. Trust me.”

“I’m not saying that diaper changing is my favorite thing in the world,” D.J. threw in. “But someone’s got to do it, and
it just doesn’t make sense that the task should always fall to the same person.” He gave Bella a comfortable smile. “We both hold down full-time jobs and raise the kids together.”

“Well, I think that’s just wonderful,” my mother said. “I wish there were more men like you in the world.”

“There are,” he said with a nod.

Mama gave him an admiring look, then went off on a tangent, talking about some of her other tricks of the trade. Soon all of the ladies were chiming in.

I stayed out of the conversation until Rosa and Laz lit into a funny story about Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, one that got everyone at the table talking. I had my favorite, but it was neither of the ones they mentioned. How could they talk about the greats without bringing up Bing Crosby? Grandpa Aengus would turn over in his grave at the suggestion that either singer outshone Bing.

“I have a great idea.” My words stopped their chatter midstream.

Rosa glanced my way. “What is it, Hannah?”

“My dad always hosts a Bing and Bob party to kick off the holiday season.”

“Bing and Bob?” Laz’s brow creased.

“You know, Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. Dad invites a ton of his buddies to come to the house. They have to dress like Bing or Bob, and they perform some song or scene from one of their movies. We play Bing Crosby music and sometimes watch a movie together before the night’s over. It’s a blast.”

“What about the ladies?” Rosa asked. “Surely they don’t dress up like Bing Crosby or Bob Hope.”

“No, no. We have to dress up like someone who starred opposite Bing or Bob.”

Drew gave me a funny smile. “And you’re coming as . . . ?”

I paused to consider it. “Pretty sure I’m coming as Grace Kelly this year.”

“I’m coming as Rosemary Clooney,” Mama chimed in.

The whole table came alive as folks added their two cents’ worth. Rosa loved Mama’s idea of coming as Rosemary. Imelda felt sure she would choose Dorothy Lamour. Bella’s sister wasn’t sure who Bing and Bob were, and Marcella—sweet, quiet Marcella—listened without commenting. Still, the smile never left her face.

“So, who all comes to this party?” Bella’s father asked. “Just your dad’s friends?”

“Sometimes family too, but I’m not sure my sisters will make it this year, now that they’ve got babies to look after. So you guys should come in their place. The party is the first Saturday night in November.”

What are you saying, Hannah? You won’t be able to fit all of these people in your house.

I looked at Mama, hoping she wouldn’t panic. No, she seemed relaxed and even excited by the idea.

“Oh, yes. I think you’ll love it,” she said. “We always have Irish food on Bing’s side of the room and English food on Bob’s side. Bob was born in England, you know.”

“I had no idea.” Bella reached for her napkin to wipe Tres’s face.

“It’s true,” I said. “We’ll play lots of games and music and even have prizes.”

Rosa’s eyes lit up. “I like this idea very much. Laz and I did something similar on the show once with Dino and Ol’ Blue Eyes. I cooked Frankie’s favorite foods and Laz cooked Dino’s. It got a little competitive.”

“My aunt and uncle have always had a competitive thing going over Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra,” Bella explained
as she refolded her napkin. “But they’ve resolved that dispute.”

“I wouldn’t say we’ve resolved it.” Rosa’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no one like Sinatra.”

“Unless you count Dino at his finest,” Laz threw in. “But we’ve agreed to lay this argument down because it was putting up a wall of separation between us, and we can’t have that.” He leaned over and gave Rosa a peck on the cheek. Her face reddened.

“Well, our Bing and Bob party gets a little competitive too,” I said. “My grandpa Aengus was nuts about Bing Crosby, but my dad is a Bob Hope fan. So every time we would watch
Road to Singapore
, there would always be this banter going back and forth.”

Drew shook his head. “I still say no one can top Bing Crosby’s voice. I grew up listening to his music. Even have it on my phone.” He pulled out the device, and seconds later the strains of “White Christmas” filled the room.

“I’ve always loved that song.” Mama sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Really puts me in the mood for Christmas.”

The conversation shifted to our holiday plans. On the heels of that, Laz served up a tiramisu that made my head swim. I could feel my cholesterol rising as I nibbled. Imelda made some remark about gaining weight, which sent the ladies into a lengthy conversation about how hard it was to keep their weight in check during the holidays. This, of course, bored the men to tears, so they eased their way into a conversation about football. I couldn’t help but notice that Drew didn’t have much to add to the football conversation. Then again, as he reached for a second piece of tiramisu, I had to conclude the boy was slightly distracted. He probably didn’t get this kind of meal very often either.