The Woman in the Wrong Place (Grassi Framily)

“Well, this is fantastic. Are you here for the housewarming?” she asked.

“I, ah, no. I actually… I needed to talk to Matteo. But this is clearly not a good time.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, shaking her head. “Are you okay?” she asked, picking up on my nerves as only a maternal figure could. “He didn’t… he didn’t get you with child, did he? That one. Always with the women. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a million times. You wear a raincoat. Every single time. But do these men listen? No. No, they never do. If he got you pregnant, I will make him marry you. You hear me? He will do the right thing. You will want for nothing.”

I almost wanted to be pregnant just to be able to be near this woman. What with my own… maternal situation… it was unexpectedly emotional for me to come across a mom like this one.

“No. No. I’m not… I’m not pregnant. It’s not… it’s not like that. I just needed to talk to him about something. But it can wait.”

“Don’t be silly! He’s fifteen feet away. He can give you five minutes of his time. Besides, I made enough food for a hundred people. This is my third trip to the car,” she added, jiggling her carefully stacked platters. “Come in. Have a bite. You’re so thin, honey. Does nobody cook for you?”

“I, ah, I sometimes cook for myself.”

“Yeah? That’s good. It is important to know how to cook.”

“Are you… are you Matteo’s mom?” I asked.

“Oh, honey, no,” she said, face going a little dark for reasons I didn’t understand and got the feeling it wasn’t appropriate to ask. “I’m his aunt. Adrian. He and his brother Luca are practically like sons to me. Come on. We need to get you inside before you freeze to death,” she said, even though it was only a little chilly out.

“I really should come back at another time,” I said, trying to take a step back.

“Don’t make me call everyone out here to convince you to come inside. That would be very embarrassing, don’t you think? Better to just come on in with me.”

It was an invitation. And a threat. All in one.

“Here. Can I help you with those?” I asked, reaching out.

“You take one, the whole pile comes toppling down,” Adrian said, shaking her head. “But you can get the doors for me,” she said, taking off, and I had to hustle to keep up.

And with that, one of the matriarchs of the Grassi mafia Family made me go with her, opening the doors, and then following her inside.

There were a lot of cars outside, sure. But, clearly, a lot of people had carpooled because there were dozens of people inside Matteo’s house.

I worked in party planning. I was used to loud noises of large gatherings. Or so I thought.

No party I’d ever helped plan had ever been as loud as this family housewarming party.

I don’t think there was a single person who was using their inside voices. Everyone was unabashedly loud and animated. There were groups having, unheated, arguments. Others were laughing hysterically. Others still seemed to be having serious conversations. Damn near everyone was holding wine and a plate of some kind of food.

“Honey, honey, come on,” Adrian called when I found myself frozen in place. “Just plow through. They won’t move for anything. Just ram right into them,” she said even as she slammed a shoulder into a random man as she passed him.

Matteo’s kitchen was completely remodeled.

I was kind of glad to see some color.

When it came to kitchens, a lot of people went with the safe natural wood colors or all-white. I liked that he’d bucked convention and gone with this really warm blue color on his cabinets that went well with his stainless steel appliances and the white countertops.

“Four burners,” Adrian scoffed, putting down the platters and motioning toward the range with one hand as she unstacked the platters with the other, exhibiting more strength in one wrist than I thought I had in both of my arms. “Can you believe it?” she asked. “Brand new everything. And he goes with four burners. I barely manage with six,” she added, half talking to me, and half to herself.

“Milo, were you raised by wolves?” she called, motioning toward a tall man who was just starting to settle into that phase where guys went from kind of attractive to very handsome somewhere in their mid-twenties. “Get over here and help your mother. Honestly,” Adrian grumbled, shaking her head as her son rolled his eyes at whomever he was talking to before making his way over.

“What can I do for you, Ma?” he asked.

“For one thing, don’t you ever roll your eyes when your mother is asking something from you,” she scolded, surprising both Milo and me because she had been looking down when he’d done that. “Unless you want me to pluck those eyes right out of that thick skull of yours, that is,” she said. “And for two, don’t talk to the woman who birthed and raised you with that condescending-ass attitude. Who do you think you are?” she asked.