Sitting up, she stuffed down those icky thoughts, straightened the name plate on her desk and pulled up a search for puppies.
What the hell was she doing? She couldn’t get a dog. Closing the search, she decided to take a walk and check on things around the hotel.
By the end of the day, Mauricio was still without an idea for the sweet sixteen appetizers. Princess wanted something decadent, and Mom wanted something affordable that wouldn’t stain fingers, formal wear, or get stuck in braces. The meeting had been tedious, and the menu still had too many kinks that needed ironing out for anyone to claim they made progress. Some days were just tougher than others.
She popped by Mauricio’s office on the way out. “Seven o’clock?”
He looked up from the sweet sixteen paperwork. “Huh? Oh, right. Yes, seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up at your place.”
“Perfect.” She hesitated a moment. “Don’t stress too much. Everything will work out. You still have time.”
“I’ve coordinated weddings with budgets twenty times this size, but something about this family has me sweating.”
“It’s teenage girls. They know exactly what they want, but generally stink at communicating their needs. And they naturally blame everyone else for their problems.”
“Don’t I know. Little Miss has fangs like a viper and no problem expressing disappointment.”
Mariella gave him an empathetic smile. “Drinks on me tonight. See you in a bit.”
“Chao.”
When she got home, she helped her mother with a few things, and set the table for dinner. Nona made eggplant parm and the kitchen smelled heavenly.
“Colleen, stir the sauce,” Nona ordered and her mother rolled her eyes, passing the plates for the table to Mariella.
“You’re not eating?” Mariella’s mother asked, noting that she put one plate back and only set out three.
“I have dinner plans with a friend.”
“A male friend?”
“Not that kind of friend. It’s Mauricio, from work.”
“A date’s a date, Mariella.”
“I didn’t call it a date.”
“Did he?”
“Ma, it’s fine. We’re just friends. Mauricio knows that.”
“Who’s friends?” her father asked as he came into the kitchen, pecking a kiss on Nona’s cheek. “Col, my lunch box broke again. I think it’s time to retire this one.”
Her mother snicked and took the lunchbox. “Like it’s owner.” She opened the junk drawer and dug out a roll of electrical tape. “Try this, Paulie. We’re past the age of investing in new job supplies.”
Her father goosed her mother. “Only six months left before social security kicks in.”
Mariella smirked at the cute way they flirted and grabbed napkins for the table. Her father poured a glass of red from the jug of wine stored on top of the refrigerator and sat at the empty place setting to work on repairing his metal lunch pail.
“You not eatin’ with us, Mar?”
“She has a date,” her mother said, tossing tomatoes into the salad.
“It’s not a date.”
Her father raised a bushy brow. “You seeing someone?”
“No. Mom, don’t start rumors.”
Her mother snickered and shoved two wooden spoons into the salad bowl. “It’s that man from the hotel.”
“What man?”
“The wedding planner,” her mother said.
“He’s straight?” her father asked, making a mess of his lunch box as he tried to reconstruct the broken handle with tape.
“He’s not a wedding planner,” Mariella corrected. “He’s the banquet manager. And yes, he’s straight. Hetero men can plan events too, Daddy.”
He held up his hands in mock defense. “How would I know? Seemed like a fair question. If things work out, at least you’ll have a nice reception. I imagine he has some vendor connections and can save us a few bucks.”
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “We’re not dating and no one is getting married. See what you started, Mom?” She grabbed her purse and keys off the chair by the wall and kissed Nona’s cheek. “I shouldn’t be too late.”
The days were getting longer and there was still a bit of sunlight left when she pulled into Erin and Giovanni’s driveway. Her heart pinched as memories washed over her.
They never hung out at Harrison’s when they were young, but she remembered being in his car a few times when he had to swing home to grab something between school and football games and the occasional house party.
She could still hear the echo of his old Dodge idling by the curb. He never parked in the driveway. “I’ll only be a second.”
“Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No. Just stay here. I’ll be right out.”
Staring at the glowing windows, she’d patiently wait for him to return. Sometimes she heard him arguing with his dad.
He always rushed out of the house, jumping off the porch rather than taking the steps. His mood noticeably changed whenever his father was home, and Harrison would slam the car door and not say a word for several minutes.
She could always tell by his jaw whenever he was tense. She’d learned early on that he didn’t like to talk when he was upset.