The Queen of Minor Disasters (35 page)

I start out with a brisk walk,
and once I reach the dunes on 99
^th
Street I lengthen my stride and
begin to jog. It feels amazing to run on the beach in the mornings. The air is
cool and tiny flecks of water from the ocean spray me.

By the time I loop back around
to 99
^th
Street, I’ve run four miles and my skin is glistening with a
mixture of sweat and salt water. I’m panting and totally out of breath.

It feels like it’s gotten so
much hotter since I started running, and I can feel the sweat sliding down my
back. I look down and see that my entire shirt is damp.

I’m officially gross.

And of course out of the
corner of my eye, I see Roberto standing out by his porch.

What’s he doing up so early?

For a second I think about
turning around and running away, but it’s obvious that he saw me.

Oh God, now he’s walking
towards me.

My heart is racing and the
only thing I can think to do is sit down in the sand, my back facing his house.

I should have
known
I would see Roberto. Damn it. Why
did I come running today of all days?

I can hear him approaching and
without meaning to, I turn around.

 There he is, standing a few
feet away from me wearing gym shorts, a white t-shirt, and flip-flops. He’s
holding a bunch of flowers. Where did he get flowers at 7:00 a.m.?

“Quick Mart’s finest bouquet,”
he says handing me the flowers. From up close, you can tell that they’re old,
but still, the thought was sweet. I sort of wish I’d seen him
before
my run, so I wasn’t so sweaty. I
stand up and reach for the flowers, trying to ignore the sand stuck to my legs
like nylons. “These ones are one hundred percent from me.”

“Thanks,” I say smelling the
flowers. “Your mom has better taste in flowers than you do.”

“You got me there,” he laughs.
“Happy birthday, Stella.”

I sigh and sit back down on
the sand. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” Roberto takes
a seat next to me.

“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s just
that I thought my life would be a little different by now. I’m twenty-eight.”

“So what,” he says and gives
me a crooked smile. “I’m thirty-four. Now
that
is old.”           

“At least you’ve done
something with your life.”

“So have you.”

His comment makes me laugh.
Right. Like working in your family’s restaurant is a big accomplishment. I’m
about to say this when he interrupts.

“You’re amazing at what you
do. I’ve seen you in the restaurant and I don’t think anyone else could do your
job.” He smiles. “And those pastries…” he kisses his fingers in the
stereotypical Italian fashion.

“Yeah well, this is all just
temporary.” When I finally say the words I realize they are true. Now that La
Cucina is closing, I’ll need to get a real job, and depending on what I find, I
doubt I’ll have summers off. Roberto looks at me as if he understands.

“What do you want to do?”
Roberto asks.

           
I take a deep breath and think about the question. The beach is starting
to fill up with people staking their claim on a prime spot in the sand. I watch
as a middle-aged man fumbles with an umbrella. His wife pulls a wheelbarrow
full of beach toys, buckets, and a cooler.

           
I sigh. “Honestly, I have no idea. I just want things to fall into place.
I want to be comfortable again. Is that such a bad thing?”

           
“Were you comfortable with your ex?”

           
His question stops me. I thought I was comfortable with Drew, but really
I was just settling for a guy who treated me less than what I am worth. “I
don’t know. I guess not.”

           
I expect him to roll his eyes, but instead, he smiles. “I was hoping
you’d say that.”

           
“So I wasn’t comfortable with Drew, but I still want that life. I want a
husband and kids and a nice house. I’m tired of waiting and wishing things
would happen. I’m twenty-eight, for God’s sake. When is my life going to
start?”

           
Something in his eyes changes. “You really want all those things?”

           
“Yes,” I say sincerely.

           
“You want those things now?” he asks as if he’s calculating a plan.

           
“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Will you have dinner with
me?”

           
Oh God, here we go again. “Why do you want to have dinner with me so
badly? Did your mom put you up to this?”

           
“Are you crazy?”

           
I snap. “Roberto, you said yourself that we want different things.”

           
He softens. “I thought we did. I wanted to settle down and you wanted to
run away.”

           
“What are you talking about?”

           
“Rome.”

           
At first, I have no idea what he’s talking about. Then I vaguely remember
telling him that I wanted to move there. But I was drunk. I mean, obviously I
don’t want to move to a foreign city.

           
“That was just drunk rambling.”

           
“In vino veritas.” He smiles. “Have dinner with me. How about Labor Day?
We’ll celebrate your unemployment.”

           
This makes me laugh. “Fine.”

           
He stands up and starts brushing sand off his legs. “Happy Birthday,
Bella Stella. I’m going back to bed.”

           
He turns to leave and I give him a little wave. I stand and brush the
sand off my legs, then decide that I need a sticky bun.           

           
Apparently, I’m not the only one who wants a pastry. The line for the
bakery is wrapped around 96
^th
Street, which gives me lots of time to
think. By the time I’m facing the pastry case full of sticky buns I’ve worked
out a life plan. I’ll get a stable job and start dating Roberto. Eventually
we’ll have the big Italian wedding our mothers have been planning, we’ll buy a
big house, settle into it and have a few kids. It’s the perfect plan. It’s very
comfortable. Very safe and comfortable. 

           
Within three minutes, I’m out the door, sticky buns and cappuccino in
hand, Roberto’s flowers tucked nicely under my arm. I cross the street to the
bookstore to grab a magazine, because, for the first time in weeks, I feel
good.

No, I feel great.

           
Once I get all my goodies, I walk to the only place I can think of to
have some peace and quiet on this Thursday morning. Lorenzo’s.

           
I drop my stuff on the bench outside while I unlock the door. The cool
air hits me in the face, and I realize I forgot to shut off the air conditioner
last night. I walk across the restaurant and into the waiters’ station to turn
it off, then walk back to the front door and lock it. I unhook the phone and
set up a little corner table all to myself.

           
Some people need spas, others fancy massages, but for me, the ultimate
relaxation is a good cup of coffee and a few magazines. I place both sticky
buns on a bread plate and grab myself a fork and knife to eat them with, that
way I won’t get the magazines dirty. I flip to the first page and take a big
bite of the walnut bun. It’s just as good as I imagined.

           
After a few minutes I come across an article on style tips for a first
date. The page shows pictures of Drew Barrymore, Lindsay Lohan, and Penelope
Cruz, all prepped for their big dates. Of the three, I lean towards Penelope’s
look, and start to imagine the exact dress I’ll wear for my date with Roberto.

           
It’s strange, planning a dress for a first date with a guy that I grew up
with. I mean, he was there when I vomited all over myself at his dad’s birthday
party. Granted, I was only five and had a bad virus, but still, it was
embarrassing, and I’m sure he remembers. Of course, I’ve seen him in his pudgy
years, and I still agreed to the date. I smile. Maybe this isn’t such a bad
idea after all.

           
“What are you going to wear?” Gina asks the burning question once I tell
her about the date.

           
“I’m not sure, probably a black dress…” I’m standing in the kitchen
watching as she and my mother drink their morning coffee. It’s eleven and
they’ve only now gotten up.

           
“Black?” my mom interrupts. “You’re going on a date, not to a funeral.”

           
“Black is very classic,” I say.

           
“Your mom is right. Black is a no go for a date,” Gina adds. “Unless
you’re already an established couple.”

           
I roll my eyes. Just because she works at Saks doesn’t make her Rachel
Zoë for God’s sake.

           
“I’m staying with black.” I sit at the table next to them.

           
They both look at me horrified. “Stella, you should wear red. Red is a
mysterious color,” Gina suggests.

           
“How mysterious can I be? He probably remembers me in diapers.”

           
My mom laughs.

           
“What about blue? You look
amazing
in blue,” Gina says. I shake my head.

           
“White,” my mom says. “You’ll wear white.” The way she says it, it seems
like she’s already planning our wedding.

           
“Mom for God’s sake, it’s a first date.”

           
“White will look beautiful with your tan. I saw a gorgeous BCBG dress the
other day. White satin strapless. We have it at Saks.” Gina takes a sip of her
coffee. Now even she’s styling me in a wedding dress.

           
“I think white is too suggestive for a first date.”

           
“Suggestive meaning what?” my mom asks, looking at me sternly.

           
“Meaning it looks too much like a wedding dress.”

           
“Well is marriage the worst thing in the world?’ my mom asks.

           
“Oh my God. It’s a first date,” I retort, although I spent most of the
morning envisioning myself walking down the aisle with Roberto.

Recipe:
Birthday Sticky Buns

           
Yields 1 serving

1)
     
Decide that you are not cooking on your birthday.

2)
     
Go to your favorite bakery.

3)
     
Select sticky bun.

4)
     
Devour, it’s your birthday after all.

Thankfully, we’re fully
staffed tonight. Both Brittany and Michelle came back from college for Labor
Day weekend to make some extra cash, so I’m back to managing. I take extra time
to get dressed for work because you never know if Roberto will stop in.