Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2), page 11
My own alarm went off, and I reluctantly got up and stretched. As I brushed my hair and picked out my clothes, I decided to save up whatever tips I made from now on. I just needed to pay everything down low enough to stop these calls, then I’d quit the bar, concentrate on modeling, and spend more time with Donnie. Maybe I could even get a train pass, something like an interstate MetroCard, and head up to see him for a weekend. I bet he’d like that.
I applied some mascara and gloss, then gave my reflection a once over. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, which meant there’d be drunks aplenty overspending, and hopefully over-tipping. I’d pocket my cash, buy my train tickets, and find a way to spend more time with Donnie. Maybe Connecticut was where I was supposed to be.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Astrid
Because Donnie was the most wonderful man alive, he’d left me all the uneaten pastries. I packed them up and hauled them to the dress fitting at Jorge’s, thus proving that I was pretty cool too.
“Where did Donnie get these?” Britt demanded. Jorge wrestled the pastry from her hands and ordered her to the changing alcove. “I’m putting in a standing order at this bakery.”
“I have no idea where they came from,” I said. “Knowing Donnie, he made them.”
Matilda looked from the flaky, chocolate-y pastry in her hand to me. “Made them? You mean his restaurant made them, right?”
“He’s always baking,” I said, enjoying that I got to brag about my man. “When I was at his place he made bread from scratch, and some little Portuguese pastries for dessert.”
Matilda turned toward Jorge. “Screw all this fabric. You’re taking cooking classes.”
“Not until after the wedding,” Britt called from the changing area. “No career changes until after me and Sam are married.”
Jorge snorted. “As if I would become a cook.”
“What’s wrong with cooking?” I snapped.
“Guys! No fighting,” Britt called, then she swept back the curtain and I lost my breath. She was wearing a strapless white satin gown, the A-line skirt flowing around her legs. A dark red fabric orchid was pinned to the right side of her bodice, and a second flower was embroidered below it.
“Britt, you are gorgeous,” I said. “Jorge, no cooking for you. Stick with fabric.”
“The dress is passable, for now,” Jorge said, striding forward and straightening the gown’s seams. “The embroidery will continue across the bodice, and I will add some floral elements to the skirt. I will add crystals, as well.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Melody breathed. “My gown cost a fortune, but it wasn’t half as gorgeous as this.”
“If you marry again, I shall make your gown at cost,” Jorge declared. “Now, Melody and Astrid, please try on your gowns.”
Melody and I put down our pastries and did as ordered. Our dresses were strapless floor-length chiffon and satin creations in a burgundy that matched Britt’s embroidery. The empire waists were bound with wide satin bands, and Matilda had told me that Jorge was toying with the idea of rhinestone embellishments. Good, since I loved me some sparkle.
“Think you will?” I asked Melody as we shimmied into the dresses. Jorge was nothing if not exact with his measurements. “Get married again, I mean.”
Melody pursed her lips, then she held her hair to the side and turned so I could zip her up. “I really don’t know,” she said at last. “Do I want love? Yes. But after everything with Darryl…” She shuddered, then she turned around. “Let me zip you.”
I gave her my back. “You really never did more than kiss him?”
“I hardly ever did that,” Melody replied.
“How old were you when all that nonsense was arranged?” I pressed.
“Eighteen,” Melody replied. “Well, I learned about it when I was eighteen. I held off Darryl, and the wedding, for as long as possible.”
Wow. Betrothed at eighteen to a man she’d never wanted, and then she spent four years off the market. Which led to my next question, “So, are you looking for anyone?”
“Are you offering?” Melody countered. I glanced over my shoulder, saw her winking at me.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” she continued. “But I do know that by leaving Darryl I’ve been given the gift of freedom. I have no idea what will become of me, but if I’d stayed with Darryl I would have been nothing. At least now I have a chance.”
And that was why we loved our Melly Moore—life had given her lemons, but she was whipping up the best batch of lemonade the world had ever seen. “You’re awesome, you know that?”
Melody shrugged. “I try.”
“Ladies,” Jorge boomed. “Please, today would be wonderful.”
“I guess we shouldn’t keep the man waiting,” I said.
“Guess not.”
Melody and I pulled back the curtain and exited the alcove. Britt took one look at us and squeezed so hard she jumped.
“You guys look great,” Britt gushed, then she threw her arms around Jorge’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Jorge, you’re magic!”
Jorge’s cheeks went darker than our dresses. “Thank you,” he said, then he gestured toward the pedestals. “Ladies, if you would.”
Melody and I stepped onto the pedestals, and Jorge went to work on our hems. “Britt tells me you spent the weekend with Donnie,” Melody said.
“You already knew that,” I said.
“I knew you were with him, I didn’t know you slept there,” Melody said.
“So?”
“So? Spill.”
“Yeah, spill,” Matilda said, Britt nodding beside her. “We want to live vicariously through you.”
“I thought we were supposed to live vicariously through the bride,” I said.
“You know everything about Sam by now,” Britt said. “At least, everything I’m willing to share,” she added with a wink.
“Jorge too,” Matilda said. Jorge dropped a handful of pins, then he rose and stared at his wife.
“You did not…they do not…” Jorge shook his head, then he retreated to his workroom and shut the door. We stared at it for a second, then we all burst out laughing.
“You’ve never told us anything about Jorge,” I said.
“I know,” Matilda said, wiping away tears. “He would be so embarrassed if I did.”
“He is embarrassed,” Britt shrieked. “You’re lucky you’re pregnant.”
“I’ll go talk to him.” Matilda rose and approached the door to Jorge’s workroom. After a few whispered words, she slipped inside.
“Aww, they’re so cute,” Britt said. “Are me and Sam that cute?”
“You and Sam are downright sickening,” I said.
“As if you and Donnie are any better,” Britt countered.
“You still haven’t told us about your big weekend,” Melody reminded me.
I glanced at the workroom door; since it seemed like Matilda and Jorge would be occupied for a while, I figured a little gossip was in order. “All right, then,” I began, sitting down on the pedestal as Britt and Melody sat across from me. “Donnie’s from Portugal, and his grandmother taught him his way around a kitchen.”
“That is not what we wanted to hear about,” Melody said.
“Calm down, I’m getting there,” I said. Melody and Britt sat on either side of me, all of us decked out in our evening wear, and I told them everything there was to tell.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Donato
After battling some of the worst Christmas Eve traffic in recent memory, I pulled up at my grandmother’s place in New Bedford. It was a white and blue raised ranch that took up half the block, a large but unassuming house that was built over a century ago, back when poor people had a ton of kids and needed someplace to put them. Okay, I guess that was still a thing.
Technically the house belongs to my parents, but there’s a story behind that. Apparently my parents hated this place, but ended up buying it anyway because of the in-law apartment—that included a full kitchen—on the lower level. My mother, wise woman that she is, knew that the only way she’d ever get her own kitchen was if my grandmother had a place of her own to hold court. It was also the only place they could afford that had enough bedrooms for all of us, but that was a secondary consideration. And so the house had always been known as Grandma’s Place.
My sisters, brother, and I had long since moved out, but man, those extra bedrooms came in handy during the holidays. Between my siblings and their significant others, they had produced eleven kids over the years, and Amelia’s pregnancy was bringing the horde to an even dozen. Which meant that for the past few years I’d approached the holidays with a bit of dread, since at the ripe old age of twenty-nine I had no wife and no kids, and everyone had to weigh in on why I was still single. My explanations that I’d just never found the right girl were never good enough, but I couldn’t use that excuse this year. While I hadn’t been paying attention the right girl had wandered right into my restaurant.
I stared at the house for a moment, then I grabbed my phone from the cup holder and read the last text I’d gotten from Astrid for the hundredth time. It had come through while I was driving, so I hadn’t replied yet. What I had done was smile all the way through the holiday traffic.
Astrid: Miss you. Let’s ditch our families and stay in bed for Xmas.
Now that I wasn’t in danger of breaking any laws, I sent off my reply.
Donato: Can’t. My grandmother would kill both of us.
Donato: Come home with me for Easter.
And, silence. I tried not to read too much into it, since she could be away from her phone, showering, sleeping…then my phone vibrated.
Astrid: You really want me to?
Donato: Yeah. Meet the family and all.
Donato: They’ll love you, almost as much as I do.
Fuck, I just told Astrid I loved her in a text message. That was just lame; it was the truth, but I could have done way better. I’d been planning to find another free weekend to take her somewhere, and figure out how she felt before I went and made an ass of myself. I should have known better than to underestimate that aspect of my personality. At least I hadn’t written it on a Post-It note.
Astrid: OK then. Easter it is. I’m all yours.
I laughed out loud; either Astrid loved me back, or she’d glossed over my little declaration. Right then, I’d take either.
Donato: Great!
Donato: I’ll call you later, babe.
Astrid: I’ll be waiting ;)
I turned off my phone and got out of the car, leaving my bag and the presents for my nieces and nephews in the back for now, and jogged up the steps to the front door. I entered without knocking, steeling myself for the chaos. Don’t get me wrong, I loved me some family chaos, but all the kids all at once can be pretty intense.
The house was quiet as a tomb.
What the…“Hello?”
“In here.”
I followed my sister Amelia’s voice to the front room, and saw her perched on the window seat. The place was decked out for Christmas, with the crèche in its place before the hearth, and platters of food set out on the table. The rest of my family, however, was nowhere to be found.
“Hey, sis.” I sat next to her and jerked my chin toward her belly. “How’s the latest bun baking?”
“Funny,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “How was your drive?”
“Not bad. Where are the kids?”
“Dad and Afonso took them sledding,” Amelia replied. “As for the rest, Lucia and Mom ran to the store, and Grandma’s downstairs with Julia and Brian,” she added, referring to two of my sibling’s significant others.
“Where’s Alex?” I asked. Amelia and Alex had been inseparable since they met six years ago. The fact that she was sitting here alone on Christmas Eve was just weird.
“He had to work.”
“On Christmas?”
Amelia patted her belly. “Yeah, well, now that this one’s coming we really need to move. That apartment’s too small as it is.”
“I hear ya.” I thought about my condo, which was on the small side but perfect for me. However, if Astrid moved in with her shoe collection…actually, I didn’t think her shoe collection would fit.
I had some money saved, and wondered if it was time to put a down payment on a house. We could get one between the restaurant and the city, and both of us could commute for our jobs. Then again, Astrid didn’t have a car, so we’d have to buy her one. Since my Jeep was paid off I could handle a car payment, though I hated having monthly expenses. Mortgage and utilities were more than enough for me.
Does Astrid even have a driver’s license? And does she want to live with me?
“Earth to Donnie,” Amelia said.
“Huh? Sorry. Just thinking too hard.”
“Uh-huh. What’s her name?”
“What makes you think it’s a her?”
“She the same one you were texting in the car?” Amelia countered. “The one you were laughing and smiling about?”
“My own sister spying on me,” I said, shaking my head. “What has this world come to?”
“At least I’m not as bad as Mom,” she said. “She’s been trolling you on those social media sites, looking for pictures of you with girls. And Leela’s mother told Mom you were seeing someone.”
“Do not listen to Leela, or her mother, about anything,” I snapped. I needed to talk to Christa about having that troublemaker scheduled only on the days I wasn’t working.
Amelia touched my forearm. “She bugging you?”
“Yes. No.” My head drooped forward, and I continued, “I just wish she didn’t work at my restaurant. She’s nothing but talk, you know?”
“I do,” Amelia agreed. “She’s always been a whack job. But still, when her mother told ours you were out with a girl, Mom was all sorts of thrilled.”
I rubbed my eyes, not at all surprised by this information. I also wouldn’t be surprised if my mother and grandmother drugged me, threw a bag over my head, and dragged me to a pre-arranged wedding to a nice Catholic girl.
“You women are all crazy,” I muttered.
“Sure are.” Amelia grinned. “C’mon, you got a picture of this girl? Show your favorite sister.”
“Right now Lucia’s my favorite.” I turned on my phone and swiped to the selfie of me and Astrid I’d taken the first night we went to the fish market. It wasn’t the best picture of me, since I’d had almost two days’ worth of stubble, dark circles under my eyes, and I was wearing a black knit cap pulled low over my eyebrows; if anything I looked like a burglar. Astrid, on the other hand, was all sparkling green eyes and rosy cheeks as she smiled for the camera. God, she was beautiful.
“Wow,” Amelia said. “Where’d you find her, a lingerie ad?”
“Funny you should say that.” I swiped to another picture, this one of Astrid lounging on my couch wearing black stretchy pants and one of my shirts. I’d taken it on Sunday afternoon, long after we’d gotten back from brunch and grocery shopping. “She’s a model.”
“Shut up.” Amelia tried grabbing my phone, but there was no way I was letting her swipe through my pictures. Especially not the shower pictures. “Come on, I want to see my pretty new future sister-in-law.”
“Picking out wedding colors for us already?” I asked. “We haven’t even been together that long.”
Amelia shrugged. “Love is love. I knew I loved Alex after a few days. Why wait and miss out on time you could be with her?”
“Good point.” I angled my phone away from Amelia and flipped through my pictures, lingering over one that Astrid didn’t even know about. After we’d made the pastel de natas on Saturday, she’d curled up on the couch for a nap. Every time I looked at her sleeping at my place I imagined that all our Saturdays were like that, with us cooking together and making love and napping. That was the life I wanted, and I wanted it with Astrid.
“When did my littlest sister get so smart?” I wondered.
“Always have been,” she replied. “It’s why I’m your favorite.”
I grunted and returned my attention to the image of Astrid napping. Amelia was right, I should figure out how Astrid felt about me sooner rather than later. I didn’t want to miss out on a single moment when it came to my girl.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Astrid
This year my brother, Bruce, had succeeded in getting us reservations at the trendiest restaurant in Manhattan for Christmas dinner. That meant that Mom was proud, Dad was pissed, Bruce was smug, and I was just hungry. Once I’d looked over the menu, I was pissed as well; it featured items such as overpriced lamb and chicken entrees, and a beef Wellington that was over one hundred dollars a plate. What I wouldn’t have given for a slightly burnt frittata and bright yellow pastries.
I laughed to myself; when had I, of all people, decided that simpler was better?
“What’s so funny?” my brother demanded.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, closing my menu and setting it on my plate. “I was just in the mood for Portuguese food.”
“Well, I think this restaurant is excellent,” Mom gushed. “Another win, Bruce.”
Bruce nodded gracefully while Dad continued frowning. The competitiveness between my father and brother was an odd family dynamic, and not one I’d ever enjoyed. They were both doctors, Dad an orthopedic surgeon while Bruce was a pediatrician, and they competed for awards and media recognition. As soon as one offered up a donation or pro bono services for a cause, the other just had to step up, all fake smiles and gigantic handwritten checks to obscure medical foundations. All this competitiveness was encouraged by my mother, who bragged endlessly about her boys and how proud she was of both of them.
