The Singing Trees by Boo Walker
Chapter 7
A DETERMINED YOUNG MAN
When the family came over, which was often, they’d set up card tables and chairs across the house, as the dining-room table would only seat eight. Annalisa and Thomas sat on one end of the main table with Nino and his cheerleader girlfriend. Per the usual, the great tenor Mario Lanza sang from the record player in the living room. If there were ever room for one more person to join the trifecta of Sinatra, JFK, and the pope on the wall by the front door, it would be Lanza.
As usual, Nonna never sat and would appear from the kitchen with another dish, set it down on the already full table, and then march up and down the line like a general addressing her troops as they shoveled food into their mouths.
Despite the evil eyes Annalisa shot her grandmother’s way, Nonna wouldn’t leave Thomas alone. She kept demanding his attention and saying, “Mangia, mangia.”
He already looked white faced when Nino scooped two more baseball-size meatballs onto his plate. “Let’s go, Davenport Eagle,” Nino said. “Show us how Presbyterians eat.”
“No, really,” Thomas said, waving him off. “I can’t eat any more.”
“What? You don’t like my food?” Nonna called out, marching toward him as if he’d broken rank. The entire dining room went silent.
Annalisa grinned at him as he shook his head back at her, as if to say, What have I gotten myself into?
“Nino,” her grandmother called out, “give him more sauce. That will make it go down easier.”
Waving the idea off, he said, “No, it’s not that at all. It’s the best meal I’ve ever had in my life. I’m just . . . so full.”
“Nonsense,” Nonna demanded. “You want to take my granddaughter out, you eat until we clear the plates. I spent all day cooking.”
“He doesn’t want to take me out,” Annalisa insisted, realizing that Nonna might see Thomas as a way to keep her in town. Was that why she’d been so welcoming?
“I really do,” Thomas said, his words coming out like he was tasting a Calabrian chili pepper, curious about the heat level.
Well, guess what, Thomas, Annalisa thought to herself. It’s hot. Burn-your-mouth hot. I’m not who you think I am, and you don’t want to take me out.
A round of laughter rose up from the table. Nonna, on the other hand, stood stone-faced, waiting for Thomas to continue.
“Enough,” Nonna said to everyone, and the room went silent. “Thomas, you eat until we clear the plates.”
As more laughter followed, Thomas glanced at Annalisa pleadingly.
“Don’t look at me,” she said, unable to wipe away her smile. “You asked for it.” You asked for all of this, she thought.
Like a boxer pushing up after a near knockout, Thomas picked up his fork. The color left his face. He cut the giant meatball and stuck a bite into his mouth. Everyone watched.
Thomas swallowed and then made a show of closing his eyes and enjoying the flavor. “Yummm . . . so good,” he said.
Of course it was good. No one cooked better than her nonna.
“Nino, give him more sugo,” Nonna ordered.
Nino chuckled as he spooned even more marinara on top of the meatballs and spaghetti.
“More, more,” Nonna said, flapping her hands. “You like the garlic, right, Thomas?”
“I love garlic,” Thomas muttered, flashing a look at Annalisa. “Matter of fact,” he said, “will you please pass the bread?” He crammed another bite into his mouth.
Even Annalisa giggled this time. She had to admit he was a pretty good sport.
Thomas wiped the sauce off his plate with his bread. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to fit inside my car, but it’s worth it just to see your smile.” He was brazen enough to say it so that the whole table could hear.
“What a smooth talker,” Aunt Julia said. “I think you’re adorable. Annalisa, green light! Green light!”
Annalisa cut her eyes to her aunt, promising a word or two later.
Nonna stood behind Thomas. “Make sure you save room for il dolce.”
Thomas swallowed and queried Annalisa. “Il dolce?”
“Dessert,” Annalisa whispered. This was too much fun, but she was starting to feel bad for him.
“Yes, dessert,” Nonna said, finally letting out her own smile.
Thomas looked like he was going to vomit just as badly as she had the night before, and that was when she realized she needed to stand up for him. “Okay, everyone. Can we not watch him eat? You’re embarrassing him.”
Everyone in both rooms raised their voices, telling her to relax in two languages.
Thomas made it through another meatball and two slices of bread before he raised his napkin in the air. “I surrender. Please don’t think any less of me. It was really wonderful. I’m just not used to eating so well. My mother likes to make chowder, but not this much of it.”
“Well, that explains why you’re so skinny!” Uncle Michael said.
Thomas looked directly at Annalisa and said almost heroically, “I did save room for dessert, though.”
She refused to look away from him. It was almost competitive, the way he persevered.
“That a boy,” Nonna said, uncrossing her arms. She clapped her hands, and half the people at the table, including Annalisa, stood and cleared the dishes.
When Annalisa returned, she put a tray of cannoli and a jar of cherries on the table. Someone had turned the volume up on the record player to mark the arrival of dessert, and Mario Lanza belted out “Night and Day.”
Annalisa put two cannoli onto a plate and scooped the delectable cherries over them. “Nonna cans these in whiskey every season.” She lowered her voice. “If you eat enough, you might catch a buzz.”
Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Don’t tell me this kind of eating is normal.”
“This is every weekend. Want to come back tomorrow for leftovers?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to bite them back.
“Sign me up,” he said.
Was he ever going to give up this chase?
She took pity on him: “Next time, start out with small bites; take your time.”
“I see that now,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Wait, are you saying there might be a next time?”
Annalisa shook her head and made a face at him. “I don’t know what I’m saying.” She really didn’t. Never had she been more confused. A small part of her—a minuscule voice in her head—was telling her that he was someone special and that she’d be crazy not to give him a chance. Another voice, much louder, screamed, “Remember what your father did to your mother!”
Nonna hovered over Thomas while he tore through two cannoli. His face turned even paler than the vanilla crème inside. What Annalisa noticed was the pride and perhaps approval that her family showed. Nino would have been shot dead had he brought home anyone other than a Catholic Italian girl.
When they all rushed to Thomas to say goodbye in the living room, Annalisa was reminded how lucky she was to have such a large family. It was a fact she so easily forgot, but in this moment, she felt their love and support and knew that she might not have made it if it weren’t for them surrounding her with love after her parents had died. She thought of what Nonna had said back in July.
He was my son! My son!
Similar to when he’d arrived, the entire family pressed their faces against the window as Annalisa walked him to his car through the cold night.
“I had such a good time,” Thomas said. “Really. Your family is incredible.”
“That’s one word for them.” But he was right.
“Seriously, you’re so lucky.”
An itchy awkwardness filled the space between them, and it felt like the end of a date—not that she’d ever been on one. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
He stopped near his car and waved at everyone in the house. To endure the Mancusos, he must be different from every other guy out there.
Returning his attention to her, he said, “I’d love to see you again.”
Instead of a joke or turning to hide her blush, she found his hazel eyes, which were as green as shamrocks, and said, “I’d like that.”
That he looked pleased would be an understatement.
They held eye contact for a long time. Would it be so bad if she let her heart lead? He might even be good for her painting, give her new feelings to explore.
Annalisa finally said, “Okay, can we stop giving them a show now? No hug—it’s time for you to go.”
He looked so purely happy, as if all he’d ever wanted was for her to throw him a scrap of attention. She liked the look on him, this sense of satisfaction. It was a good thing her family was watching, because otherwise she might have kissed him on the cheek.
“Could I have your number?” he asked, hitting her while she was weak.
No matter how strong she could be, there was no way she could reject him. Finally giving in, she asked, “Do you have a pen in your car?”
“I do indeed,” he said, lighting up. He produced a pen faster than she’d ever seen a human move in her life. As she wrote her number on the top of his hand, she felt that same surge of energy as she had when they’d touched in the car.
As he cracked open his door, he said, “Call you soon, okay? Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.” Her body tingled as they shared one last connection. Watching him pull away, she wondered if this was the feeling that girls always talked about when they fell in love.
A while after everyone left, Nonna entered Annalisa’s bedroom in her long nightgown. “How long has he been—”
“I haven’t been seeing him,” Annalisa assured her grandmother. “We keep running into each other; that’s all.”
Nonna nodded as if she believed her. “He’s a nice young man.”
Annalisa sat up, surprised. “He is, isn’t he?”
Holding up her pointer finger, Nonna said, “But he’s not for you.”
Annalisa rested her back on the wall in defeat. “He showed up. What do I do? Julia is the one who invited him in. You invited him to dinner.”
“I was being nice.” Nonna touched her own chest and said with exhaustion, “I have a bad feeling about this. Makes my chest heavy. He’s not like you. He’s from Davenport.”
Annalisa bit her lip, unexpected tears heating her eyes. In a whisper, she said, “I know, but . . . I think I actually like him.”
Nonna moved toward her and said softly, “It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it? One day, Anna. One day you’ll find a man who is perfect. Like Nonno was for me.” She sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on Annalisa’s foot. “I know it’s hard to hear, but I am truthful because I love you. It’s nice to meet people that are different from us, but when it comes to settling down, it’s always best to choose someone with strong similarities.”
If you have to choose anyone at all,Annalisa thought. “You’re probably right.” She felt herself deflating, like a bike tire that ran over a nail. Her feelings for Thomas were dangerous and could upend everything—only to prove Nonna right down the line.
“I’m happy to see you smile,” Nonna said, “but I don’t want you to get hurt. Now, please get ready for bed. No skipping church again.”
Annalisa nodded, thinking her graduation in May couldn’t come soon enough. It wasn’t Nonna she needed to get away from at all. It wasn’t even the Mills.
It was Thomas. If she wasn’t careful, her feelings could brick wall her career. It wasn’t hard to figure out how it could happen.
Annalisa lets herself fall for Thomas. She loses her creative edge, maybe stops working as hard. Starts painting butterflies swarming in fields of lavender. Graduation comes and goes, and she decides to stick around, maybe until Thomas graduates. She paints some, but has lost her fire. The next thing she knows, she’s trapped in his blue picket fence—or whatever color he’d painted it—with a stack of empty canvases and unfulfilled aspirations.
She couldn’t let her mother’s dead-ended path become her own.