“Amy, I did it,” I shouted when my girlfriend answered her phone.  Sweat accumulated on my upper lip from the high humidity this August day, and I wiped it dry with the corner of the apron I

wore , waiting for her response.  “Can you believe I finally did it?”  I spewed.

Amy’s raised voice came through the phone like she was using a bullhorn  “I can’t hear you, Gina.  What did you say?”

“Where are you?” I found myself shouting back.  “It sounds like you’re at a ballgame.”

“I’m on my way into my cellular phone store trying to escape a parade.  I can’t for the life of me figure out why the heck there’s a parade.  It’s not a holiday, is it?” I could hear her grunt.  “Hold on . . . hold on.”

I heard a name called out in the background, and the swooshing sound of a door closing.  The noise level wasn’t much different except I didn’t hear a band playing.

“Oh crap, there are almost as many people in here as outside,” Amy complained with a few unladylike adjectives erupting from her mouth.  I paced back and forth across the grass watching cars fly by as though they were competing in the Indy 500. 

The smell of old cooking oil permeated the air from the fast food restaurant across the street.  I’d smelled that overused grease ever since I began waitressing at the Reckless Fisherman.  It made me nauseous remembering how many times I’d eaten there before I ‘d overheard one of their employees tell his date how many times he’d suggested his manager use a new batch of oil for the French fries because it was beyond its limit of use.

Amy’s dramatic sigh cut into my thoughts.  “Okay, go ahead.  You were saying?”

“I just got off the phone with the administrator in the Admissions office at Bergen Community College inquiring about enrollment.”

“Oh my God,” she screeched, “Yeah, up yours too, buddy.”

“What?” I screeched, "who are you talking to?”  My excitement was quickly waning with so many interruptions.  “Look, if this is a bad time, I can—”

“No, this is a perfect time . . . isn’t that right, buddy?” she said in her strong Bronx accent.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  I could just picture the expression on her face.  Amy’s one of those tough New York chicks where nothing gets past her without retaliation.  Down deep inside though, she’s a good-hearted soul.

“There you go, laughing at me again.”

“Well, you’re just so funny.”

“Yeah, so is this jerk giving me the bird.   Okay back to you.  So, you really were serious?”  She cackled.  “Gina, I never thought you’d go through with it.”

“Well, I did.”  A feeling of satisfaction engulfed my body.  “The only problem is I have to wait until the spring if I want to go there.”

 “Oh no, you don’t really want to wait that long, do you?” Amy whined.

“Not really, but there is one segment in the fall which is Culinary Science . . . out of sequence though, so I don’t know if I can take it first.   I have to go in to speak to a counselor in the Admissions office, but just knowing I’ve taken the first step toward my future makes me happy,” I did a jig not caring who saw me.  “No more procrastinating.  No more intimidation because of the numerous cooking geniuses in my family.  And no more worrying about not living up to my potential.”

“Aww, Gina,” Amy whined, elongating the letters, “go to culinary school in New York.  This is where you belong.  There’s lots more culinary schools here.”

“Hey, I’d like nothing better than to attend a culinary school in New York, but the one I’d choose, Nicky teaches at once a month, and I don’t want anyone but you to know I’m doing this.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”  A sick feeling erupted in the pit of my stomach. “What if I flunk Cooking 101?  I’m already the brunt of family jokes about burning food in the microwave for cripes sake.  I can just imagine the flack I’d have to take if they knew I flunked out of culinary school.  Then they’d really call me a loser.”

“Oh stop.  You’re the only one who thinks you’re a loser.  Gina Licari," she sighed, "you gotta stop beating yourself up over this.  If you tell yourself you can't, you won't be able to do it.  So cool it.”

“Uh, somehow I think it takes a little more than that, Amy.”

“Well, maybe it does, but c’mon . . . come back to New York.  My place is off the beaten path to your family.   Attend the school you want and no one in your family will know a thing.  See how simple that is?”

“Yeah, but what if I run into Nicky?”

 “Don't be silly , the college must announce who’s teaching a class?  So, you stay home those days Nicky teaches.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll work.  I’ll take out a student loan and miss school once a month to avoid having anyone find out.  Really, Amy, get serious.”

“Okay, so that was a dumb idea.  Why don’t you go to that school in New Hyde Park, New York?”

“Uh, because I live in Jersey.   Seriously, Amy, I’ve waited too long to take this plunge.  I don’t want four years of education.  I’ve worked at enough restaurants to know a little.  Of course, I’ve never had the confidence to try any of it, but the other major issue you’ve missed is I have to work . . . you know rent, food.  Have I left anything out?”

“Okay, so pick a smaller school, and move in with me.”

“Um, yeah, but three was a crowd the last time I checked.  What about Gio?” I was referring to Amy’s Latin lover, direct from Italy.

“I have a vacant room now.”

“He moved?”

“Yeah.  He took up with some blonde bombshell he met at the food show, and headed for parts unknown,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Oh, when did this happen?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“And, you’re just telling me this now?”

“It’s no biggie, Gina.  Of course, when I can’t meet my monthly rent, then it becomes a biggie.  Let’s change the subject, okay?”  Amy’s tone sent a clear message she was more upset about Gio leaving then she was letting on.  “I’m so happy about you going to culinary school.  You're going to be an awesome chef, but to be honest, I never thought you’d go through with it.  I’m really proud of you.”  Amy squealed.  “So, hey, if you move in with me, does that mean you’ll cook for us?”

The thought of actually cooking for someone made my heart race.  “Oh my God, what a scary thought.  What if I poison someone with my cooking.”  I released a deep sigh.  “Amy, do you really think I can do this?”

“Hey, what happened to that positive attitude you had a few minutes ago about not being intimidated, no worrying anymore?”

            “I know, I know,” I grumbled, “I’m just scared, that’s all.  This is the biggest decision I’ve made . . . well, except maybe moving out of New York to get away from mom trying to run my life, and the constant nagging about marrying Nicky.”

            “Gina, you do want to marry him.”

            “Right, I do . . . but I haven’t told them I’m in love with him . . . in that way.  We’ve been like brother and sister for so many years, I need to convince him his love is more than sibling affection.”  I laughed.  “If the mothers had their way, they’d lasso the poor guy and tie him down in a wheel barrel just to get him in front of a priest.”

“Yeah, but maybe their help is just what he needs to convince him.”

“It hasn’t worked so far.”

“Okay, you’re right.  So wow," she paused, "you’re going to culinary school.  Amazing.”

“And one day soon, I'm going surprise the heck out of Nicky when he sees how well I can cook.”  The words flew out of my mouth without any hesitation.  “I can do this . . . I can,” I danced around until someone blew the horn at me.  I gave a wave and noticed the time on my watch. “Hey, Amy, my break is over.  Oh crap, and I have another call coming in.  I’ll talk to you later.”  I clicked off and answered the beep while I walked back into the restaurant. 

“Gina, you have to move back home,” my mother’s loud voice echoed through the phone, “Nicky’s getting married.”

“What?”  I felt my heart drop to my feet with a thud.  “What . . . what, do you mean, Nicky’s getting married?” I bellowed right back. My entire body went numb, and breathing became a struggle.  I sucked in a deep intake of air. This was Nicky Fiorina she was talking about, the guy I’d been in love with since the day we were born just minutes apart, and that's when Nicky's mother became my surrogate aunt, no one was going to take my guy away.  “Who is she?” I demanded. 

“Some new red-headed broad at his swanky restaurant.” Mom said in a mourning tone.

“Red head?”  I didn’t understand mom’s reference to the red hair, but I wouldn’t have cared if the broad had green hair, there was no way I was going to let her latch onto my Nicky.  “Not a chance in hell I’ll let that happen?”

“That’s my girl.”  I could tell mom was smiling from the sound of her voice, but her tone quickly changed as she continued.  “Her name is Maureen McClellan.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him . . . marrying an Irish girl.  Can you imagine that?”

“How long has she worked for him?”

“Ever since you deserted your family in New York and moved to New Jersey.”  Mom’s dig shot through the air like a Javelin missile, but I ignored it.  “Aunt Nan tells me she’s new to the field, and Nick’s taken her under his wing.”

The jealous green-eyed monster dropped its possessive cage over my body.  This sudden development was ruining my future.  I was going to marry Nicky, and I was going to show him just how good a cook I was as soon as I finished culinary school.  The word culinary got caught in my thoughts.  I can’t go back to New York.  My stomach churned like a food processor.  

“Listen Gina, please come home and stop this wedding before Nicky makes the biggest mistake of his life.”  Mom's begging always managed to tug on my heart strings.

Turmoil erupted in my gut.  I didn’t want to give up on either of my dreams.  Sure, I wanted Nicky, but I also wanted a career.  Delaying school meant another missed opportunity, and the fear that I’d become complacent again.  I could feel the fire building inside my body, angry with myself for not accepting Nicky’s job offer just before I moved.   In an attempt to stop me from moving to New Jersey he’d even tried to sweeten the deal by saying he’d send me to culinary school.  At the time, I had no desire to learn, but now . . .

Mom huffed out air.  “I can’t believe he’s marrying an Irish girl.”

My shoulders slumped from resentment.  I could feel the stinging glare from my boss, Albe, so I grabbed a handful of napkins and pretended I was working. Unfortunately, mom’s voice escalated through the phone like she was using a megaphone and caught his attention.

“Listen Gina, you’ve gotta stop this foolishness.”

“I can’t just quit like that, Mom,” I whispered, an uneasy feeling sailing through my body knowing I was being watched.  “I have to give two weeks notice.”

Truth is, I really hated working at the Reckless Fisherman.  I suppose I could have found another job, but if mom ever found out, it would negate every other decision I’d made over the last year.   I’d never hear the end of it.

“Yeah, but you’re the only one Nicky listens to,” Mom pleaded, raising her voice to a screeching pitch.   “Aunt Nan is a wreck worrying about her son marrying anyone but you.  She can’t sleep, she can’t eat, she’s a mess, Gina, and you’re the only one who can save Nicky from himself.”

“Listen, Mom, I’m upset about Nicky getting married, too.  I can’t believe he didn’t call me to talk about it, but did it occur to either of you that he may not want to be bailed out?”  I couldn’t believe I’d said something so totally opposite of how I felt about him. 

“But Gina, you and Nick . . . you’re supposed to be getting married.”

“Mother, puleeze.  Those are your plans.  This isn’t India where you get to decide who we marry.” 

“But you love him, Gina.  I see it every time you look at Nicky.”

“Yeah, Ma . . . like a brother.”  My hands were shaking from the tension building inside.  I considered mom’s insistence nosebleed territory, but I knew all too well neither one of the mothers would give up until they got what they wanted.  Good for me in the long run, I suppose, but I wanted Nicky to come to the realization we were meant for each other on his own, not because the two Cupid Mongers had pushed him. 

“I have to go now,” I said.

“Quit the damned job already, and get back to New York where you belong,” she shot back.  “You haven’t looked happy since the day you started.  You’re grumpy all the time, I never hear you say you love working for . . . you know, what’s his name.”

“Albe,” I whispered.  My boss turned my way. 

“Right, Albe.” 

“And who said I wasn’t happy?”

“Your face—that’s who.”  She scoffed.  “What?  You think I can’t figure out when my youngest, unmarried daughter is unhappy?”

And there you have it— her youngest, unmarried daughter. 

“Listen, Mom, I really have to go,” I whispered more firmly.  “My boss is giving me the evil eye.” 

I quickly cast my eyes downward to avoid contact with him, unconsciously kicking a piece of food stuck to the carpet with the toe of my shoe.  A surge of tension forced me to release a steady stream of air.  The one thing I did know is if I didn’t get off the phone soon, I wouldn’t have to worry about quitting a job I hated.  I’d be on the unemployment line.  Albe threw an aggravated hand in the air.  I raised one finger to let him know I would be off in a minute.

“Wait . . . just one more thing,” Mom said.  “You’re the only one who Nicky comes to for girlfriend advice,” she added.  “So, all you have to do is say you disapprove of the woman.”

“Oh yeah.  That’ll work.”  The sound of Albe’s orthopedic clad feet pounding against the tiled floor in my direction echoed through the quiet room.  “Bye, Mom.”

“Wait . . . wait,” I could hear her saying as Albe lurched forward and yanked the phone from my hand, and spoke into the mouthpiece.  “Don’t you get it, Mom,” he shouted, “she’s working.”  He snapped the phone shut in one swift movement. 

My nostrils flared from anger.  The three waiters, who’d been setting up for tonight’s opening, watched with interest.  I felt the heat of blood rush through my veins like a pot of boiling water on the stove. 

“Excuse me,” I said defensively, as I yanked my cell phone from his hand.  “No one talks to my mother like that?”

“That may be, but when you’re talking on my dime, I don’t care who it is.  Now get to work.  I don’t pay you to talk on the phone when you’re supposed to be working.  I pay you to take care of the customers.” 

“Fine,” I heard my voice bounce off the overhead pots hanging from the stainless steel rack, “because you won’t have to worry about that anymore, Albeeeeee . . . I quit.”  

As I turned on my heels and headed for the door, the three men stood on the sidelines and gave me the thumbs up.  I acknowledged them before I shoved the door open and inhaled the aroma of greasy fries for the last time.  I unlocked my car, and quickly slid across the seat and jammed my foot on the accelerator and peeled out of the parking lot.  A smug satisfaction cursed through my body.    

The next order of business was to stop by the apartment I shared with Sara and get my things.  Sara and I lived in a duplex in Hawthorne, New Jersey, right behind the train station.  Sara was a pole dancer at some smutty club by day, and a party girl by night.  So not only did the loud music she played, and heavy partying keep me awake at night, but the train operator, who was a big fan of hers at the club, honked his horn every time he passed the apartment. 

For obvious reasons, Sara wasn’t allowed phone calls while she was working, so leaving her a note was the best I could do.  Not that she’d even notice I was gone except when it came time for the rent, but I’d leave my share on the table even though it wasn’t the end of the month.  Hence, no job, and no money left would dictate moving into my parents’ apartment.

* * *

            In my quest to get on with my life, I shoved clothes from my closet into the trunk of ‘Old Stella, my ‘99 VW Beetle, and struggled to lift my suitcase onto the passenger’s seat.   Relief coursed through me as I eased out onto the highway heading toward the GW Bridge.  Thoughts raced through my mind about my new assignment of convincing my Nicky he wasn’t marrying anyone but me.   I punched the pedal to the metal.  Unfortunately, old Stella didn’t care how much pressure I applied, she was chugging along as fast as she could go. 

A Janet Jackson song played and I sang along with her, raising my voice beyond my vocal range to take my mind off the fact that I had no air conditioning, when the musical ringtone from my cell phone played in concert with old Janet.  I scanned the area for cops since New Jersey has a hands free law.  With the coast clear, I flipped my phone open.

            “Where does your boss get off speaking to your mother like that?”  I could almost feel the heat from her fiery breath coming through the phone.  “I hope you stood up for me.”

            “Of course, I did.  I quit the job, Mom.”

“Oh, honey, thank you, that’s wonderful news,” her voice softened.

“So, I’m on my way home.”  I wiped more sweat from my upper lip with my thumb.  “Man, it’s hot today.”

“Yeah, it is.   To your apartment?”

“No.  New York, Mom—your place.”

“Oh, Gina,” she squealed, bringing a smile to my face. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

“I’m glad.”  My mind was working overtime trying to digest everything that had happened.  “You know, I’m really upset Nicky didn’t call to tell me himself.”

“He probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings?”

“Why would that hurt my feelings?”

“Because he knows you love him?”

“Ma, you keep saying that.  I told you before—like a brother.”  I looked skyward knowing God was probably keeping a tally of all the lies I’d told today. 

“I think it’s a little more than that, Gina.”  She cleared her throat.  “So what time will you be here?”

“Uh,” I said looking at the cluster of traffic beginning to back up, “under normal circumstances, it should take thirty minutes, but as usual, it’s close to cramping my style with a bumper-to-bumper effect, and you know how that goes.  I’ll call you if it looks like I’ll be later.”

“Okay, sweetie.  I’ll have your dinner in the oven.  Dad is going to be so thrilled to have his little girl home again, and I can’t wait to tell Aunt Nan the demolition derby is on its way.  That little Irish girl has no idea who she’s dealing with when it comes to the Licari and Fiorina clan members.  That broad is history.”

I liked the sounds of that, but played the coy card.  “Ma, you’re putting an awful lot of pressure on me.  I hope I can help out.”

She ignored my comment. “I’m so excited about your future, Gina, or should I say Regina Fiorina.”

“Ma, stop already.”

 “Thank you for being such a wonderful daughter.” 

Mom’s compliments were few and far between.  Her reference to me as wonderful was only because she was getting what she wanted.  She wasn’t singing that tune when I left New York twelve months ago and moved away.  I shook my head, convinced I’d never understand her.  For the moment though, knowing I pleased the one person who almost always aggravated me the most, gave me a feeling of accomplishment. 

I wish I knew why I always sought Mom’s approval.  One would think I’d moved on from the adolescent stage of her parental control, but being single at the age of twenty-seven in an Italian family was monumental.  And to add insult to injury, having a married sister with five kids only made matters worse. 

When I’d announced I was moving to Hawthorne, my mother went nuts.  You would have thought I’d committed murder with the way she went on.  But hey, it was the only way I could cut the chord and exercise my independence.  And talk about heavy artillery.  My mother, Josie, is a master at spoon-feeding me heavy doses of guilt, a hobby practiced by most Italian mothers.  Granted, by now I should be used to her manipulation, but the woman has this skill down to a science.  Problem is, you never see it coming until it’s too late.  Mom is the consummate achiever on this one, with Aunt Nan’s running a very close second.

So, here’s the thing about our two mothers, Nicky’s, and mine.  They met in the hospital the day we were born, and have remained friends ever since.  I’m certain I fell in love with Nicky the first time we cooed together, side by side on the blanket when our tiny fingers latched onto each other, and wouldn’t let go.  At least, that’s what my mother says.  

And speaking of my mother, she’s a petite Italian woman, four feet-ten inches to be exact, a powerhouse of energy and the mother of two.  I was a menopause baby, as in “guess what? I’m pregnant,” but Mom tells me she was delighted I came along.  I suppose that’s so I won’t feel unwanted.  Anyway, I know my mother wants only the best for me, and so does Aunt Nan, but their aggressive hounding about getting Nicky and me hitched makes me look desperate, and therein lies the reason I try to keep my feelings low key.  Well, sort of.

The traffic slowed down to a crawl and old Stella pinged.  I prayed I’d reach my final destination before she gave up.   As expected, traffic came to a screeching halt.  A red Chevy convertible with the top down pulled up next to me.  Two young high school aged boys sat in the back seat drumming their hands on the doors to the beat of the music blasting from their radio.  The one guy looked over at me and quickly turned to kneel backwards when they moved up a car length, he began throwing kisses at me.  Thing is, I don’t look my age, so he probably thought I was a teenager too.  I suppose that will be a good thing when I’m older, but at the moment, not the desired effect I was shooting for.

I groaned and tried to ignore his attempts to coax me into a conversation by focusing on my own thoughts until a chorus of horns from idiot drivers distracted me with their impatience.  Stuck in the center lane, I edged my way in between two cars and prayed the angry drivers would let me through.  They ultimately did move over, but not without flashing me the bird.  I exited the highway without knowing where I was going.  Not that it should be a surprise to anyone, I totally lacked in navigational skills too.  For years, Dad’s been threatening to have a tracking device inserted under my skin, just like they do for dogs. 

The street’s peaceful environment gave me time to think about my plan of action with Nicky.  On the one hand, I felt a sense of relief knowing I’d left a roommate who’d partied all the time, and quit the job I hated, but I wondered if I’d live to regret my decision.  I mean, maybe I moved too quickly.  This is my independence I’m talking about here.  Seriously, isn’t moving back home like saying I give up?  And what about culinary school?  A knot formed in my throat at the thought, but I’d figure something out.

A vision of Nicky and me as kids rushed through my mind, and all the years the Cupid Monger mothers had brainwashed us for marriage.  My face cracked into a smile as I relived the daily exercise the mothers put us through growing up.

The image of Mom using Bobbi pins to attach a sheer white curtain to my head as a bridal veil with its long train, made me cackle out loud.  Those two goofy mothers had decided right from the beginning they weren’t going to risk this event not happening.  I could almost smell the tiny bouquet of wild flowers Mom would shove in my hand, it’s unpleasant odor reminding me of a fat man’s sweaty armpit.  As Nicky and I walked down the path towards Aunt Nan, Mom would hum the wedding march until we were pronounced husband and wife.

 At the time, Nicky and I thought it was a cool game, but now that we’ve gotten older, he just groans about it, and me, well, I’m holding on with all my might to the dream that one day I will be Mrs. Nicholas Fiorina,.  But it’s never going to happen unless I can change my status of surrogate sister. 

* * *

I mounted the stairs to my parents’ apartment on 12^th Street, a short distance from the James Beard House. It felt great being back in New York, but knowing I was moving back home gave me pangs of uncertainty. Was I crazy? 

The stairs in this pre-war building creaked with every step I took.  The familiar smell on each level clung overhead like a cloud ready to burst.  I pinched my nostrils together until I reached the third floor where my parents’ lived.  Oil, garlic and basil effused and wafted up my nose and caused my stomach to growl as a reminder I hadn’t eaten lunch.

Just as I was about to ring the buzzer, the door opened slightly and I heard Aunt Nan talking to Mom.  Shocked, I hurriedly rushed to hide behind a wall that jutted out.  One mother hounding me was about all I could handle for tonight. 

 “Do you think Gina bought it, Josie?”  Aunt Nan said.

“She’s coming home, isn’t she,” Mom said matter-of-factly.