The Supreme Macaroni Company Read Online Free PDF Page B

part of our holiday tradition just like Gram’s ricotta cake.
    Gianluca was wedged between his father and Aunt Feen in the chairs that actually went with the Ethan Allen classic six suite of formal dining room furniture. In proper chairs, they loomed over the rest of us like a billboard. Tess had set the table using every piece of her wedding crystal, so for most of the meal, from my low-flow ottoman seat, I was looking at my family through goblets that distorted their features like an abstract landscape by Wassily Kandinsky.
    “Are we on a clam diet around here?” Aunt Feen swished the noodles on her plate. “I can’t find any clams in this linguini.”
    “That’s because they’re shrimp ,” Tess said as she swirled the ladle at the bottom of the pasta bowl and dumped a school of shrimp swimming in butter sauce onto Aunt Feen’s plate.
    “You didn’t toss. You have to toss, otherwise all the chunks sink to the bottom,” Feen said.
    Tess shot me a look like she’d like to toss Aunt Feen out the window.
    “We should call the cousins in Youngstown with the news,” Mom offered.
    “Maybe the Pipinos are having a peaceful holiday and we should hold all calls,” Jaclyn offered.
    “Good idea,” Dad said.
    “How’s Cousin Don?” Gram asked.
    “We’re planning a cruise to nowhere in the spring,” Dad said.
    “Where are you going?” Alfred asked.
    “Nowhere.” Dad laughed at his own joke, but no one else did. “Don is still working. I told him we need to take a few days off and have some fun. So he came up with the idea of a boat that goes from Miami and does a loop out in the ocean.”
    “It’s a floating crap game.” Mom smoothed the linen napkin on her lap. “They go out on the ocean, drop anchor, play cards, and lose their shirts.”
    “You only see water?” Aunt Feen asked.
    “And the top of a green felt card table.” Dad sighed. “It’s bliss.”
    “I’d kill myself,” Aunt Feen said.
    “I hear cruises are very relaxing,” Pamela said, speaking up for the first time that evening. That third glass of wine really turned my sister-in-law into a conversationalist.
    Pamela almost walked out on my brother when he had a brief affair last fall. Somehow she’d found a way to forgive him, and in so doing, forgave all of us for being lousy in-laws. Pamela had never forgotten that we’d given her the nickname Clickety-Click behind her back because of the sound she made when she walked in high heels.
    My sisters and I went to a priest to discuss how we could better build trust with Pamela. The first thing he said was, “Stop calling her names behind her back . ” The bulb blew in that lightbulb moment. We don’t always acknowledge the obvious. Since then, we’ve poured love all over her like an alfredo sauce, thick and heavy. My sisters and I leaned forward toward Pam with big smiles of support on our faces. We wanted her to know we were on her side.
    “Maybe we’ll go on a cruise sometime,” Alfred said, placing his hand over his wife’s.
    “Why would you waste a cruise on Pamela?” Aunt Feen barked. “That’s an eating vacation. Look at her. When was the last time you had a meal? She looks like a breadstick.”
    My sisters, mother, grandmother, and I quickly blew a chorus of compliments Pamela’s way to compensate for Aunt Feen’s rudeness. Pamela flipped her long blond hair and plastered a smile on her face. Tess wasn’t the only one who would like to throw Aunt Feen out the window.
    “No vacations for me until after the wedding. We have a lot of planning to do,” Mom said. “The last Roncalli to marry is an excuse to pull out all the stops.” She suddenly sounded out of breath, like she’d just finished the final meter of the New York City marathon. “We have to make this the best wedding ever.”
    “No, we don’t. We need a priest and a cake,” I told her. “You know. Simple.”
    “Simplicity is not my thing,” Mom said. Through the years she had announced a list