Page 99 of Bless This Hot Mess

Trust likes to play games. Like a wolf inviting you into its den and promising that dinner will be strictly vegetarian.

The house was big enough that Japheth wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t two houses stapled together. White stucco with tall arched windows, a sweep of steps leading up to an oversized front door with frosted glass panels etched in swirls and hanging grapes. Stone stags flanked the stairs, their marble hooves politely pointing the way. Every available exterior surface seemed to have either a column, a balcony, or a potted plant that had been ambitiously manicured into a swooping spiral or a spirit animal made manifest.

Somehow, it stopped short of tacky and had an unexpected homeyness. The lights in the windows glowed with a golden warmth. There was a wrought-iron balcony with bougainvillea crawling up it, dressed in an abundance of white flowers, like the set of a community theatre production ofRomeo and Juliet. Soft music floated faintly through the night air, along with the smells of roasted garlic, tomato saucewith notes of oregano and basil, and freshly baked bread. From somewhere in the large house a small dog barked twice in welcome.

“Welcome to Casa Ferrari,” Rino grinned, and his nerves poked out as he gave Japheth one final peck. “Try not to let them adopt you, immediately. They have been wanting another son since my older brother moved out.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Japheth shrugged. “I’m very adoptable.”

Rino came around to the passenger side before Japheth could reach for the door handle, opening it for him like they were in some old-fashioned movie where men still remembered chivalry and to shave. As they climbed the steps, the front door flew open.

“Rino!” cried a woman’s voice, rich and musical like her son’s. “Why are you late,Mostriciattolo? The gnocchi are going to start sticking and will be looking sad if I don’t get it sauced.”

She was small and round and formidable, with a cloud of dark hair pulled into a perfectly poised bun that would never surrender to the day, and an apron printed with fluffy white Volpino puppies tied over a simple but elegant black dress. Gold hoops swung from her ears, a small cross glinted against the soft fold of her neck. Her eyes, dark as over-steeped espresso, went instantly from her lateMostriciattoloto Japheth. “Mmm… Mmmhmmm. Both of you are red in the face. Both of you with constellations in the eyes. That’s what I thought. That is why you’re late.”

“Mamma!” Rino complained.

“This must bePolpetto!” she declared. “I’m happy to see he wasn’t so delicious that you devoured him yourself, Rino.”

“Mamma!” Rino complained, a little louder this time.

Japheth froze halfway up the steps, “You… You know about the… meatball thing?”

“Of course I know!” she said, as if this were obvious. “My son calls me every night. He tells me everything. I’ve been hearing about you for weeks. Come here, let me see you.”

“I thought you said you just talked to your family about cars and money and the Pope?” Japheth said in an aside to Rino as they mounted the steps.

Rino just shrugged, “She has a way of working things out of you.”

Before Japheth could decide whether to bow or shake hands, she enfolded him in a hug that smelled like basil, laundry detergent and unconditional love. She kissed both his cheeks, leaving a small imprint of coral lipstick.

“You are even more adorable than he said,” she announced, holding him at arm’s length, hands firmly on his shoulders. “Look at this face.Dio mio. Those eyes! This curly hair! Rino, why have you been hiding him from us?”

“Mamma,” Rino protested, but there was a shy pride in his voice. “We have known each other for five minutes. This is our first real date. I knew better than to take him for pizza at the bowling alley.”

“Five minutes, five years, when you know,you know,” she said with the zealous certainty of someone who’d married at nineteen. “I am Alma. You call me Ma for short. And when you’re ready, you call meMamma Ferrari. Come, everyone is waiting. They are very excited. Rino never brings anyone. Never! We thought he was… how do you say…ragazzo di legno, like a wooden boy? A robot! But a handsome robot.”

“Mamma,” Rino said again, his ears tinged with pink.

Before he could rescue Japheth, a whirlwind in heels descended the stairs from inside–a tall woman in her late twenties in a fitted jade dress, brown curls explodinggloriously around her shoulders, eyeliner sharp enough to count as a concealed weapon.

“Oh my God, this is him?” she squealed. “This isPolpetto? You’re right Ma, heiscute. And such a sharp dresser! Look at this jacket.” She flicked the lapel of Japheth’s blazer with appreciation, “I’m Evangelista, the good child. But you can call me Eva, the favourite.”

“I thought Marco was the good childandthe favourite,” Rino said, stepping aside so they could sweep Japheth into the house.

“Marco moved to Ottawa and became an accountant,” Eva sniffed. “He’s dead to us. I’m kidding! We don’t kill family members. Every year at tax time, we resurrect him and pretend we love him again. Japheth, I’m sure you’ll meet him one day and he’llboreyou to death. You picked the right brother.”

The foyer was a study in excess: massive marble tiles that clicked underfoot, a chandelier dripping with crystals, a larger-than-life painting of the Last Supper over a sideboard absolutely drowning in framed family photos. The smell of simmering tomatoes, oregano and garlic hit Japheth like a benediction.

From around the corner where Japheth presumed the kitchen was, a man in a crisp white shirt and dark slacks stepped forward–Rino’s father, clearly. He was broader but just as tall as his son, hair mostly silver now but still thick, a trimmed salt-and-pepper beard giving him the air of a retired pirate who’d gone into real estate–and done well. His handshake swallowed Japheth’s.

“So,” he said in a rumbling baritone. “You are the boy from the radio. The one who sings about God being a woman. Very interesting.” His face was serious; his eyes were amused. “I am Leonardo. You can call me Leo. When you’re ready, you call mePapà Ferrari.”

“Hi,” Japheth said weakly. “I’m Japheth. You can call me… Japheth.”

“We’ll try,” Alma cooed. “So polite. Come, come, sit. Eat! You are too thin. I can see your ribs right through that mesh shirt. And your nipples. Your fashion reminds me of the Pope’s designer Raniero Mancinelli, but he’s always trying to make the Vatican a little more fashionable, isn’t he? Always with the shiny fabrics, the gold filigree embroidery everywhere and the little nipple-tipped hats. His Holiness approves and so do I. But you know, Rino likes a man with some… substance.” She mimed rounding out her own hips, then smacked Rino lightly on the stomach. “You should eat more too. Both of you. You will waste away.”

“There’s plenty of me,Mamma,” Rino muttered, but he let himself be herded along, drawn toward the dinner table by the incredible smells.