Page 73 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

Her hair was stark white, her eyes were milky, but there was still a keenness to her expression as her gaze landed right on me.

There was that word again. Umano. I’d have to look it up when I got home. Or I could add it to the car question list.

“Perché è così alto?”

“Sorry, I don’t speak much Italian,” I said sheepishly, wishing that I’d progressed faster in my Duolingo. It was supposed to help me by learning real conversations, but so far no one had asked me my age, my job, or how to get to the library.

“Nonna Rizoli!” Olivia exclaimed, hopping to her feet. I didn’t need a translation to know that Nonna meant grandma. Considering how old the aunties and uncles I’d met so far were, I got the impression that I was looking at an elder-elder. She’d probably call my mother a spring chicken.

“No Italiano?” she clicked her tongue. “In all my twelve and hundred years I never have a bambino who go with someone who no speak it!”

“Haha, you mean in your ninety years,” Olivia said, her cheeks flushing. “Numbers can be confusing across languages,” she finished quickly to me.

“Don’t I know it,” I agreed, but at least Italian counting made so much more sense than it did in French. Although it had been many, many years since I was in high school, quatre-vingt-dix-neuf would forever haunt me.

“Come, I sit now.”

“Oh, Madre, this is supposed to be a private sor—” Mrs. Rizoli started.

“What, am I? Umano FBI? I no make it not private. I sit.”

She plopped down in Rolando’s seat. I felt bad, but that bad feeling didn’t stop me from needing to choke down a laugh when he returned to see his place at the table had been usurped.

“Nonna—”

And there went the doorbell again. It was starting to become comical.

Without another word, he turned and headed back out into the hall.

It was chaotic, yes. Did I see why it would get annoying from time to time? Of course. But on the whole, I was digging the vibe. Everyone seemed to care about each other, even if they did step on each other’s feet a lot, and no one had been expressly rude to me. Awkward, yes. Sometimes a little too strong for their own good, also yes. But never rude.

Thankfully, once Nonna was settled and had a plate in front of her, things calmed down a little. Rolando returned and pulled up another chair, but the doorbell rang two more times before he fully got to settle.

There was a lot of Italian flying around, but eventually, when Nonna asked what I did in her broken English, I was able to reply in my broken Italian:

“Sono un falegname.”

Technically, I preferred the term woodworker over carpenter, but I didn’t know how to say that, so falegname it was.

“Good with your hands. Nice. Useful men are always…” Nonna squinted a little until she found the word. “Superior?”

“Nice to have around,” Olivia offered and the older woman nodded.

“Si. That.”

I tried not to look too pleased with myself, but I was having a hard time not feeling like I was absolutely killing it. Finally, all the questions I’d practiced came up (except the library one) and I was able to answer in bad Italian. Although I was a novice, everyone seemed to appreciate that I was trying.

But I should have known not to get ahead of myself, because when I was finishing up the last of my ravioli, Mr. Rizoli set down his fork and gave me a steely look.

“You seem like a charming man, Keith, and it takes someone special to catch the gaze of mi principessa, so tell me this.” I listened raptly, feeling a bit like I was a kid getting scolded by the teacher in class, except it was my future father-in-law in his own home. “Why did you propose to my baby daughter without asking permission for her hand?

“I know American life is different, that people don’t understand what pa— famiglia really means, but to me, it seems like you have put effort into respecting my daughter’s culture so… I am confused.”

“Papa! It’s not the Middle Ages!” Olivia exclaimed at the same time as Rolando objected.

“Aw, come on, don’t take it there, Papa. It’s twenty-twenty-six!”

“I don’t mind answering,” I said slowly. I had no desire to get into a verbal debate with my (hopefully) future father-in-law, but I felt like I understood the root of what he was asking. “If you don’t mind, Olivia.”