The Casual Rule (26 page)

“Very well, Rose.” He nods.

“Ben, these are my sisters. It’ll do you good to beware of them….Sophie and Isabelle.”

“Hi Ben, welcome to the jungle,” Sophie jokes as she hugs him. I guess I should have warned Ben that
all
the Conti women are tactile.

“Sophie, it’s nice to meet you.” He politely hugs her back.

“So you’re Julia’s
friend.
Just how
friendly
are you?” Isabelle chimes in.

“Shut up, Isabelle. Go find another place to stick your nose.” I turn toward Ben. “Just ignore them. They don’t get out much.” I glare at Isabelle. She sticks out her tongue.

And I’m supposed to be the baby in the family.

“I’m going to get the rest of the introductions over with so Ben can relax.”

I grab Ben’s hand and drag him into the dining room. My dad is sitting at the head of the table with my grandparents seated on his right. My three brothers, their wives and brother-in-laws are scattered around the table. Everyone is conversing at the same time.

“We tend to speak over each other,” I whisper to Ben. We walk toward my dad and I lean down to kiss his cheek. “Hi Daddy.”

“Hey JuJu Bean.” He gently grabs my face and kisses my cheek.

“Dad, this is Ben. Ben, my father, Frank.”

“Mr. Conti, it’s nice to meet you.” They shake hands.

“Ben, my daughter tells me you’re a writer.”

“Yes sir. I just completed a book about the Mets.”

 “The Mets, huh? Glad to hear you support the right team.”

“Uh, Dad. Ben is a Yankees fan.”

“Nice knowing you, Ben. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he jokes.
Well, I think he’s joking.

“Julia has pointed out the error of my ways a few times, Mr. Conti.”

“It might do you good to listen to her, son,” he says firmly.

“My dad takes his teams very seriously.” I turn toward my grandparents. “Grandma and Grandpa, this is Ben. Ben, my dad’s parents Marie and Vito.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Conti, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Ben shakes my grandfather’s hand and has already worked out that a handshake does not do for the Conti women. He leans down and kisses my grandmother’s cheek.

My grandmother grabs his hand and holds it. “Well, aren’t you a handsome young man. I’m surprised Julia let you out of the bedroom.”

“Grandma!”
Oh God.

“Relax, Julia. I’m not an old fashioned prude.”

“No one will accuse you of that, Grandma.” I tug Ben’s hand from her grip. “Ben these are my brothers, Frank Jr., Dominic, Mark, and their wives, Gina, Beth and Joanne. That’s Sophie’s husband Jim and Isabelle’s husband Bruce.” Ben makes his rounds to everyone, shaking their hands.

“Ben, sit down. Have some wine. There are a few open bottles on the table. Unless you’d rather have a beer?” my brother Dominic offers.

“The merlot is fine. Thank you.” Dominic pours the wine in a glass and hands it to Ben.

The conversations and the wine are flowing. My mother is busying herself, making sure there are enough plates and forks for everyone. I don’t think my mother has sat down at the dinner table on a holiday in twenty years.

The table is full of a delicious array of gastronomic treats, a giant tray of antipasto with olives, cheeses, stuffed hot peppers, a large tray of my grandmother’s to-die-for eggplant parmesan, rice balls, broccoli rabe and several stuffed breads. The children are called to the table, which for tonight are three folding tables bucked up to the dining room table with folding chairs and the green resin chairs from the outdoor patio set to sit on.

Ben seems to be holding his own pretty well, navigating through multiple discussions at the same time. I’m impressed. It took me years to perfect it. He even seems to enjoy the spirited debate my brothers are having about some new scientific find in space. I usually zone out of these conversations. It sounds like the Namibian Bushmen clicking language to me. Click, click, click….I don’t have a clue what the hell they’re talking about. Whoosh…right over my head.

After we’ve had our fill of noshing, we collect the dirty plates and replace them with dinner plates. The women bring the food to the table. I know it’s sexist, serving the men, but they’re completely useless in the kitchen. Probably because my mother coddled my brothers from the time they were born. Their only job was taking out the trash and mowing the lawn. It bothered me a lot growing up, but as an adult, I don’t mind it as much. Now, we make fun of them out of earshot when we’re in the kitchen.

“There’s more to eat?” Ben asks as I place a large platter of King crab legs in front of him.

“That was only the appetizers,” I explain.

“Jeez.” He leans back in his chair and pats his stomach.

“At some point you’ll see most of us unbutton our pants. We don’t stop when we’re full; we stop when the food is gone,” I whisper.

“Interesting mentality,” he whispers back.

I take my seat next to Ben. He’s staring at the food in front of him.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask.

“There’s sushi, fried calamari, octopus, crab legs and coconut shrimp.”

“And?”

“I thought it’s traditional for Italians to have the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve. Where’s the baccala, the sardines in pasta? ”

“How do you know about that?” I ask.

“I researched it.”

“Why would you research it?”

“I wanted to understand some of your family traditions,” he explains.

Why would he do that? Research our traditions, like all this matters to him.

“Oh. We’ve modernized the seven fishes to our tastes. Besides, baccala is disgusting.” I shudder.

He rests his hand on my knee; squeezes then briefly caresses the top of my thigh. He’s showing affection? In front of people? We’re always platonic outside of the bedroom. I’m a little confused. It must be the wine.

We’re eating our dinner, listening to my grandfather tell one of his infamous “Back in My Day” stories, when my youngest niece, Emma, climbs on Ben’s lap.

“Emma, Ben is eating his dinner,” I scold as sweetly as I can.

“That’s okay, I don’t mind,” she says, cocking her head and batting her eyelashes at him. Oh my God, this five-year-old girl is flirting with him. “You’re cute,” she says coyly.

“Uh, thank you. You’re cute too,” he stammers, his eyes widen in panic. It’s hysterical.

“Is Aunt Julia your girlfriend?” Okay, now it’s not so hysterical. This kid may look innocent, but there is nothing innocent about this question. I smell a rat. I bet one of my sisters put Emma up to this. Nosey bitches.

The chatter in the room falls silent. I feel all eyes on the two of us. There are twenty conversations going on at the same time, yet my entire family picks up on this one question and quiets down. I could save Ben and answer the question, but I’m as curious to hear his answer as the rest of my family.

“Your Aunt and I are very good friends,” he replies.

“Why isn’t she your girlfriend? Don’t you like her?” She purses her lips and frowns.

He squirms in his seat. “We like being friends.”

“Do you kiss her? This boy in my class, Ryan Harper, said he was my friend but he tried to kiss me.”

He nervously glances at me, then back at Emma. I need to stop this. “That’s enough questions Emma. Go play with your cousins.” I tap on her shoulder, shooing her away. I look across the table and see my sisters huddled together with their hands covering their mouths, laughing. Those witches
did
put her up to this. I knew it. I purse my lips at them and scowl. They simply shrug, playing the innocents. I’m going to kill them. “Sorry about that,” I whisper to Ben, as Emma jumps off his lap.

“I suspect that line of questioning was the work of the cackling duo across the table?” His eyes dart across the table toward Isabelle and Sophie.

“You are very wise, Mr. Martin,” I say as I shake my head looking in my meddlesome sisters’ direction, mouthing “bitches” to both of them.

Although he roots for the wrong team, my brothers seem to be pretty impressed in Ben’s vast knowledge of baseball. He shares some behind the scenes stories about different baseball teams; nicknames the field crew secretly gave to a few of the team members that get some pretty big laughs. Ben sure knows how to play to his audience. These baseball stories are winning big points with my dad. I think my dad may be as enamored with Ben as most ladies who are graced in his presence.

Dinner is finally over. Everyone is stuffed. Pants are unbuttoned. Success. My dad rises from his seat and walks over to us.

“JuJu Bean, perhaps Ben might like to join the men outside. We’re going to light up a few cigars and walk off some of this dinner. Ben…would you like to join us?” my dad asks.

“Sounds good, Mr. Conti.” Ben stretches in his seat, patting his stomach.

“It’s Frank.”

“Frank.” Ben nods.

“The man walk…it’s quite an honor to get an invite,” I whisper in Ben’s ear.

“I’ll remember that, JuJu Bean,” he teases.

Once Ben leaves for his walk with the men, I turn to my sisters and sister-in-laws. “Which one of you put Emma up to that?”

They look at each other and grin.

“Oh, Julia, don’t be so paranoid. No one put Emma up to anything,” Sophie answers.
Liars.

“You two do look awfully chummy for just friends,” Isabelle adds.

“Girls. This is Julia’s business. Drop it,” my mother interrupts, trying to keep the peace as she has all throughout our lives… especially during our teenage years.

“Fine Mom. So Julia, did you warn Ben about the man walk?” Isabelle asks.

“Crap. I forgot. Shit.” Oh God, if he thinks my family is crazy now; wait until he’s done with the man walk.

“I guess you’ll find out how much he really likes you if he sticks around after the walk.”

Twenty minutes later, the front door opens and the men stroll back into the house, still yakking away.

Ben walks up to me, looking amused. “You could have warned me,” he whispers in my ear.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I forgot. They’re Neanderthals.”

“Your brothers call it the
fart walk.
”

“I know. They’re disgusting.”

“They’re something all right.” He shakes his head and laughs. At least he finds some humor in this.

My brother Mark clinks a glass with a knife a few times, getting everyone’s attention. “Everyone, I’d like to congratulate the newest member of the fart walk team, Ben Martin, on his maiden voyage. Impressive job, Ben. I salute you and your formidable flatulence.”

“Thank you, Mark.” Ben bows.

“Good God, Ben. You participated?” My jaw drops.

“When in Rome…” He shrugs.

~o0o~

A few of the adults are sitting around the table playing a not-so-friendly game of poker. Nickel ante and a quarter is the high bet. Luckily, I remembered my plastic bag of change from home and gave it to Ben to play. My dad takes out the Jim Beam and pours out a few glasses.

“Is everyone sleeping over?” Ben whispers in my ear.

“No, just us.”

“How the hell are they going to get home with all the alcohol they’re consuming?”

“Our family rule is that the in-laws, or outlaws, as they like to call themselves, don’t drink on holidays. This way there’s always a designated driver. When one of my brothers or sisters goes to their spouses’ family’s home, they won’t drink.”

“I suppose that’s a pretty responsible solution.”

“Yeah, once in a while we get it right,” I joke.

The game has a massive pot of probably five dollars. I shake my head at the intensity the players have for winning this windfall. It’s absurd. A few times I caught Ben secretly checking each coin before he bet it. Collecting coins really is ingrained in him.

Ben and my dad are the last two in the game. My dad bets a whopping quarter with a wry grin. Ben stares at him intently, reading his opponent. My dad is wearing his Frank Conti poker face. He perfected it over many years of playing cards with his Knights of Columbus lodge buddies. The tension in the air is thick.

“That’s too rich for me, Frank.” He throws down his cards and folds.

The table erupts in a lively roar when Dad wins the big pot. He looks so damn happy gathering up the coins in the center of the table. It melts my heart. I love to see my dad happy.

I glance over at Ben. He slyly winks at me and I realize he threw the game. That was so….sweet.

My mom walks over to my side and leans in close to my ear. “He’s a keeper,” she whispers. I stare down at the floor and smile.

~o0o~

“Why are all the kids still awake? Isn’t it late for them?” Ben asks.

“Because in two minutes, it’s midnight.”

“What happens at midnight?”

“Presents,” I say with a twisted smile, wiggling my brows.

“You open gifts at midnight?” he asks, rubbing his hand over his dark stubble.

“Yes, it’s officially Christmas at midnight.”

“What about Santa?”

“Santa comes to their homes while they’re sleeping. These are gifts from the family.” I reach across and pat his shoulder. “Trust me, it’s quite an experience.”

My nephews and nieces count down the two minutes like it’s New Years Eve…once the clock strikes midnight, pandemonium begins. The kids run for the tree. There are piles and piles of gifts. They spent half the night divvying them up. Wrapping paper is flying everywhere. Complete insanity in one small room. The kids are screeching with every gift they open, wrapped up in the excitement of new toys. The adults are making their rounds, welcoming Christmas with hugs, kisses and handshakes.

“Merry Christmas, Ben.” I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek; he quickly turns his head to catch my lips on his, as he pulls me in close to him.

“Merry Christmas, Julia.” He runs his finger down my cheek, stroking it back and forth under my bottom lip. For a quick moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room. I feel the pull he always has over me, I can’t escape it, even in a room full of people.

“Come on Aunt Julia, there’s a present for you.” My nephew Nicky grabs my hand and pulls me away from Ben, bringing me back down to earth.