Read Online A Family Affair: The Wish: Truth in Lies, Book 9 by Mary Campisi - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Campisi
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compounding interest or dollar cost averaging and she’d get lost in the tone of his voice and forget the words behind the sound. One day, she hoped they’d have a little boy just like Robert. One day…some day…she hoped it would be soon.
----
“ H ow do you like the marinara sauce?” Natalie stood next to her mother, hands clasped as Lydia Servetti chewed. “I think it tastes like Grandma’s.” She’d started cooking nine months ago when Robert mentioned how much he loved spaghetti sauce and meatballs, and only got it when he visited Harry’s Folly. That seemed a shame and he’d looked almost forlorn when he said his mother never had the knack for cooking and he’d never graduated past scrambled eggs and toast.
Lydia pursed her thin lips and made a face. “I think it needs more basil.”
“You do? I used seven leaves, just like you said.”
Her mother lifted a shoulder. “Seven or nine, who knows. It’s a starting point, not a definite.” She forked more pasta. “One of these days you’ll find something you’re really good at, but this isn’t it.”
Natalie turned away so her mother wouldn’t see how much those words hurt. Nothing was ever good enough for the woman, not the house she lived in, the husband she’d married, or the children she’d had. Natalie realized years ago that her mother was an unhappy woman who believed her family existed to care for and about her and to follow her wishes. Like the one that would surface any minute now.
“Any new men in your life?”
And there it was, tossed in the center of the table with the bowl of pasta. “Nope.”
“Come here and sit with me. I hate eating alone. Get yourself a plate and have a taste.”
Natalie slid into the chair next to her mother, the one that had been designated for her oldest brother, Gino, when they were growing up. “I had a big breakfast; I’m not hungry.”
“Humph.” She scowled. “It’s not polite to deliver food and then refuse to accept an invitation to share it.”
Where had she come up with that? “I’m not hungry, Mom.” What would Robert think about Lydia Servetti and her seventy-two comments, of which seventy were negative? He’d probably eat the pasta even if he’d finished breakfast three minutes ago. And that was why Robert was not going to meet Natalie’s mother anytime soon.
“Suit yourself. Just remember, if you bring food to someone who isn’t a relative and they ask you to eat with them, you eat. Good manners are important, and I don’t want your lack of them coming back on me.”
Natalie gripped the edges of her chair, counted her breaths. “Got it.”
“Now about a man.” She adjusted her glasses, reached for a notebook resting on the floral table setting. “Let’s see.” She flipped open the notebook, scanned the page. “Okay…yes. Hmm. I made a list of potential candidates. See what you think.” She tapped a pen against her chin, squinted at the page, and read. “Doctor, teacher, store owner, pharmacist, dance instructor, bank manager, policeman.” Her mother paused, glanced up. “Any of those interest you?”
Was she serious? The no-nonsense expression on her plump face said she was. “Those aren’t people; those are professions.”
A tiny smile inched over her mother’s thin lips. “Of course they are, child, but there are people behind the professions. I’ve organized them by pluses and minuses. Annual income is a huge plus, but you can’t ignore schedules either, or side benefits. If you marry a dance instructor, you won’t be rich, but you’ll never be out of shape.” She patted her round middle, laughed. “And neither will he.”
“Magdalena doesn’t have a dance instructor.” The only one within an hour’s car ride was Mr. Fleming, the instructor who’d given ballroom dance lessons to Robert and Natalie. His studio was where they met and somewhere between introductions and partnering for their first dance, they fell in love. She couldn’t let
----
“ H ow do you like the marinara sauce?” Natalie stood next to her mother, hands clasped as Lydia Servetti chewed. “I think it tastes like Grandma’s.” She’d started cooking nine months ago when Robert mentioned how much he loved spaghetti sauce and meatballs, and only got it when he visited Harry’s Folly. That seemed a shame and he’d looked almost forlorn when he said his mother never had the knack for cooking and he’d never graduated past scrambled eggs and toast.
Lydia pursed her thin lips and made a face. “I think it needs more basil.”
“You do? I used seven leaves, just like you said.”
Her mother lifted a shoulder. “Seven or nine, who knows. It’s a starting point, not a definite.” She forked more pasta. “One of these days you’ll find something you’re really good at, but this isn’t it.”
Natalie turned away so her mother wouldn’t see how much those words hurt. Nothing was ever good enough for the woman, not the house she lived in, the husband she’d married, or the children she’d had. Natalie realized years ago that her mother was an unhappy woman who believed her family existed to care for and about her and to follow her wishes. Like the one that would surface any minute now.
“Any new men in your life?”
And there it was, tossed in the center of the table with the bowl of pasta. “Nope.”
“Come here and sit with me. I hate eating alone. Get yourself a plate and have a taste.”
Natalie slid into the chair next to her mother, the one that had been designated for her oldest brother, Gino, when they were growing up. “I had a big breakfast; I’m not hungry.”
“Humph.” She scowled. “It’s not polite to deliver food and then refuse to accept an invitation to share it.”
Where had she come up with that? “I’m not hungry, Mom.” What would Robert think about Lydia Servetti and her seventy-two comments, of which seventy were negative? He’d probably eat the pasta even if he’d finished breakfast three minutes ago. And that was why Robert was not going to meet Natalie’s mother anytime soon.
“Suit yourself. Just remember, if you bring food to someone who isn’t a relative and they ask you to eat with them, you eat. Good manners are important, and I don’t want your lack of them coming back on me.”
Natalie gripped the edges of her chair, counted her breaths. “Got it.”
“Now about a man.” She adjusted her glasses, reached for a notebook resting on the floral table setting. “Let’s see.” She flipped open the notebook, scanned the page. “Okay…yes. Hmm. I made a list of potential candidates. See what you think.” She tapped a pen against her chin, squinted at the page, and read. “Doctor, teacher, store owner, pharmacist, dance instructor, bank manager, policeman.” Her mother paused, glanced up. “Any of those interest you?”
Was she serious? The no-nonsense expression on her plump face said she was. “Those aren’t people; those are professions.”
A tiny smile inched over her mother’s thin lips. “Of course they are, child, but there are people behind the professions. I’ve organized them by pluses and minuses. Annual income is a huge plus, but you can’t ignore schedules either, or side benefits. If you marry a dance instructor, you won’t be rich, but you’ll never be out of shape.” She patted her round middle, laughed. “And neither will he.”
“Magdalena doesn’t have a dance instructor.” The only one within an hour’s car ride was Mr. Fleming, the instructor who’d given ballroom dance lessons to Robert and Natalie. His studio was where they met and somewhere between introductions and partnering for their first dance, they fell in love. She couldn’t let
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