Read Online Home for the Holidays by Steven R. Schirripa - Free Book Online Page A

Clarence said, “Now you, Nicholas.”
    Nicky clumsily did a few turns.
    “Very
smooth,” Clarence said. “Now check this out.”
    With that, he did a wicked spin, went into the splits and hit the floor.
    “Wow!” Nicky said. “Can you teach me that?”
    “I don't know,” Clarence said. “Let's try.”
    Going to bed that night, worn out from the dancing, Nicky was quiet. Tommy said, “You wanna do some quick BP
Two!”
    “No, thanks,” Nicky said. “I think I'll just go to sleep.”
    “You tired from all that dancing?”
    “A little.”
    “You still freaked out about your mom?” Tommy said.
    “A little.”
    “It's probably nothing,” Tommy said. “If you knew what was going on, it'd probably be something really normal.”
    “Yeah?” Nicky said. “Like what?”
    Tommy thought for a minute. “Okay, it's not normal. But I bet it's nothing bad.”
    “Bad?” Nicky said. “Like what?”
    “I don't know,” Tommy said. “But it's your
mom.
She's not like other moms.”
    Nicky raised himself up on one elbow and looked at Tommy. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, she's Mrs. Borelli,” Tommy said. “She's your mom. She's, like, the best mom. Bringing me up here, that was her idea, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, there you go. She's the best, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Besides that, you gotta remember, even if she's your mom, she's still a girl. Right?”
    “So?”
    “So girls are not like us, is all I'm saying,” Tommy said. “It's worth remembering. Girls are not like us at
all.”
    Nicky woke up early the next morning. It was only seven-thirty. He got up anyway.
    He found Grandma Tutti making coffee downstairs and gave her a hug.
    “Good boy,” she said. “Now you can help me make breakfast. We're going to have
sfogliatella.
Nicky, bring me the flour.”
    Nicky helped his grandmother break the eggs, break the butter into little pieces and mix the dough. Grandma Tutti rolled it out onto the kitchen table, patted her hands with flour and showed Nicky how to cut it into little squares.
    “Now we gotta make the filling,” his grandmother said. “Get the ricotta.”
    Something outside the window caught Nicky's eye as he was going to the refrigerator. He said, “Is that Mom?”
    “No,” his grandmother said. “She's upstairs. Give me a sharp knife, please.”
    “Wait,” Nicky said. “I saw Mom. What's she doing outside?”
    Nicky went to the window. His mother was standing at the bottom of the garden, near the pool, with a man wearing black jeans and a black parka. He was nodding while Nicky's mother pointed at the ground and made a circle. Was it the same man he'd seen her with at the mall?
    “Nicholas!” Grandma Tutti said. “Come away from that window. I need the knife before my dough gets too warm!”
    Nicky pulled himself away. Whatever was going on, he wasn't supposed to see it. He decided to pretend that he
hadn't
seen it. Like Tommy had said, his mom might be his mom, but she was still a girl. Maybe he should ask Donna what she thought about it. She was a girl, too, and a smart one. But on the other hand, what if it was something weird, or bad? He wouldn't want Donna to know anything weird or bad about his family.
    Nicky got the knife for his grandmother, who said, “Okay. Now we got to cut the dough in little lines, like so.”
    Tommy came downstairs an hour later, his hair sticking up and a big smile on his face. The house had filled with the smell of baking pastry. Walking into the kitchen, he said, “It smells like something good in here.”
    “Sfogliatella,”
Nicky said.
    “Bless you,” Tommy said. “What's for breakfast?”
    More snow had fallen in the night. The backyard looked like a painting. Clarence came in, stamping his feet and clapping his mittened hands together.
    “Cold!” he said.
“Crazy
cold! Is your dad ready yet?”
    “I haven't seen him,” Nicky said. “Why are your knees all wet?”
    “I had to put snow chains on the car,” Clarence said.