Page 7 of The Great Dating Fake Off
A text from my parents contains one of three things: an alert of a life-threatening emergency in their region (rare), the most incredible story you’ve ever heard in your life (common), or an outdated viral video (also common).
My mother’s most recent text has a link, followed by the caption Not sure if you’ve seen this…kind of wild! Don’t forget to update us about your life.
I brace for the Charlie -bit-my-finger video from 2007 or something similar as I click. Instead, a news article fills my phone screen.
Movers and Shakers: Former Mount Sinai attending physicians Carlo and Nadine Rossi earn the AMA Foundation’s Excellence in Medicine Award—the first husband and wife team to share the award in the foundation’s history.
My awed laugh fills my bedroom. Only she would describe something this impressive as “kind of wild,” like it’s not their norm. It makes me miss them all the more.
I scroll down the article.
Currently serving abroad in Doctors Without Borders, the pair speaks on their shared calling to provide care to underserved—
“That’s it? One measly suitcase?”
A strangled expletive leaves my mouth as I whip around and pocket my phone. “Jesus, you scared me. How long have you been standing there?”
Nonna Stella—Nella—sips her acid-green frozen margarita from the doorway of my bedroom. “Long enough to know you’ve under-packed. Italian weddings are very distinguished, every event and meal an opportunity to impress.”
I bite back a laugh. If I know one thing about Enzo Mazzelli, the groom and one of my oldest friends, it’s that he’s not the type to throw a stuffy, uptight event. I’d bet good money his wedding is about to be a rager.
“The invitation said lakeside formal,” I tell Nella, tugging on the stuck zipper on my broken suitcase until it relents. “But for six days in the Adirondacks in June, I’ve packed an outfit for each season to be safe.”
“For someone who moves as much as you do, you really should splurge on respectable luggage.” Her house slippers drag on the floor as she shuffles toward my dresser. “Where do you keep your slacks and knickers?”
I die a swift death at the word knickers as she invades the sanctuary of my room.
Nella is the reason I took a year off from my regular job opening chapters of The Boys and Girls Club across the country. She was secretly struggling with her house’s wear and tear, but my best friend Alessia Mazzelli was here to see the signs—the hole in the ceiling, perpetual warmth in the house, suspicious mold smell, warped flooring in the basement, storm-ravaged fence, broken AC. The house has had enough lingering problems after the last three hurricanes that Nella was considering selling it without telling me or my parents for fear that we’d feel pressured to help.
But I did feel pressured to help. So much so that it consumed me the last six months I was on assignment in Florida. It was like I left an oven on all the way back home and it was about to burn down Nella’s whole life if I didn’t get back and fix what needed fixing. This is the house where my grandparents raised my dad, and where Nella and my parents raised me until Mom and Dad went back in the field and Nella took over my parenting. The thought of it crumbling around her or overwhelming her to the point where she wanted to give it up made me feel sick to my stomach.
Moving home was the only choice. I’d do anything for Nella.
Almost anything. I draw the line at letting her rifle through my dresser in search of boxers. My dignity can’t afford the hit.
“Please stop. Unless I fall in the lake every single day I’m there, you really think I’ll need more than six pairs of pants?”
Her tone is firm. “You must take pride in yourself if you want to represent the Rossi family well, my handsome boy.”
The innocent comment lands like a blow to the chest. If there’s one thing I’ve never done, it’s represent my family well. That ship sailed the second I was born to the most impressive, altruistic people on the face of the planet.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent the last year painting houses for rich New Yorkers who require me to sign NDAs for all the salacious things I encounter on the job.
Volunteering as a mentor at the local Boys and Girls Club here and spending a few nights a week helping teenage athletes stay on the straight and narrow has kept me involved in the organization, at least. I’ll be back to developing clubs at the end of summer.
If only that ever felt like enough.
I shake off the thought. “Understood. But I’m not reopening that suitcase for anything because it may never shut again. Let’s take this party to the living room, shall we? Alessia and Eloise will be here any—”
The doorbell cuts me off, followed a second later by Alessia’s voice. “Rossi fam, we’re home!”
Nella abandons my dresser, glee lighting her eyes. “The girls are here! Hurry up, Sebastian, you’re running behind schedule.”
Can’t imagine my interloper had anything to do with that.
Fifty or more photos of me at every awkward age watch me from the walls as I drag my suitcase down the hall to the foyer. The plastic carpet protector crunches underfoot. I’ve tried numerous times to get rid of this and every plastic runner in the house, but Nella gets twitchy about exposed carpet. Or exposed furniture.
Alessia’s flame-red hair is piled on her head in an elaborate style, but otherwise she’s dressed down for our five-hour road trip—a simple dress and her usual platform boots. Her girlfriend Eloise, a head shorter and perpetually beaming, is in a clean catering jacket despite the early hour.
