"Ramona," Ramona whispered shyly. The smallest and youngest of the children, she was immensely shy around anyone but her family, and she buried her face against Drew's shoulder.
"Hi Ramona," Heath said. "That's a pretty name."
"What do you say?" Drew prompted her.
"Thank you," she whispered. She looked at Heath, and he looked at her, and she gave him a big, toothy smile before quickly burying her face against Drew again.
"Okay, kids," Nik said. "Come on. You know where you need to sit."
Obediently, the children filed to their small table set just away from the adults' table, and automatically took their assigned seats.
"Everyone sit, let's say the prayer," her mother said, patting the air to encourage everyone to sit down. They took their seats bowed their heads. Drew wasn't really sure what Heath's denomination was, but his head was bowed like everyone else's. They crossed themselves and began the food blessing and moved into the Hail Mary, finishing with another cross.
"Okay, everyone just sit tight." Mrs. Carnevale rose to her feet.
"Some help, Mom?" Drew called after her.
"No, no," her mother's voice answered her. "I got it."
"So, Heath," Nik began and Drew sighed heavily, fixing her sister with an annoyed look. "The wine. Nice touch."
"Oh." Heath nodded. "Hope you like it."
"We prefer white, actually," Toni said. "Where's the pinot grigio?"
"It's wherever you left it," Drew interjected. "Oh, wait. You didn't bring any. Because you're a selfish bitch." She made a silly face to temper her words.
"Hey, language at the table, the kids," her father warned. "The wine was a nice gesture, thanks, Heath. You girls want anything else, you bring it and stop complaining about gifts."
"So, you really tied one on last night, Baby Sis," Toni said sweetly, ignoring Drew's pointed and fervent glances at her father.
"What's that mean?" her father demanded. He looked at Drew. "You were drinkin' last night?"
"She got drunk," Nik said bluntly.
"Only because you guys made me!" Drew insisted hotly. "Ordering all those shots, making me drink them."
"I don't recall pouring anything down your throat," Toni pointed out.
"How did you get home?" Mr. Carnevale asked, ignoring them. "You didn't ride the bus drunk, did you?"
"Who was drunk?" Mrs. Carnevale appeared and placed a heaping plate of pasta and meat sauce in front of Mr. Carnevale and one in front of Uncle Gino, who nodded his head graciously and tucked his napkin into his shirt.
"Your daughter," Toni informed her.
"Drew!" her mother exclaimed, smacking her on the shoulder before turning for the kitchen again.
"No, I didn't ride the bus, John," Drew said, grabbing some marinated artichokes and mushrooms with a fork as a distraction and placing them on her small bread plate.
"Well, did Bunz take you home?"
"Uh, no," Drew answered. Her father was like a bloodhound that had caught the scent when something didn't sit well with him. She popped a large mushroom in her mouth and glanced at Heath who was sitting quietly. "Heath took me home," she said around the mushroom, covering her mouth and hoping her father wouldn't make out her garbled words.
"He took you home?" he repeated, glancing at Heath. "Home to your apartment? Late at night when you were drunk?"
"Just to make sure she got home safely, sir," Heath spoke up reassuringly. "I wouldn't let somethin' bad happen to her." Her father nodded at his words but continued to glare at Drew.
"It's your daughters' faults, anyway," Drew added. "They kept buying me shots and makin' me drink them."
"They tied you down?" her father asked rhetorically. "They pumped tequila down your throat?"
"No, John," Drew sighed, glaring murderously at her sisters. You bitches.
Nik winked at her and Toni blew her a kiss. Heath let out a low chuckle but covered it up with a cough when Drew turned her glare on him. That, in turn, made Ryan and Vince start laughing. Drew glanced around the table with narrowed eyes. She wished she could pelt them with marinated artichokes and mushrooms.
Thankfully, her mother arrived again with more food. When everyone was served, everyone lost themselves in the flavorful dishes. Her mother had made spaghetti with a decadent tomato sauce, oily and rich, full of meatballs, sausage, and pepperoni. Drew's caprese salad was fresh with large basil leaves, sweet Roma tomatoes, creamy fresh mozzarella, seasoned with salt and pepper and tossed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Aside from the marinated vegetables there was also a plate of Italian deli meat—genoa salami and prosciutto. And sliced neatly in a brown wicker basket, wrapped with a white napkin to keep it warm, was a fresh loaf of home-baked Italian bread. It was truly a simple meal, but hearty and completely in the tradition of their heritage.