notes/disclaimers
*Rosa Vecchio surveyed her family around the long, dining room table
with satisfaction. It was typically boisterous, as a Vecchio family
dinner should be. They had all pitched in and made dinner, not allowing
her to step foot in her kitchen, which was probably a good thing,
judging from the noises she had heard coming from there.
There were numerous grandchildren, all beautiful and delightful. And
there was her Maria, a strong woman and a good mother, who was married
to Tony, often lazy and unable to hold a job but a father who did not
beat his children or belittle them or Maria. He loved them. It was
enough.
She often did not agree with her other daughter Francesca's methods but
admired her perseverance in going after what she wanted. Boldness
sometimes won out. She watched as Francesca's eyes roamed over two men
at the end of the table, neither one of them Benton, and then her
daughter clasped the hand of the woman next to her and smiled.
Then there was her Raymondo, her son, who had been a child full of
goodness and compassion, and had bravely suffered his father's abuse and
protected his mother and sisters. He grew a hard shell, fearful of
getting hurt again, but then Benton had come along and had broken
through that shell, coaxing out the goodness and compassion again.
Benton was so polite and respectful. She had learned from her Raymondo
that he had lost his mother at the age of six. It hurt even now to
think of such a thing. He was such a good and gentle man.
The woman next to Francesca was Elaine, a good friend and a bright,
sparkling woman with patience and compassion. She was estranged from
her mother and father, poor dear.
Then there was Ray Kowalski, her son's occasional partner at work.
Occasional, as Benton was his primary partner at work and at home.
Raymondo had brought home the spiky-haired blond who often looked like
an unmade bed officially one night to a Vecchio family dinner. She
guessed that he could be 'rude and crude', as her grandchildren might
have put it, with the 'boys' but was always unfailingly polite and
respectful to her and her family. She suspected unknown depths beneath
the surface. And his mother was in Arizona with his father, a long way
from Chicago.
Then there was Renfield. He was stumbling and bumbling and yet more
polite than Benton, if that were possible. He had been more overwhelmed
than even Benton when he had attended his first Vecchio family dinner,
and was always anxious and a little worried. She had learned that he
had lost his mother at the age of eight. He was eagerly learning
recipes from her. It hurt her to sense the great, gaping wounds in this
child.
She had much love to give, and was happy to give it.
There were her two daughters and son by blood, and her son by
marriage. Two sons by marriage, she amended, as the glint of sunlight
through the dining room window glowed golden on Benton's ring. And
there were her two adopted sons, who were slightly younger versions of
her Raymondo and Benton, and her adopted daughter (Who might be a future
daughter-in-law? Oh, what would Grandma Vecchio had thought of all
this?).
Rosa was very happy on this Mother's Day, indeed.*