Adriana Trigiani - Very Valentine

“What?”

“Well, he said, no matter what, he didn’t want me to change from the day he met me.”

“Isn’t that sort of impossible?”

“Well, maybe. But I’m trying to keep up my end of the deal. Plus, his eyesight keeps getting worse, so it all evens out.”

As Pamela gathers the kids for dinner, I return to the kitchen. Mom, Gram, and my sisters place garnishes on the platters for the Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes. I’m about to tell my sisters about Alfred’s No Change Clause and kvetch about how controlling our brother can be, but decide not to. Pamela, after all, is only doing what we tried to do for all these years-make Alfred happy. If that means she has to wear her jeans from 1994 and fit into them for the rest of her life, so be it. I feel sorry for my sister-in-law. When I picture Pamela at family parties, I see her on the outside, peeking through twists of crepe-paper streamers as if they’re prison bars. She never participates at weddings when we form a soul-train dance line, or joins the card games we throw together after Sunday dinner. She sits in a corner and reads a magazine. She’s just not one of us.

The buzzer sounds.

“Are we expecting someone?” Mom asks.

“Who could it be? Last-minute FedEx?” Tess teases, looking at me, knowing full well that I’ve been waiting for Roman to arrive so I can put him on display like the radish rosettes in the crudité dish. “A testy bride maybe?”

“On Christmas Eve? Never,” Gram answers. “Or any other day, for that matter.”

“It’s probably June. You invited her, didn’t you, Gram?” Jaclyn plays along with Tess; after all, it’s Christmas, so let’s have some fun with Funnyone.

“She’s with her wild East Village friends eating a seitan turkey and smoking weed,” Gram says and shrugs. “You know those show people.”

I press the button on the monitor. “Who is it?”

“Roman.”

“Come on up,” I say cheerfully into the intercom. I turn to my sisters. “Behave yourselves.”

Tess claps her hands together. “Your boyfriend! We’re finally going to meet him!”

“I wonder what he’s like!” Jaclyn trills.

“Girls, let’s not put pressure on Valentine.” Fully aware of the power of the first impression, my mother checks her lipstick in the chrome reflection of the toaster. Then she adjusts her posture, throws back her shoulders, lifts her neck, and parts her lips ever so slightly to show off a shallow dimple in her left cheek. Now she’s ready to meet my boyfriend.

Roman comes into the kitchen carrying a large baking pan covered in foil and then Saran Wrap. He wears a tailored black cashmere overcoat that I’ve never seen before. “I thought you could use dessert. Cobbler. Merry Christmas,” he says.

I give Roman a kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

I take the pan from Roman and place it on the counter. He unbuttons his coat and hands it to me. “You look pretty,” he says softly in my ear.

“Introduce us please, Valentine.” Mom looks Roman up and down like she’s studying the statue of David on a group tour. She actually goes up on her toes, craning for a better look at him.

“Ciao, Teodora.” He kisses both of Gram’s cheeks before turning to shake my mother’s hand.

“This is my mother, Mike.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Roncalli,” he says warmly.

My mother offers her cheeks, and Roman picks up on her cue and gives her the European double-kiss action, too. “Please call me Mom. I mean Mike. Welcome to our Christmas celebration.”

“This is my sister Tess.”

“You have two daughters, right?” Roman asks as Tess extends her hand and he shakes it.

“Yes, I do.” Tess is impressed that the stranger has retained any biographical information about her whatsoever.

“And this is my baby sister, Jaclyn.”

“The newlywed?”

“Yes.” Jaclyn shakes his hand and squints at him like she’s surveying stew meat in the butcher department at D’Agostino’s.

“Well, Roman, what did you make for us?” Mom bats her eyelashes at him.

“It’s a cobbler of blackberry and fig,” he says, just as I hear my niece pipe up from the stairs.

“Who’s that guy?” Charisma points at Roman.

“Charisma. Come over here and say hello.” Tess looks at Roman. “I’m sorry. She’s seven. She hates all boys. This is Aunt Valentine’s friend.”

Charisma squints at him. “Aunt Valentine doesn’t have friends.”

“Well, not in a long time, but now she does and we’re all happy for her,” my mother explains as I contemplate jumping headfirst out of the kitchen window.

“We’re just about to sit down to dinner.” Mom makes a sweeping gesture with her arm toward the table. My mother’s body language shifts from slight wariness to full receptivity of Roman Falconi. “You must meet my husband and the boys.”

“Our brother, Alfred, his sons, and our husbands,” Tess explains as she puts her arm around Jaclyn in a united, don’t-mess-with-us fashion.

“You’re forgetting Pamela,” I remind them.

“And Pamela. My only daughter-in-law. She’s so tiny you almost miss her.” My mother waves her hand in the air and laughs.

My father and the boys come downstairs and Mom, now in full command of Roman Falconi, introduces the remaining family members. Alfred’s sons extend their hands in greeting, like gentlemen in the drawing rooms of old. Chiara, with all the charm of her older sister, makes a face at Roman, and runs to join her sister at the table.

Gram motions to us to help her in the kitchen. Pamela stands up to come with us, but Tess says, “Don’t worry, Pam. We’ve got it.” Pamela shrugs and goes to the table.

“You complain that Pamela doesn’t help and then you don’t let her,” Gram whispers.

“If we gave her a platter to carry, she’d collapse under the weight and her stilettos would sink into the floorboards like penny nails.” Tess puts a pepper grinder under one arm and picks up the water pitcher with the other. Gram, Jaclyn, and I grab the last of the platters and join the family at the table.

My father takes his place at the head of the table. He folds his hands in prayer. He makes the sign of the cross, and we follow him. “Well, God, it’s been a helluva year.”

“Dad…,” Tess says softly, looking at the children, who find the mention of hell hilarious in a prayer.

“You know what I mean, dear Lord. We’ve had trials and tribulations and now we meet a new friend on the journey…” Dad pauses and looks at Roman.

“Roman,” Mom pipes up.

“Roman. We give thanks for our good health, my relative good health, Ma’s eightieth birthday, and all the rest in between.” Dad goes to make the sign of the cross.

“Dad?”

He looks up at Jaclyn.

“Dad…one more thing.” Jaclyn takes Tom’s hand. “Tom and I would like you all to know that we’re having a baby.”

The table erupts with joy, the children jump up and down, Gram wipes away a tear, Mom reaches across the table to kiss Jaclyn and then Tom. Dad holds up his hands.

Roman takes my hand and puts his arm around me. I look up at him; he is beaming, which means the world to me.

“My baby is having a baby. Well, this is proof positive that God isn’t sinkin’ our ship just yet.” Dad puts his hand to his forehead, “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit-”

“Amen!” we shout, the least religious of my mother’s children the loudest. I’m thrilled about Jaclyn and Tom’s news, and I’m also happy that my first Christmas with Roman is off to a great start.

We crowd onto the roof in our coats, hats, and mittens for the Annual Christmas Marshmallow Roast. Mom follows with a bottle of Poetry wine and a stack of plastic glasses embossed with sexy girls dressed as elves. (Where does she find this stuff?)