Chapter 9: Take, Take

Rosa's POV

Sunday dinner at Carlo Bellandi's house in River Forest was thirty people at a table built for twenty.

Nobody had a clear idea where to put their elbows.

Domenico sat at the far end in a gray suit, beside two uncles who had decided not to speak to him.

I sat at Carlo's right hand, which was the seat of honor and also the seat nearest the kitchen door.

"Take, take," Carlo said, and put another braciola on my plate.

I had already eaten two.

In his family, take means eat, and eat means you have not yet insulted anyone.

"I couldn't," I said, and took it.

"There's more," said the aunt on my left.

"Take," said the aunt across from me, and added a mound of potatoes.

"Take," said an uncle, passing the bread.

Domenico watched me from the far end of the table with a face that said nothing.

I decided that was because he was working so hard on it.

After the pie, Carlo rose and tapped his glass.

"Rosa," he said. "In this house, whatever you see, take it. It's yours. I wouldn't dream of keeping anything back."

"Anything?" I said.

"Anything at all."

Every aunt in the room put down her fork.

I took my plate to the kitchen, and the three aunts at the sink handed me three foil trays without being asked.

One was braciola, one was lasagna, and one was a nine-pound pan of something that had been under a towel since Thursday.

"Take," the aunts said.

"Thank you," I said, and carried them out one by one to the car.

When I came back in, the entire family stood around the hall waiting for me.

It was clear by now that I was the entertainment.

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