Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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"Come in," says Angie when I knock. "I made sure I slammed the door with as much force as possible without taking it off the hinges. I didn't want to surprise the two of you again." She's standing by the open doors of her closet in her bra and underwear, rifling through the hangers.
"We were cooking, not making out."
"Cooking, right, maybe sizzling some bacon on his hotness. Tss!" Her finger touches the air in front of her, pretending it's something hot.
My smile grows. Angie's sense of humor is a known rollercoaster. It either makes me laugh like crazy or cringe. Her innuendos are great when someone else is the butt of her jokes but a lot less fun when she directs her jest at me.
"You know I love you more than my luggage." Angie drawls, imitating Clairee from 'The Steel Magnolias'. Angie can find a quote from that movie to fit about any occasion. "So, tell me what happened with your Mom, and what Ben is doing here."
While Angie gets dressed and begins unpacking, I tell her about my call with Mom. I ready myself for a high-five or do some other over-the-top Angie thing.
"She loves you too, of course she does." She wipes tears off her face. We end up on the floor next to each other, our backs leaning against the foot of her bed, her head on my shoulder.
Ben knocks. "Dinner is ready."
That's when Angie catches me unprepared with her high-five. "Hot and good in the kitchen. You go girl!"
"Be nice to him," I fake-order her.
"I'm always nice." She winks. "I think he may be a keeper."
If my lunch with Ben's family is firmly situated under the rubric of 'what not to expect when meeting the parents of a guy you are crushing on'. Then the dinner with Ben and Angie is the one for 'what happens when your best friend and the guy you are crushing on hit it off better than you could have ever imagined'.
"Alla what?" Angie asks before she stuffs another forkful of food into her mouth.
"Alla Carbonara," Ben and I say in unison. I with genuine Italian 'r', courtesy of my Nonna, and Ben with the worst possible accent.
"Hmm." She doesn't try to talk, preferring another forkful of spaghetti to using words.
"You don't have to rush. There's plenty more on the stove," says Ben when Angie follows up with another forkful before she finishes swallowing the previous one. "This is not an orphanage. You can have seconds."
Angie covers her mouth with her hand, before food flies out of her mouth when she chortles.
"I'd let her eat," I say. "Angie doesn't care about food and the sight of her putting away pasta with cheese, eggs and bacon is the best compliment"
"There's bacon in it? That's why it's so good," says Angie.
"Bad," corrects Ben.
Angie puts down the food. "Bad? What's bad?"
"Bacon for Carbonara sauce. Best if it's Guanciale or at least Pancetta." Ben's right. My Nonna's would've refused the bacon version, but it's still delicious.
Angie's head swivels my way. "Translation, please."
"It's traditionally done with pork cheek. Guanciale is cheek. But beggars can't be choosers." I shrug. "It's not up to my Nonna's standards but it's delicious. We should call it spaghetti a la Ben instead. Then I don't have to compare." I smile at my cleverness and return to my food.
Full of pasta I struggle not to doze off while Ben instructs Angie on investting her savings, and she, horrified he has no social media presence, persuades him to start a YouTube cooking channel. They bond over the mutual distaste of airplane and airport food. Ben made another friend. That's two more friends over the last month than I managed over the last year.
The counter is clean, dishes are loaded into the dishwasher and Ben's ready to head home.
"You can come and cook for us any time I'm in town." Angie extends her hand Ben's way, and he shakes it. What has just happened? A tame handshake from Angie? She lets go of his hand. I eye her, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for her to high-five, first-bump or worse, strangle-hug Ben.
"And thank your Mom for raising you well. I don't remember when I last spent time around a guy with such impeccable manners." Between the fancy phrase and the glaring compliment it contained, Angie is brazingly trying to get on Ben's good side. Very suspicious and out of character. I'm used to her treating my boyfriends like cute but not well-behaved puppies who peed on her carpet.
Ben turns my way. Wait. What do I do now? Shake hands? We're way past that. Kiss him in front of Angie? A normal thing for me to do with a boyfriend, but he isn't one. A hug? My decision-making disorder freezes my body in place. Ben takes a step over, kisses the wrinkles between my brows, and lands a longer kiss on my lips.
"I'll text you when I get home," he says.
"OK, drive safely." Comes my automatic reply.
Seconds after the entrance door to the apartment closes behind Ben, Angie starts jumping up and down, emitting a weird whisper-scream that I've been subjected to numerous times before. She grasps my hands and sweeps me into a hybrid of a ring-around-the-rosy and scary high-knee jumps.
"A-me-lie-has-a-new-boy-friend, A-me-lie-has-a-new-boy-friend," she recites in a sing-song voice of a five-year-old who just saw her friend get kissed by a boy.
That's not the first time I got dragged into Angie's extravagant displays of emotions. A quick, although not always successful, attempt to gain freedom and retreat somewhere where I can hide and let her insanity pass is my go-to maneuver in such cases. Preferably somewhere far away from her and with a lock that she wouldn't be able to open. This time, however, her overreaction is a clear confirmation that even though nothing was official, Angie approves of Ben. He's the first guy I've introduced to her to've met Angie's exacting standard for who's good for me. And Ben is good for me, it's undeniable.
It's good to feel good.
My laughter joins in with Angie's, and once she calms down a little, we talk the rest of the evening away.
