A/N: Rewrite of Cinderella Retelling, previously posted under the pen name Annabelle Walls.

Once Upon a Frozen Lasagna

Chapter One: The Fuchses

Once upon a time there was a catering business called Bob's Best Caterers and it was the best catering business in town; everyone knew it and my dad owned it. It wasn't just rigatoni pasta with sauce, fried chicken, and ice cube lettuce drowned in Italian dressing. My dad made everything from French pastries to foot-long subs. He catered to every occasion from weddings to bar mitzvahs. He could cook Greek food, Italian food, Mexican food, American food, and everything else in-between. There weren't many other caterers around because nobody could compete with Bob Moretti.

I'd always wanted to help my dad with the business. I could just picture myself at some fancy royal dinner party or at a presidential inaugural ball handing the guest of honor his plate of smoked salmon with lemon sauce. As far as I was concerned, it was just as much my destiny as it was my father's. The first time I tried, at my dad's friend's parents' fiftieth anniversary luncheon, I spilt spaghetti all over the linoleum floors in the hotel lobby and Dad didn't let me come back. He said the legal working age didn't matter so much with family businesses, but I was just too young. That was three years ago. I figured I was ready now.

I helped Jimmy and Beth set up three long tables and place silky white tablecloths over them. Then we took in four metal trays and lifted the lids off. Cheese enchiladas. Tamales. Bean burritos. Chicken tacos. Everything smelled delicious. We put stacks of plates, napkins, and sliver wear at one end of the table (none of those foam plates or plastic forks, of course) and coffee and punch with mugs and glasses at the other end. Another small table had a three layer chocolate cake with chocolate frosting that read Feliz Quincea-era, Ariana. You knew you had a good deal when the caterer also brought the birthday cake.

The reason I remember Ariana Lopez's Quincea-era isn't simply because it was the first time I proved myself as a caterer, though it was very rewarding to put that spaghetti incident behind me forever. The real significance of that night is what happened after all the food had been reduced to crumbs. Once Beth, Jimmy, and I had folded the tables, closed the trays, and loaded it all up in the catering van, Dad pulled me aside. "There's someone I want you to meet," he said, leading me towards the museum kitchen. I knew that saying. It was the saying moms and dads always used in books, movies, and TV shows when they wanted their children to meet their potential future spouses. The words were directed at me so rarely that I had forgotten the tone of Dad's voice in-between them. He hadn't married since Mom left us to join the Peace Corps twelve years ago and in those twelve years he'd only dated three women: Loretta, Naomi, and Hanna, none of which he'd gone out with for more than a month. Needless to say, he hadn't popped the question and, in my opinion, there wasn't much there to cause me any worry. Brides, old ladies at church gatherings, and fat museum cafeteria cooks, the only women he was likely to meet in the catering business, didn't seem to pose much of a threat. So I was a little nervous at most, not worried. After I'd seen the woman on a few occasions, Dad would come home and say they'd broken up, no hard feelings, and that would be the end of it. I had no reason to believe this would be any different.

"'Someone'?" I asked, imitating his voice.

He smiled and opened the kitchen door. A woman stood there, dressed in a floral, knee length dress. She was tall, heavy, and had short, curly blond hair. The woman wasn't attractive by any means, but I wasn't judgmental. There was probably a beauty and warmth inside her that had pulled my father to her. Or so I hoped. She held out a chubby hand for me to shake. "Nice to meet you," she said with a heavy German accent. "I'm Hedwig Fuchs."

I struggled not to burst into laughter. Fuchs. Both Dad and Hedwig had straight faces, though, so I did my best to contain myself. "Cyndi," I said, returning the gesture. "Cyndi Moretti."

"I know. Your father's talked and talked about you." She smiled. "I have two daughters, just a bit older than you. Heike is twenty and Elfie is nineteen. You can be good friends."

This was new. Dad had never dated anyone with kids before. He put his arm around her shoulder. "And we've got news," he announced, sharing a secret smile with Hedwig.

I knew that saying too. All too well.

BREAK

Rain pelted the windows on the ride home. The silence in my father's car was almost unbearable, broken only by an occasional roar of thunder. However, the one thing that would have been more unbearable than the uncomfortable silence, was actually speaking. Dad had just finished his sentence before I ran through the swinging kitchen doors, through the dining hall, past the entrance to the Ancient Egyptian exhibit, through the Asian Art room, and out into the parking lot. I didn't know if my dad was following me out into the rain, but I also didn't know if I wanted him to be. I stood outside waiting until my hoodie was soaked through. Then Dad came out, glanced at me ever so slightly, and walked to the car. I followed him uneasily, without uttering a word. Nobody could blame us for not knowing what to say, especially since I don't always know the right thing to say in a good situation.

Finally, two blocks from the house, Dad turned on the heat and pasted a smile on his face. "Brrr," he said, laughing anxiously. "It'll be winter soon."I was shivering, but I said nothing.

"You know, Cyndi, I was hoping you'd let me get through the rest of that story before you fled off to God knows where."

He changed the speed of the windshield wipers. I said nothing.

"Hedwig and I spent an awful long time searching for you in that museum. We thought you had more sense than to run out in the rain, so we didn't bother to check outside for a while."

I couldn't stand how many times he'd used the word "we". How long had Hedwig and my dad been one subject? How did "I" become "we" in a matter of minutes? "You know, you have to say something sometime."

I thought about monks that take vows of silence and go their whole lives without saying anything. Was I willing to do that? If it would stop Dad from marrying her. Would it?

"Come on, I know you have questions."

I had too many questions to count. Maybe I had a million or even a billion. I sighed. "You never said anything," I muttered. I knew it wasn't really a question, but it would do.

He nodded. "I was afraid to," he admitted.

"Afraid of what?"

"I don't know. A lot of things, I guess. Maybe that I'd jinx it." Instead of turning at our street, he made a U-turn, heading back the way we came. He planned on making up for lost time by driving around.

I sat up straighter, preparing for a long, complicated conversation by straightening my spine. "Jinx what?"

"We met over the internet. It wasn't an online dating service or anything; I wasn't that desperate. Karen Folster, from the catering business, was in Germany five months ago visiting some relatives, and she ran into her second cousin Hedwig. Karen sent me an e-mail that said we should really think about hooking up and gave me her e-mail address. I wasn't opposed to the idea, so I sent her an e-mail. She sent me one back, and before I knew it, we were e-mailing each other every day. People always say that those relationships never work out, so I never bragged about how well it was going, just in case."

"What about me, though?"

"Well, that wasn't my fault. You see, I was going to tell you, any day now, but then she sent me an e-mail saying she was moving to the States. Just like that. And she said if I wanted to meet her then I should feel free."

"But there's more to it than that," I interrupted. "There has to be. You're getting married."

He smiled. "Well, I told her about my catering gig at the museum tonight and since she would already be in this country, I said she should stop by. Once we were in the kitchen, she surprised me by getting down on one knee and…"

"She proposed to you?"

"Yeah. No need to sound so old fashioned. It startled me, of course, but for some reason it just felt right. I said yes. I think we can make this work." He patted my knee. "With your help."

I studied him for a moment, seeing how happy he was. He looked anxious and excited for the first time in forever. If it took a sort of creepy German lady to make him happy, then I decided that was alright. "Weddings are fun," I told him, hoping that saying the words would convince myself it was the truth. If this is what he wanted, I would be supportive. Then I met The Sisters.

BREAK

Dad and I went to the continental breakfast at the hotel where the Fuchses were staying the next Saturday morning so I could meet her daughters Heike and Elfie. Heike was really tall, over six feet, I'm sure, with tight, short, frizzy blond curls like her mother's and was as Goth as she could be. She had on black pants, a black jacket, black shoes, and black makeup that were all different shades of black. Her clothes were three sizes too big and most likely from the men's department. Elfie was almost her polar opposite in every way, and in the ways she wasn't, she made up for it by trying to be. Her hair was bright red, almost orange (a color you could only get from a box), and straightened so that it hung down to her waist. She was short, plump, and her clothes were way too tight. Her shirt was bright yellow and said, "Hot Stuff" in big black bubble letters. She was wearing three layers of foundation, two coats of mascara, purple lipstick, and blue eye shadow, which no one who isn't a clown can pull off. It seemed to me that Heike was trying too hard to look unattractive and Elfie was trying too hard to look glamorous. Without their overstressed appearances, I figured they probably looked just like any normal teenage girls. I wondered if they'd just gone into a store after getting off the plane and put on the first things they could find. I decided not to worry about having forgotten to put on lip gloss.

The three Fuchses piled their plates with bacon, sausage, fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, and jelly filled Danishes. They stuffed their faces and then went back for more, barely stopping a second to breathe between mouthfuls. While Hedwig and Dad were getting more hash browns at the buffet, I ended up sitting alone with The Sisters. "So," Heike grunted with a mouth full of food, "heard of the band Verstorbene?"

"Uh…no."

"They're good. Borrow my CD." She reached into her purse and pulled it right out. I'd never met someone who carried their favorite album around in their purse, just in case they bumped into someone wanting to borrow it.

I turned the plastic case over in my hands and read the names of each song. There was a "Schwä rze," an "Ich hoffe, dass Sie sterben", an "Ich hasse Sie", and a "Mein Leben ist dumm", just to name a few. I don't know German, but those didn't sound like happy, loving your life sort of songs.

"Thanks," I said, and put it in my own purse, wondering if she would ever ask me if I'd listened to it.

"I have no intention of listening to any of your CDs," Heike grunted. "Americans do not understand what good music is." Her voice was flat and monotone, with absolutely no emotion. "Mozart spoke German," Elfie piped up, proud to prove her sister was right about the quality of German music.

"Oh."

"He's like the best musician ever. Heard of him?" she continued.

"Have I ever heard of Mozart?" I repeated, unsure whether I should laugh or not.

Did they think I'd been living under a rock?

"That's what my little sister said, doofus!" Heike barked, pointing the prongs of her fork angrily at me from across the table.

I thought she might actually stab me with it, and leaned back in my seat.

She chuckled, satisfied with my reaction, and stuck it in her scrambled egg. "You may have to repeat things once or twice to this one," she whispered loudly to her sister. I wondered whether she knew I'd heard her or if she wanted me to hear. "She's slow."

Either way, her sister nodded comprehensibly, as though a light had suddenly gone on in her head. "Have…you…ever…heard…of…Mozart?" she asked slowly, the way one would to an old man who was hard of hearing or a two-year-old boy who didn't get it. Or to herself, I thought, stifling a giggle.

If I gave a sarcastic remark, which this conversation obviously deserved, would she stab me with her fork? Should I let them explain, in full depth, who the eighteenth century Austrian composer was instead? "I know who he is. Everyone in the world knows who he is. It's not like Amadeus Mozart is some weird German rock band." I decided on somewhere in-between.

"Can you scoot over, Cyn?" Dad asked. He was standing there, a plate of food in his hands, Hedwig behind him trying to balance three. Her face was aghast. He looked surprised and disappointed.

Oh no, I thought. They heard what I said! But they didn't hear Heike and Elfie!

No one said anything for the rest of the meal.

"First impressions are important, Cyndi," Dad said on the way home.

Knowing I should have feigned ignorance and asked them who Mozart was, I fiddled nervously with the seatbelt strap. "But they asked me if I knew who Mozart was, Dad."

"I don't care what they asked you! They're in a new country. People here speak a different language "

"They seemed to speak English pretty well to me."

"You're missing the point , Cyndi. They have an idea of America, having never been here, and they can't be expected to know these things. You promised to make this easy on me, Cynthia Ann, and you haven't been."

I wanted to remind him that it was one breakfast. I wanted to remind him that things were changing for me too, even though I hadn't moved to a different country where people didn't know who Mozart was. "I'm sorry, Dad," I said quietly. "I'll do better next time."

BREAK

"I'll tell you right now," said Hedwig when her and her daughters drove me to ballet practice, "that I don't run a taxi service. You or your dad can pay for this gas I'm wasting on you."

He paid for this tank, I thought. It's his car. Yours is in Germany.

"Gas prices are huge," she continued.

"Yeah," said Elfie, who was sitting by her mom in the front seat. I was in the back seat next to Heike. "Because of global warning."

"Don't you mean global warming?" I asked.

Heike jabbed me with her elbow. "You correcting my little sister?"

Hedwig eyed us from her rearview mirror. "Be polite, Cyndi," she scolded. "I was kind enough to drop you off at your dance studio on the way to the mall. I can pull over on the side of the road and drop you off and you can walk the rest of the way, understand?"

Everyone says that. Dad used to say it when I changed the radio stations too much. Mrs. Hoffman, who I carpooled to school with, used to say it when I played with the automatic windows. Grandma, before she died, used to say it too. Of course, those people never had left me stranded on the side of road like a useless sack of potatoes. I was pretty sure Hedwig would. "Sorry," I muttered. Ever since Dad had gotten engaged, I'd been muttering apologies for a lot of things.

It had been two months since they'd announced their unexpected engagement, and I still wasn't used to Hedwig and The Sisters. Though they were always hanging out at my house, they actually lived in an apartment on Grand Street, where they were staying until the wedding. Then my father planned to buy a big two-story house for all of us somewhere downtown. The two lovebirds were always going down there to tour open houses after Dad got home from work. I guess they weren't too concerned about my opinion because they never asked me, or Heike and Elfie for that matter, to go with them. I didn't look forward to the day when we'd all live under the same roof. Whenever I went over to their apartment, I found it cluttered, messy, and smelly. Their three cats weren't trained and they left hair and droppings all over the place. After just a few months, they'd turned it into a pig's heaven.

Don't get me wrong, despite making excuses not to go over there as often as I could, I was really making an effort to like them. I made suggestions about the wedding all the time, as though I were looking forward to the event. I'd tried on the ridiculous bridesmaid dress that matched The Sisters' and called the florist to order the flowers. I'd toured churches with them, sampled wedding cakes with them, visited numerous reception halls with them, and listened to countless selections of boring classical masterpieces with them. I was so good at pretending to be excited about it that I nearly fooled myself.

Along with helping with the wedding, I'd listened to Heike's German rock band CDs with her. I didn't see how anyone who appreciated Mozart could enjoy it, but I pretended to. I also tried my very hardest not to lash out at Elfie when she asked me the dumbest questions and spoke slowly to make sure I comprehended every word she said. It took a lot more work to deal with Hedwig and her constant complaints, fits, and foul language, but I was confident that with a little more practice I might muster enough patience to do so.

As I struggled to get used to having the three of them in my life, I found that I often had to remind myself who I was doing it for. Mom left when I was three and I barely knew her, but what I'd picked up from my father was that she was spunky, bright, beautiful, and had an infectious passion for life, all the things Dad insisted I was but that I knew I wasn't. I'd once found a picture of my parents hidden in his desk drawer. They were at the Grand Canyon on their honeymoon, sitting on a picnic bench with a brilliant desert sunset behind them, smiling for all they worth. Mom's shining golden hair fell about her shoulders and my dad was wearing his ancient Yankees' baseball hat that was older than me. As they smiled their ecstatic smiles, it was obvious there was nowhere they would rather be than right in that moment, snuggled in each other's arms. There was an ache in my heart when I looked at it. I had never seen that twinkle in my father's eyes anywhere but in that picture. Whenever he smiled, I couldn't help but compare it with that one, and his smiles always came up short. Sitting in the backseat next to my evil stepsister, I remembered that photograph, where Dad looked happier than I'd ever seen him. Did I dare hope that one day he'd go on another honeymoon with Hedwig and smile that same smile? If that ever happened, this would all be worth it.

"Sorry," I said again, a little brighter this time. Remembering the hopeful outcome of my struggles always made me sit up a little straighter.

BREAK

A/N: Please review! This story is complete, but input is much appreciated!!

--roxmysox55