Entry 6: A Family Affair
Summary: The Micellis from Italy bring family, chaos, and so much more into Angela's life.
Four years ago, the volume, week that I just experienced would have exceeded every limit of my being. I would have been offended, frazzled, overwhelmed, and completely out of my league. However, four years of living with a loud, overbearing, opinionated Italian provided me with at least some meager idea of what to expect when I agreed to host the Micelli family (pronounced in true Italian fashion as mee-CHEL-ee) in their U.S. visit.
Tony was practically crawling out of his skin in anticipation of seeing his cousins and aunt. Uncle Aldo was here a few years ago, though the visit was hardly social, but the rest of the family were strangers, even to Tony, who hadn't seen them in decades. It was humorous at times, watching Tony buzz around the house like a nervous mother hen making sure every speck of dust was gone, every hinge oiled, and every piece of glass polished to a blinding shine. I couldn't help but comment that we should have international family over more often if it gets the house so clean. Needless to say, all I got back was a stony glare and an order to finish polishing the silver.
And then they descended upon us, speaking in rapid Italian that left little time for translation. Hugs were exchanged, introductions made, and by the time things calmed down, despite all my mental preparations, I still felt like I had just survived a tornado as it tore through my living room.
While things did settle down a little, at least in terms of activity and volume, having four houseguests is a feat that requires constant attention. Tony was, of course, the consummate host, making sure the fridge was always stocked, the house clean, and fresh towels and linens in every room. My duties were basically limited to conversation and tourism. After all, what trip to the East Coast of the United States would be complete without visits to New York and Atlantic City? We guided them through all the major sites of Manhattan, sitting atop the double decker bus like two tourists staring up at the skyscrapers and down at the frenzied pedestrians, Tony and I both commented that it had been far too long since we'd enjoyed the simple wonder of the city. We ate gelato in Little Italy, which Aunt Rosa grudgingly admitted was pretty good, and then watched the sunset from the top of the Empire State Building, somewhere I hadn't been in twenty years at least. It's now somewhere I don't think I'll ever be able to go again without Tony to share it with. We arrived home a tired, and for once, quiet group. Not surprisingly, the insomnia that seemed to plague everyone the first night was replaced by deep slumbers punctuated by loud snoring. It's a wonder I ever fell asleep.
And then wires got crossed and signals got mixed. I don't know whether something got lost in translation, but one minute I'm a gracious host and the next I'm practically engaged to twenty-three-year-old Maurizio. In retrospect, the whole situation was quite amusing and very innocent, but at the time, I was petrified of breaking this poor young man's heart. I hope that's reason enough to justify my eavesdropping when Tony volunteered to talk to his cousin. At first, I was worried that no amount of reasoning was going to get through to him, but then Tony did something that nearly made me doubt my ears: He made it about us. The times over the years that Tony has made even the slightest reference to there being something – anything – no matter how small, between us can barely be counted they are so few. Despite Maurizio's persistence, Tony could have made dozens of other excuses, but when I expected him to get impatient and simply tell his cousin that I wasn't interested, he said something I never thought I'd hear him say. I'll never forget catching my breath as Tony admitted, albeit very awkwardly, that there was "more than nothing" between us and that he wants to hold on to the "warm and confused" relationship that we have. I only wish he'd say as much to me, but I guess sometimes you have to rely on more than words, and so much tells me we're growing closer and more comfortable. Still, it felt so good to hear it, even if it wasn't intended for my ears.
Maybe it was wrong of me to listen in on such an admission, but my intentions were only to reassure myself that Maurizio was not hurt. Differing ages, cultures and continents had little affect on him, but when Tony told him that his own personal feelings were involved, Maurizio understood. It didn't even matter to Maurizio that there is hardly a relationship between Tony and me, only that his cousin's feelings were more than nothing, if still less than something.
And the next morning, the family was gone in the same flurry of activity and noise with which they arrived. I still don't know what to make of Tony's presumable white lie that we'll probably get married one day, but in light of his earlier confession (one I admittedly wasn't supposed to hear), I can't help but wonder if there is some vague, barely defined road we're traveling that will one day lead us to a mutual destination. Who knows, but in the meantime, I'm having an awful lot of fun enjoying the scenery.
Already, a part of me misses the loud, boisterous crowd that invaded my life for five days. I can only imagine how Tony feels, having grown up amid such loving and interfering chaos. In the dense quiet that seemed to descend upon us after they were gone, he admitted as much, remembering as a little boy the loud dinners and shouting across the room, the pasta and wine, and old men playing checkers while the women talked in Italian about heaven knows what as they prepared then cleaned up the meal. Whether it was the Micellis, the Rossinis, the Castaluccis, the Govenales, or the Napolis, Tony was surrounded by people. And now he finds himself in quiet, WASP-ish suburbia, raising his daughter lightyears away from the cultural influence of his childhood, and instead, within a family that is about as ethnic as the Brady Bunch. And yet, he still holds on to who he is, teaching me about pasta and garlic, holiday traditions and a passion for life expressed through heated arguments, childlike excitement, and a myriad of emotion in between.
I'd like to think a little of the Italian influence of the past week has become a part of me. While I may not be willing to marry Tony's cousin and take up residence on a scenic vineyard, the Micelli clan has brought me closer to one of its own, and reminded me of how lucky I am to have him in my life.
