The Short Lover Boy – Episode 8
~THE SHORT LOVER BOY~
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By: Authoress Sharon ~ Ronnie✨✨
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~CHAPTER EIGHT~
~THE GANG~
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~BECKY’S POV~
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“Grandma,” said Sammy, “this is Becky Davidson.”
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I smiled at the old woman, and she smiled back. I could tell she’d had a handsome
face when she was much younger.
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“How come you so big and Sammy so little?” She asked me.
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“Do you mind?” Said Sammy, pulling me away, “there’s Nick. Excuse us,
Grandma.”
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Sammy had invited me to his house for a Carducci family dinner. I’d imagined ten or twelve people sitting around the table, with maybe a few kids playing in the yard. Instead, it was Grand Central Station at rush hour. The hallways were jammed with people talking loud and waving their hands. Thousands of children careened through the house at full speed. In the kitchen, teams of women shuttled food from the refrigerator to the oven, stopping every so often to sip from tumblers of red wine. A group was playing badminton in the backyard, and when the birdie
hit the ground, a little boy would grab it and run. Another group was playing video games in the den, and someone kept yelling, “You die! You die!” .
“Are you okay?” Sammy asked me. “You look kinda green around the gills.”
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“Are your family dinners always like this?”
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He looked around. “No, it’s quiet today.”
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We found Sammy’s brother Nick, lounging on a sofa in front of the TV, his arm draped casually around an attractive blonde. They were watching the shopper’s channel.
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“Yo Nick,” said Sammy.
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Nick kept staring at the screen. “You should watch this, Kiddo. Some very good
deals. A minute ago they had a VCR for only ninety-nine bucks. I’ve seen it
advertised for Two-Fifty.”
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Sammy looked at the blonde and grinned. “Cindy, remember me? I’m Nick’s
brother, Sammy.”
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“Sure,” cindy said, smiling vaguely.
“And this is my friend Becky,” Said Sammy. Cindy nodded in my direction.
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“You think I’d look good in that tie?” Said cindy. “Are the stripes red or pink?”
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Nick shrugged. “Four bucks, how can you go wrong?”
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There was a whirring noise from the kitchen. “What’s that?” I asked.
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“Electric Knife,” said Sammy. “My dad must be cutting up the Turkey Come on,
I’ll introduce you.”
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We squeezed through the mob in front of the oven and made our way to the kitchen table, where a short, slight, curly-haired woman was preparing a relish tray. Next to her, a thin man with a strong jaw was carving a Turkey.
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“Here, pop,” said Sammy, “let me give you a hand with that.”
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“I got it, Sammy.”
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“No, really, I could do that whole Turkey in two minutes flat.” When sammy didn’t get a response, he tugged at his father’s arm. .
“Sammy, you’re getting on my nerves.”
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“You don’t even trust your own son?”
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Mr Carducci switched off the knife and put one hand on his hip. He looked down
at Sammy, then noticed me.
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“Oh,” said Sammy, “this is Becky Davidson.”
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Mr Carducci gazed at me for a moment, them smiled. It was as if the clouds had
lifted and the sun had burst through.
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“I’d shake hands,” he said, indicating the knife, “but I might be dangerous.”
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“I’ll do the honors for both of us,” said the curly haired woman, wiping off her
hands and shaking mine. “I’m Lynn Carducci. I heard you two had a nice time at
the dance.”
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“Yeah, things are never dull with Sammy around.”
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“That’s one way of putting it,” Said Mr Carducci.
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Sammy slapped his father on the back. “Admit it, pop, you worship the ground I
walk on.”
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“How can such a little kid be too big for his britches?” Said Mr Carducci, turning back to the turkey. He started up the knife again, and sammy started up his mouth. .
“You might want to cut those slices thinner, he told his father.
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“Becky,” said Mrs Carducci, “would you like to see my flower garden?”
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I nodded and followed her out the back door and around the side of the house to a place where there were no people, dogs, or TV sets. There were only rose bushes, three neat rows of them, with pink and ye
llow blossoms. I could feel myself relax for the first time since I’d arrived.
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“You’re feeling a little overwhelmed, aren’t you?” Said Mrs Carducci.
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“Was it that obvious?”
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“No, I’m just familiar with the signs. I used to see them in the mirror every day.”
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“I like your flower garden,” I said.
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“It’s my retreat. I come out here and work whenever I need some quiet time, which
around here is pretty often.”
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I leaned down and sniffed one of the blossoms. “It reminds me of my aunt Ella.
She always keeps Rose’s on her table.”
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“They’re wonderful people, you know. The Carduccis, I mean.”
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“You’re a Carducci, aren’t you?” I said.
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“Now I am. But it took a while. I was raised in a home where we said ‘please’ and
‘thank you and not much else.”
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“Really?”
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She nodded. “The carduccis can be loud and sometimes even obnoxious, but they have good hearts. I wanted to make certain you knew that.” .
When we went back inside, Sammy was at it again. Dinner was being laid out
cafeteria style on two long tables with red plastic tablecloths, and he’d taken it on
himself to direct traffic.
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“Does that look like the pasta section?” He called out to a chubby dark haired woman. “Pasta down here, for crying out loud.” .
“Sammy, calm down, huh?” Said his father as he walked past.
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“Don’t worry, pop, I got it under control.”
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When the food was on the table, sammy and I took the plates and got in the line. I looked over the tables. “I’ve never seen so much food in my life.” .
Around here we do things big,” he said. “We got spaghetti, eggplant parmigiana, manicotti, provolone, fried cauliflower, stromboli, stuffed artichokes – you’ll like those.”
By the time I reached the end of the second table, my plate was piled four inches
high with food.
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“This is embarrassing,” I said.
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“Don’t worry; you can come back for more.”
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We poured ourselves some soda, and then Sammy led the way into the living room, where rows of tables had been set up. We spotted a couple of seats next to Nick, and we moved off in that direction. .
“Kids in the den, Sammy,” his father called from across the room.
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Laughing, Sammy said, “I’m too old for that pop.”
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“You know the rule. Sixteen and under.”
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“I got a date. That makes me exempt.” Sammy set his plate down on the table.
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Sighing, Mr Carducci walked over and pulled Sammy aside. I couldn’t hear what he said, but when he finished, Sammy picked up his plate and went into the den.
Sitting down next to sammy, I noticed that his shoulders were hunched over and his eyes downcast. In a gentle voice, I asked, “what are you thinking, sammy?” .
“Hm? Oh, I was just trying to figure how to sneak some wine out of the kitchen.”
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✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kevin Reynolds called me the next day. When he asked me out again, I told him no. I told him no the day after that, and five days after that, too. I guess it was an answer he wasn’t used to hearing.
The following weekend I was at the mall by myself, looking through some magazines at the bookstore, when I heard a familiar voice. .
“Alone at last.”
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I turned around and saw Kevin. “Are you following me?”
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“No, but it’s not a bad idea. How are you doing?”
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“You should know. We’ve talked every day this week.”
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“I don’t give up easily,” he said grinning. “Which reminds me, want to go to the Rialto Friday night? They’re showing one of my favourite movies.” .
“Look, kevin, this is really flattering, but I can’t go out with you. Please don’t keep
asking.”
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“Okay, I’ll stop asking – on one condition. Come to the good park with me and
have a soda.”
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“Right now?”
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“You’ll be perfectly safe. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
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“Very funny,” I said.
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“Is it a deal?”
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“No more calls? Promise?”
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“I swear on a stack of phone books,” he said.
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“All right, then. But only for a few minutes.”
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✨TBC✨
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