Biscotti - 7. Chapter 7

Scott’s dad drove home with Scott sitting in the back seat. He didn’t see the tears in Brad’s eyes, and Brad didn’t see the tears in Scott’s eyes.

“Scott, I like Brad’s parents. I invited them over for dinner next Saturday.”

“Dad, we’ll have to make sure your small garden is perfect. I’ll help you Monday and Tuesday to make sure there are no weeds. What did you think of Brad’s dad’s garden?”

“He has a nice place there. When you look for a small farm for me, a place like his will do.”

I laughed, and I like that idea. I’ll approach that subject at dinner next week.

Dad pulled the car into the garage. Mom wrapped her arm around my shoulder as we walked to the house. “Scott, I’m going, to be honest with you. I was displeased when you told me about your liking boys. Tonight, I had a long talk with Carol. After meeting Brad and seeing his father accepting him, I think I’m more comfortable with the idea. I watched you and Brad, and the way you looked at each other is the way I looked at your dad. It’ll take me a while, but I’m going to try my best to accept this. I love you, and I trust you.”

I looked at Mom. I had tears in my eyes. “I love you, Mom. and always will.”

I hugged her and ran to my bedroom. I missed Brad, but I had to think about what Mom said. I now wondered what Dad thought. It was difficult falling asleep - I wondered if Brad was having the same problem. Thinking about watching the stars, it was the best. I hope we have many of those quiet times.

“Scott, are you ready?”

“Aren’t we leaving a little early?”

“Yes, I want to help your Nonna with the dinner preparation. She wants to make bread, so I said I’d do that.”

When we arrived, it was always the same: as soon as we entered the kitchen, I was greeted by my Nonna in a hug. Pa, my grandfather, wanted me to taste a little of his new wine. It wasn’t very good, but he thought it was his best. I drank some - it lit my face up. “Pa, you outdid yourself - this is the best you have ever made!” The smile and a little more wine were worth the little white lie. I loved my grandparents, and I knew they loved me also.

Nonna needed some peppers and basil from their garden. I told her I’d go and get it. It took me a while to select the peppers: they had to be perfect in color, and I had to bring a sprig of basil. When I got back to the kitchen, I heard my mom telling Nona and Pa about me liking boys and not girls. They spoke in Italian, but I understood Italian. They could have said it in English. What I heard next completely surprised me.

“So, what’s the problem? Your Uncle Gino liked boys. My father threw him out of the house. They never saw him again, but I did. My mother knew and gave me food and clean clothes for him. He found a man and moved in with him. He adopted your cousin Petri. He was a good man, and Scott is a good man as well. You should be glad for him being honest with you. He’s welcome here, and if you throw him out, you won’t be welcome here.”

My grandfather made it clear, and if you didn’t get the message, the tone of his voice told you. I walked into the kitchen and pretended I didn’t hear anything, “Nonna. you need anything more, or can I help with something?”

Nonna just grabbed and hugged me. This wasn’t unusual, but after what I heard, I knew this was her way of saying everything was ok. “Mom, you need anything?”

“No, I may need you later to carry the bread to the ovens.”

My grandparents lived as much as they did when they lived in Italy: behind the garage was a brick oven. That is where the bread was baked and also certain Italian dishes. I knew I’d have one of those ovens when I had my home.

“Scott, come and help me fire up the oven.” Pa always spoke to me in Italian - that was how I learned the language. Of course, I had books to learn more.

Before we left the kitchen, I had another glass of wine. I knew I wouldn’t be driving home today. Carrying our wine, we went to the oven. I got a rake to clean out the ashes from the fire pit. Later, I would shovel these ashes into a barrel. I think Pa used them in the garden if the soil was too acidic. I know Nonna took some to make the soap she used to wash clothes.

Pa is a smart man, and when you think he doesn’t hear you or see you, you quickly find out you’re wrong. “Scott, I meant what I said to your mother: I want to meet this young man of yours.”

I looked in Pa’s eyes, and he saw the tears in mine. “Too much wine?”

Then we both laughed. I brought the wood and filled the firebox. Pa had some paper that looked like it was soaked with barbecue starter fluid. He lit the paper and tossed it into the firebox. Now it was my job to keep feeding wood until the stone plate got hot.

“When the plate is hot, open the firebox and put two shovels of these coals in.”

“I didn’t know you had these coals in Italy.”

“Where do you think the idea came from? We would set the wood on fire and then bury it. The heat and lack of oxygen turned the wood into charcoal. I think the idea came from Africa originally - not sure, and maybe you can find out.”

We sat there, drinking our wine. I would check the fire and add more wood as necessary. “I’ll be back - keep adding wood.”

He took my empty wine glass, and I was hoping he wouldn’t bring it back full. “How is the fire?”

“Hi Dad, Pa went to get something. I hope it isn’t more wine.”

“He likes his homemade wine. Your uncles will take care of most of it.”

“I was there when your mother was talking to Nonna and Pa. From what I gathered, Pa is accepting.”

“Yes - he had a brother that his father threw out. Luckily his mother made sure he had food and clean clothes. He wants to meet Brad.”

“Then, next Sunday, we’ll bring him and his family.”

“Here, John, try this. Scott, when you go to test the stone plate, put some water on it. When the water dances, then add the charcoal and close everything up.”

“This is the best you have made. Did you try a new grape?”

“Yes. I blended my usual grape with an African grape. I think it gives it a better taste. Ah, here comes the expert.”

“Hello Dad, John. I see they got you on fire duty, Scott.”

“Yes, I want to build one like this when I get my home. I need to learn how to make bread.”