Sleeping with Anemone

I clapped, too, although I kept picturing Nils Raand’s stupefied expression when he heard their demands. “That’s a great plan, Mom, but do you think you have a chance of getting Uniworld to cooperate?”

“I certainly do, and here’s what I intend to read aloud,” Mom said, pulling a sheet of paper from her purse. “According to an article in USA Today, in a study conducted by scientists at Newcastle University in Newcastle upon Tyne, it was discovered that more affectionate treatment of cattle, including giving cows names, can increase milk production by more than sixty-eight gallons annually.”

Mom looked up at us. “The reason for that is chemical. When a cow is treated cruelly, the stress causes the release of cortisol, a hormone that inhibits milk production. By using bovine hormones and creating oversized, painful udders, Uniworld would actually decrease milk production. And anyone drinking that milk would not only get a dose of bovine hormones, but cortisol as well.

“We’ll hold a press conference immediately after the meeting. And if that doesn’t get Uniworld’s attention, the threat of having a teachers’ union after them should.”

Who knew my mom was so wily?

“The local newspaper promised to print a series of articles about the dangers of bovine hormones,” Dad said. “They’re already calling your mom the Cow Whisperer.”

Dear God.

“Maureen, you are brilliant,” Mrs. Salvare said.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Knight,” Marco said, and lifted his glass to her. We toasted her and drank the wine.

“Now,” Mrs. Salvare said, “how about a toast to our young couple, eh? Such a bright future before them. Am I right, Marco?”

I glanced nervously at Marco. Here it came.

Suddenly, a door opened somewhere and we heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Marco said in relief, “Rafe is here.”

“Then we’ll wait,” Mrs. Salvare said, glancing at my parents with a shrug. “The bambinos, they give us gray hair, eh?”

“Hear, hear,” Mom said.

I could’ve said the same about parents.

Rafe strode into the kitchen wearing his parka, his cheeks red from the cold. He was out of breath and a bit giddy. “Sorry I’m late. I brought someone for you to meet.” He waved the unseen person toward him.

A young woman came around the corner, smiling shyly. I guessed her age at maybe twenty years old. She had neon orange-red hair that touched her shoulders on the sides, then angled up sharply to the nape of her neck in back. “Hi,” she said, giving us a little wave.

I smiled at her.

“Raphael, are you going to introduce your guest?” Mrs. Salvare said, rising from her chair.

“Sure,” he said, helping her remove her long, black coat. “Everyone, this is Cinnamon.”

Everyone stared. Everyone couldn’t speak because everyone couldn’t stop gaping at Cinnamon’s chest, which was mostly bared to everyone’s gaze. In fact, her wraparound dress was pulled so tight and cut so low, it was clear she had nothing on underneath.

Everyone was appalled.

“Okay,” Rafe said to Cinnamon, and began pointing. “That’s my brother Marco, his girlfriend, Abby, my mom, and Abby’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Knight.”

Mrs. Salvare pulled herself together to say kindly, “Cinnamon, you’ll join us, won’t you? We have delicious lasagna and crusty bread and-are you old enough to drink wine?”

Cinnamon giggled. “Why not?”

Marco pulled up an extra chair and Cinnamon settled into it. Everyone tried not to watch as she bent to lay her purse on the floor.

Setting an extra plate on the table, Mrs. Salvare said to Rafe, “Tell me how you met your, er, Cinnamon.”

“We work together,” Cinnamon volunteered.

Uh-oh. Time for the big reveal.

“Would this be at your bar, Marco?” his mom asked.

“Oh, no,” Cinnamon said happily. “At Hooters. I’m a waitress there.”

I could tell by Rafe’s expression that he hadn’t clued Cinnamon in on the need for secrecy. My dad put his hand to his mouth and coughed. I knew he was hiding a smile. My mom smoothed her napkin on her lap. Marco rolled the wineglass in his hand.

“Hooters bar,” Mrs. Salvare said, trying to hold her smile in place, “is where you work now, Raphael?”

Cinnamon rubbed Rafe’s shoulder. “He’s the cutest, smartest guy there.”

Rafe gazed at her like a besotted puppy. Marco studied the wine in his glass. Everyone else watched Francesca’s face.

“Well, then,” Marco’s mom said, raising her glass once again. “To new… jobs… and new relationships.” She smiled at me. “To our happy couple, who I hope will share their plans now.”

I squeezed Marco’s hand again and he squeezed back. My stomach knotted. Now or never, Abby!

Rafe jumped to his feet. “Okay. Why not?” He smiled at Cinnamon, then glanced around at the rest of us. “We’re engaged!”

Everyone was too stunned to react. Except me. After all, I had told him to surprise his family. I raised my glass and said a hearty “Congratulations.”

“Can you believe Rafe is engaged?” I said to Marco, as he walked me out to my car later that evening. “Cinnamon can’t be twenty-one yet, if that’s her real name.”

I couldn’t help chortling a little. “I thought your mother was going to faint when Cinnamon took off her coat. But I give your mom a lot of credit. She was very gracious, even after Rafe dropped the bomb.”

“Wait until Mama has Rafe alone, Abby. Then there’ll be fireworks.”

“Seriously, who could blame her for being upset? Rafe dated that girl exactly once. He met her only a week ago. And you call me impetuous?”

“I don’t know what Rafe is thinking. He can’t support himself, let alone a wife.”

“At least his announcement took the heat off us.”

“It did that.”

“So we’re off the hook?”

“Yep.”

“Good.” I took a deep breath. “Then I have to confess something.”

Marco cast me a dubious glance. “Okay.”

“I was keeping a list of your good and bad qualities.”

“You were?” His dark eyes searched mine. “Why?”

“I know it sounds silly, but I thought it would make the decision to get engaged easier. You know, like weighing the pluses and minuses of a situation? Anyway, what I realized is that listing things like confidence and reliability is all well and good, but what truly matters is that we love and trust each other, enjoy being together, and agree on the important things in life. We do agree on the important things in life, right?”

Marco pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. “I think we do.”

“I do, too. I mean, we both believe in justice, honesty, and solid values. We both have strong morals and close family ties. We’re hard workers, know how to save money-”

“And want to have a family of our own,” Marco supplied.

“Not a big family, though.”

“Two?”

“Two. Someday.”

“In the not-too-distant future.”

“We’ll need to discuss that further… along with the long hours you put in on your various jobs. But that’s what’s great about our relationship. We can discuss these things.”

Marco eyed me warily. “Are you going to start another list?”