Skylar’s dad laughed. “Vincenzo worships The Big Guy in his own way when he washes his car on Sunday.”
No further explanation was needed, as everyone who knew her grandfather, knew that the ritual of the Sunday car wash might as well be a religious compulsion. And because Grandpa Marcelli often claimed cleanliness was next to godliness, he said it excused him from mass.
That was just the tip of the iceberg in terms of her grandpa Marcelli’s backwards thinking. The man was a lovable menace who believed respect was deeply rooted in fear.
He yelled at and threatened anyone who set foot on his pristine front lawn, which was one of his most prized possessions after growing up in the city. He deeply believed a man could never eat enough processed meat, struggled to understand why any woman would want to work outside of the home or family business, and only prayed for three things—health, winning lotto tickets, and that the Philadelphia Eagles made it to the Superbowl.
“Well,” Gran continued, “I think it’s inappropriate to bet on Thanksgiving. It’s a holiday. Holidays are meant for family and church.”
Braydon cocked his head, his brow furrowing in confusion under his golden curls. “Ah, yes, Thanksgiving, the holiest day of all the holidays mentioned in the bible.”
Aunt Sheilagh snorted. “I believe it’s also the birth of Jesus’s turkey.”
“Jesus had a turkey?” Gianna asked from the kiddie table.
Maeve’s eyes widened in awe. “Like Augustus?”
“Great,” Uncle Finn grumbled. “Now, look what you started.”
Aunt Sheilagh shrugged. “You’re the one who wants to slaughter a holy bird on Jesus’s turkey’s birthday.”
Gran scowled. “Don’t joke about Jesus. It’s Sunday.”
“Yeah,” Uncle Kelly laughed. “Jesus jokes are specifically limited to Mondays.”
Before he could get the full sentence out, Gran reached over and swatted him in the back of the head. “You, stuff it.” She pointed her fork at the rest of her kids. “And the rest of you, I want no more talk about gambling at the dinner table. There are young, impressionable children listening.”
Kelly heaped more potatoes onto his plate. “It’s the second biggest game of the year, Mum. Everyone’s betting on it.”
Gran buttered a roll and shrugged. “I like the parade.”
Luke chuckled. “You can bet on which float makes it to Macy’s first.”
“Don’t be a smartass, Luke.” She bit into the dinner roll. “Maybe I’ll place my own bet with Vincenzo, then I’ll take all your money and go to Macy’s myself. We’ll see who’s smart then.”
“You don’t even know who’s playin’, Mum.”
She scoffed. “Like that matters. Vincenzo will tell me.”
“God help us all if we add degenerate to her resume,” Skylar’s mom muttered. “Ant, tell your father not to accept any money from my mother.”
“Katherine, I don’t need you micromanaging the way I spend my money,” Gran snapped.
“Can I be excused?” several children fidgeted with boredom, and the aunts did a quick inspection of plates before letting them go play.
“You’re not going to gamble with my father-in-law, Mum. If you lose, he’ll expect to get paid and you’ll make a thing out of it.”
“She’s right Maureen,” Pop chimed in. “This isn’t like playing cards for quarters with your sisters.”
“Oh, as if we still play for quarters, Frank. Where the hell do you think I got the money for that new riding mower you love.”
Uncle Paulie and Uncle Liam both stilled and scowled at the great-aunts who appeared riveted on cutting their food.
“What the hell’s she talkin’ about Colleen?” Uncle Paulie snapped. “How much money are you three bettin’ on cards?”
Without flinching, Aunt Colleen angled her knife at Uncle Paulie and popped a Brussel sprout in her mouth. “I don’t know who you think you’re questioning in that tone. Don’t you go concerning yourself with our wagers. I don’t bother myself with the paycheck pools you hold every week at the lumberyard. Besides, it was Rosemarie that lost the week Maureen bought the mower.”
Uncle Liam scowled at his wife. “You lost enough money to buy a riding mower, woman?”
“Hush, Liam. Your supper’s getting cold.”
Gran smirked. “I think I’ll swing by Vincenzo’s tomorrow when I’m in town.”
Before anyone could object, one of the kids knocked over a full glass of milk and everyone scrambled to contain the mess. Two other cups tipped over in the clean-up process and several pieces of silverware dropped onto the floor.
As dinner carried on, voices grew louder, and soon, everyone not shoving food into their mouths, was shouting. The hairsplitting decibel was typical, though no one was actually angry. That was just how they communicated. Her family could break the sound barrier at a family meal.
She glanced at her sister, hoping to find an ally. Just a glimpse of eye contact was all she needed and she could mouth the word, I have big news…
Hannah’s head angled toward her lap, her eyes focused on the phone in her hands. She’d passed the entire meal hardly touching her food, her fingers glued to the device as she rapidly texted someone.