My Big, Fat, Brazilian Wedding
Summary: Good news change your outlook on life, after many years living just as your family expected. You decide to use the newfound joie de vivre to steer your life away from the same old you knew awaited you.
Warnings: some language / a bit of angst
Word count: 2,7k+
A/N: This is my submission to @arrowsandmixtapes Rom-Com Writing Challenge. My prompt, as you probably noticed was the movie My big, fat, Greek Wedding (2002). I know very little about the Greek culture and much less its language, so this will follow a Brazilian reader, but it won’t lean heavily on the culture clash. There will be references to food and cultural aspects of Brazilian life, though. I’ll do my best to describe them.
For this part: Sambadrome: parade area built for the Rio or São Paulo Carnival in Brazil. The venue is also known as Passarela or simply the Sambódromo in Portuguese. Feijoada: a stew of beans with pork. Served with white rice and oranges, as well as couve, a side dish of stir-fried, chopped collard greens, and a crumbly topping called farofa, made of manioc flour. Tutu: consists of bean puree thickened with manioc flour or corn flour. Cracklings: pieces of pork rind that have been fried until brown and crispy, and most of the fat has been rendered out. Manioc: commonly called cassava, manioc, yuca, macaxeira, mandioca, kappa kizhangu and aipim, is an edible starchy root. Often called yuca in Spanish America and in the United States, it is not related to yucca. Can be steamed, boiled, baked, or fried before being eaten on its own, mashed, or added to other dishes. Its starch is called tapioca.
Thank you @shellbilee for making sure I didn’t write anything weird.
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It was raining.
I remember it clearly, because my hair was all frizzy in the reflection of the restaurant’s huge mirror by the entrance. There, as I hung my coat, I wondered if my life would ever change.
Being the middle child of a Brazilian couple established in the UK, and the last to be born in Brazil, I moved here when I was three years old.
Ever since, my parents have done their very best to make sure our culture is not lost, and insist on doing everything ‘the Brazilian way’. That included outings, making sure we studied Portuguese, our parties - including a very noisy carnival celebration with the broadcast straight from the sambadrome - family gatherings, social life, food.
So, when they opened the restaurant, of course it would have to be a family business, and of course all our time outside school would be spent holed in there.
My sister lucked out, marrying (obviously) a Brazilian guy to my father’s content, his best friend’s son, as if they had been promised. But they loved each other, and I loved my three nephews, even if one of them was still on his way.
My younger brother, spending last summer holidays in our grandma’s house, in Brazil, met this girl he kept in touch with and from the look of things, they were pretty solid. He had a spring in his step as he worked in the kitchen - his feijoada was better than my mom’s - whistling when he wasn’t shouting at his sous-chef.
Which left me, in my early thirties, educated and skilled, to run the books for my dad in the restaurant. I knew I had talent for more and I could make more money, but talking to my dad once, as my graduation approached, made things quite clear to me.
“Our professor has contacts and said that I could find a job easily with my skills set!” I told my parents at dinner, my hands going wild with excitement. “And…”
“What do you need a new job for?” my father asked, interrupting me. “ You’ve never complained about your job at the restaurant. Is your allowance not enough?”
His voice boomed louder with each phrase. He got up then, grumbling all the way into the kitchen to grab his nightcap.
I looked at my mom, who was looking at the threshold where my father had disappeared into. Her face was unreadable.
I lowered my head, trying hard to control the burning in my eyes as I held back my tears.
“Why must you bring up a subject like that during dinner? You know how he gets.” My mother sighed as my first tear fell. “I’ll talk to him.”
She got up then. My head shot up, my heart swelling with hope.
“Do you think he’ll come around?” I asked after a quick sniffle, with a shadow of a smile on my lips.
“Oh, you should know better than him. You do the bookkeeping.” She answered, waving a hand dismissively and turned to head to the kitchen.
“Mama, what do you mean?” I asked, honestly puzzled by her answer.
“Well, you’d know if increasing your allowance would be a problem for the business, wouldn’t you?” She shrugged and turned, disappearing into the kitchen.
I looked at my brother, who was intensely concentrated on his last spoonfuls of soup. He lifted his eyes to mine when the yelling started.
“They’ll come around eventually. Give them time.” he said as he grimaced. Apparently, he believed his words as much as I did.
That’s how I ended up staying, helping my father where I could.
And that day, with my mom sick with the flu at home, I was a waitress during opening hours and worked on the books after hours.
I was by the window, serving two plates of tutu, when I saw him.
Tall, towering over the people walking next to him, broad-shouldered, filling out the navy blue overcoat in such a nice way, I didn’t feel bad ogling as I noticed I wasn’t the only one.
He and his entourage sat by the far wall, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have gotten close to them. People definitely recognized him, and a good ten minutes of his time were spent on photographs and autographs.
Only after my dad got in there and told people to leave the man alone is that they were given menus, and my dad took their order himself as an apology for taking too long to intervene. The man told him he was used to it and that it was no problem.
Coming back to the counter, my dad put the order in my hand as I watched the group talk animatedly, my eyes mostly on him.
His eyes locked with mine.
“Did you hear what I just said?” my dad elevated his voice slightly, bringing the attention of many patrons to us and mine to him. “Get this to your brother. Prioritize it. Complimentary cracklings and fried manioc. I’m heading home to check on your mother.” he added, stern.
“Yes, father.” I lowered my head, and made my way to the kitchen.
He wasn’t the one to pay and the lunch rush got me too busy to have served them anyway.
I heard the waitresses talking, before we closed, that he was some super film star, but I was too tired to join the conversation and I still had to work the day’s numbers.
When I arrived home, I was glad to see my mom up and watching tv with my father sleeping, resting his head on her lap. I smiled at the scene and waved at her, making my way up the stairs to my room.
It felt like I had just closed my eyes when my alarm went off.
My dad decided to stay home and make sure my mom wouldn’t overexert herself, which left me to “manage” the restaurant.
Things were pretty smooth until I was called. That never happened when my dad was there, so my brother and I exchanged a look.
Two gentlemen sat at the table in question, the one that had his back to me already middle-aged, his hair greyer than black. The one who sat facing me was completely bald, and had tiny, deep set eyes behind his round glasses. I didn’t recognize him.
“How can I help you gentlemen? Oh, Professor Mathison!” I said to the one who I couldn’t see before. “How nice to see you again!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my surprise.
“I’m happy to see you, too!” he replied “When I saw the name of the restaurant, I thought that maybe it could be your family’s. This is my partner, Kevin.”
We exchanged pleasantries and they invited me to sit with them to chat for a bit until the evening crowd was down to two tables when they said their goodbyes.
“So, what was so important that held you back for most of the night?” my brother asked me, concerned.
“It wasn’t a problem.” I said, still smiling and shaking my head at the frown on his brow. “That was my former professor in the Uni.”
“And you sat to reminisce?” he asked me with a bit of a scoff.
“No, they actually had a proposal.” I replied, averting my eyes to the look I was sure I’d see in his.
“Oh, dad won’t like that one bit. The day he chooses to leave things in your hands, you go and stab him in the back?” his accusatory tone irked me quite a bit.
“Excuse me? Stab him in the back? What the hell are you talking about, and who the hell you think you’re talking to Junior?” he straightened upon hearing the nickname I only used with him when he was being an ass.
“I’m sorry. But dad won’t like it anyway. What was this proposal all about?” he replied, his voice this time much milder, but still carrying a little discontent.
“They want me to work at their law firm. They need someone trustworthy to audit the companies they work for, so they know if they’re clean or if there’s money laundering, in case of lawsuits or investigations.” I explained, unable to hide my excitement.
“And you can do that?” his tone suggested genuine surprise.
“Yes. That’s why I studied as much as I did. This is everything I wanted.” I told him earnestly.
“And I bet you’ll make a lot more money.” he added, trying to hide the sarcasm but not quite managing.
It hurt me that he couldn’t be as happy for me as I was. But I understood. The things he wanted for his life didn’t matter to me, had and would never matter to me.
“Money is not what this is about. You know that. You all should know that.” my eyes burned with the tears I was holding back.
Mercifully, someone called me back to the dining hall.
“What is it Angela?” I asked the waitress.
“We have finished cleaning the hall and there’s one last order to be delivered, but Daniel has already left.” she told me with a grimace.
“I’ll deal with it. Does my brother have it?”
“Yes, Jean is already working on it. Good thing the man called when he did, because they were already starting to clean up the kitchen.” she added and said good night.
I said my goodbyes to her and the other waiting staff, to the cooks that were leaving, and waited by the kitchen for the order.
“What about the books?” my brother asked me.
“I’ll work on it tomorrow. I’ve left everything ready upstairs to do it as soon as I arrive tomorrow.” I answered, waving my hand dismissing his concern.
“You be careful!” he added.
“Yes, dad!” I replied. “It’s paid for, so I won’t be carrying cash around. Nothing to worry about. Deliver, drive home, shower, sleep.” I clapped after I finished just for effect.
“Yeah, that’s a great plan.” he said, handing me the bag with the order. “Goodnight, I’ll lock up. Be safe.”
“You too, goodnight.” and kissing his cheek, I left.
The night was chillier than I had anticipated and I had left my coat in the restaurant. I decided not to go back, otherwise the food would be cold by the time I delivered it, and turned on the heating as soon as I got into my car, rubbing my hands on my arms. The wool cardigan I was wearing wasn’t helping much.
London was already quieting as I drove through its wet streets. The light reflecting on the asphalt only added to the chill, and my hands on the steering wheel were painfully cold.
The trip to the address stapled on the brown paper bag was not a long one, which meant I was still not warm as I left the car to knock on the black door of the white house. It had to stay a few houses down the street in the only available spot, as the street was already littered with the residents’ cars parked for the night. All the houses on that street were white I noticed with a pfft.
Immediately after my knock, booming barks reverberated through the house and could have woken the Queen.
“Cow, cow, quiet!” came a command as loud as the bark had been.
That’s why the Queen lives in Windsor! I thought, smiling and shaking my head.
The door opened, and so did my mouth.
The man opposite me also looked surprised.
We stared, open-mouthed, at each other until it got weird.
“Your delivery!” I rushed the words out of my mouth, shoving the bag at him.
“You!” he exclaimed at the same time.
“Me?” I asked, and my face undoubtedly contorted into a puzzled frown.
“Thanks!” he replied, once more at the same time.
Still confused, I uncomfortably laughed. He did too, and I wanted to take a picture of that smile, making a mental note to never judge fangirls for the rest of my life.
I shivered involuntarily then, the cold overwhelming any warmth the butterflies in my stomach had generated.
His smile fell and he lifted a finger to tell me to wait, taking the bag from my outstretched arms. Our hands touched. His leaving a searing trail in their wake.
He yelped at the contact.
“Your hands are freezing!” he said as he retreated, opening the door to what was probably his living room and putting the bag by a massive curious dog.
“Cow, leave!” he commanded.
He then opened a door to his right, probably a closet.
“Why did you name your dog Cow?” I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.
He was still hidden in there and poked his head out, with a laugh.
“It’s not cow.” he said, diving back in there, and coming out with a coat draped on his forearm and gloves in his hand. “It’s Kal. K-A-L.” he spelled with a smile.
“Oh, what an odd name.” I wondered, under my breath.
“Here, put these on.” he said, and before I could protest was already holding the heavy coat open for me to slide my arms in. It was huge and engulfed me almost like a blanket.
“Much better.” he whispered, as he tied a knot around my waist with its belt. “Put these on too, they’ll protect your icy hands.”
Words failed me as to why the gigantic man was so kind and pushy. Also, the smell of his cologne was intoxicating, it was hard to say anything as I inhaled deeply.
“Thank you.” I finally replied, and let go a long and deep sigh.
“Don’t mention it.” he said, smirking. “Just bring it back before spring.”
I stared at him for a second.
“It was a joke.” he said, the smile ever present.
“Oh.” I paused. “Is that a way to get me to come back?” I asked, a newfound boldness overtaking me.
So many great things had happened so far, why not push my luck a little?
He puckered his lips, and looked up for a few seconds.
“What about dinner? Whenever you’re available?” his brows shot up to his hairline where his lovely messy curls waved in the icy breeze. He put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Nervous.
I frowned as I couldn’t fathom why such a man would be nervous about my reply. He must certainly have models lining up to dine with him.
“Thursday is my day off. I’d love to.” I answered smoothing my features, which led to him relaxing in turn.
“Smashing! I loved the food in your restaurant, but something tells me you’re fed up with Brazilian food.” he said, eyeing me from under his lashes, which was kinda comical with him being so tall.
“You’d be correct.” I replied, nodding. “What about Japanese? My friend owns this restaurant in Soho.”
“That would be perfect! At seven?” he asked, a contagious enthusiasm in his voice.
“Works for me.” I said, and there didn’t seem to be enough air in my lungs. I wanted to jump along the street like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain.
The moment stretched as we stared at each other for a few seconds once again. Smiling this time.
Now if the objective me were to examine this scene from the outside, she’d see two dorks smiling at each other like fools. But she wasn’t around at that moment.
He finally sighed and cleared his throat.
“Will you give me your number?” he said, and it felt like he wanted to add something but decided against it mid sentence.
“Oh, sure, duh.” I picked up my phone from my pocket and handed it to him.
As soon as he handed it back to me, I sent him a winking smiley face with my name. I looked up then and told him my name.
“Oh, shit, yeah! Forgive my lack of manners. I’m Henry.” he said, making a face, as if it were obvious. It must have been to the fangirls.
“So, see you Thursday, at seven.” I said in lieu of a goodbye, and waved briefly.
“See you then.” he replied. “Drive safely.” he added, when I was about to descend the last step.
I half turned and looked at him, haloed by the light coming from his entryway.
“I will.”