Overpriced Ingredients, Same Results

“An’ don’t g’back heeuh til yuh goddit all. Take yuh sistuh w’chyuh.”

Nadine slammed the door and went to doll up more. The autumn air complimented the freedom Valentino earned. Antonia was at his side with her arms crossed, looking slightly down at him. He held the map to his memories closely.

“She didn’t lemme change,” small splats of pomodoro base danced on the front of her long sleeve shirt and jeans.

“Quit whining,” he focused the cursive stating: butter, parmesan, mozzarella, heavy cream, milk, bay leaf, parsley, sage, olive oil, lasagna sheets.

“I’m not!” tears were restrained while scourging her hands of onion and garlic with hand sanitizer.

Valentino retracted the keys to his mom’s tin Volvo from his pocket. Antonia’s muscle memory had her sprinting for shotgun. He patted himself on his baggy pants for his mom’s credit card and his learner’s permit while Antonia tugged the door handle. He plopped in and surfed the radio, with the car battery on only. The musk from his hoodie wafted to Antonia, forcing her to recoil and browse Reddit. He defaulted to 96.9.

“Can you reach the pedals?” her eyes shifted to him.

“Depends. You like walking?” he terminated the debate.

He fidgeted his fitted Red Sox hat to block out the sun. The Fairways brick apartments were in the rearview by the time he realized just how dire the situation must be to warrant his adventure to the past within the present. Grandma’s Sunday dinners were full of fresh ingredients, and this was moment to honor her. The only luxury he had was a second set of hands for food prep. Market32 had the dairy he needed to make it tastefully creamy, S&S had good olive oil, and he speculated that fresh lasagna sheets would at the Whole Foods past White City with the fresh herbs. The reason for this treat was a mystery.

“Mom needs other people for this,” Antonia pressed the top of her red hair on the window.

“She doesn’t have any.”

“Why’d Rocco take her to BJ’s, then?”

“Cause he’s a cuck.”

“Your dad’s a cuck too then, pigface.”

He whipped the car on Pullman Street to shut her up. The lot at Market32 was packed, even for a game day. He parked the furthest away to mask being a noob. A strange man camping under a tree and a twenty something vaping near a stone wall looked at the half siblings, concerned as they slammed the doors to the rusty car. Valentino snagged a cart, large enough to grab what he needed, next to another car.

The entrance showcased a table with day old apple cider doughnuts screaming to leave. Antonia’s eyes shifted from her phone to the table and back. Her texts to Nadine were read immediately. Valentino headed left, past the florist.

“Hey, Captain Oblivious,” Antonia pointed at the herbs.

“It’s Captain Obvious…”

“This is right here, so...” she pointed and twiddled a leaf of parsley to the tune of synthetic birds.

“Mom said good and fresh ones,” Valentino echoed his grandmother’s holy ghost.

“How is-AUGH!” Antonia got sprayed by the hydroponic system.

“God agrees. OW!” he earned a fist straight to the bicep.

He dragged himself to the back to appraise the wads of mozzarella and parmesan blocks.

“This place is bougie,” Antonia punched her nose as she returned from the bakery.

“You know what that means?” Valentino placed the best one in the cart.

“I’m not Googling it for you.”

“Or for-” He slammed his thick hand against the cart handle and removed the Italian loaf.

“I thought you wanted to spend money.”

“Spend your money.” He skated on the cart to the bakery and tossed the loaf back.

“You need carbs with tomato slop.”

“Lasagna Bolognese isn’t slop,” Valentino slowly walked to the dairy section slumped over the cart, watching more of Antonia’s games.

“Easy for you to say.” Antonia scooped his moob up in her hand and let it wiggle.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s a fact.”

A pair of college girls were reaching the top of the freezer for some Eggo waffles, having bare ankles and UGGs waving around. Valentino’s side eye captured the tight, gray yoga pants they wore.

“Omigod, I’m s’sorry canyewhelpus?” the first girl with large brown bangs summoned Valentino’s attention.

“We’re short.” The blonde girl tapped her friend’s North Face jacket.

“Sure.” he gleefully reciprocated.

“I’ll do it,” Antonia shoved him away. “You get the groceries.”

“Now you wanna help?” his voice cut through layers of irony.

“Wow thank you!” The blonde clasped her hands together.

“Don’t talk to your mom like that!” The brown-haired girl scolded.

“She’s not!” his correction was ignored, he reciprocated.

Antonia glided and kicked from the floor to the bottom of the freezer door, swung her arm to the top, back shelf, grabbing the top lip of the door as she did so. They cheered and underhandedly paid her with two unopened Smirnoff nips leftover from a frat party.

Valentino examined the organic milk and heavy cream. A greater purpose called him as he moved to the butter, unphased by the pricing.

“We can say it’s good butter and get bread.” Antonia snuck up on him with the store brand unsalted butter.

“Or we can get butter that’s actually good,” he wiggled the Kerrygold.

“You are such a noob to capitalism.”

“You’re just broke, Raggedy Ann.”

Valentino chuckled as they both went to self-checkout. Antonia rearranged what was in her pockets as they walked with a scowl. She pulled out the phone for any messages. She gazed at the ‘Read’ below her text to Nadine and made a reach for the day-old doughnuts.

“You’re buying that?”

“Mom said,” she aped Valentino’s concern.

“No, she didn’t.”

“I’ll tell mom you stream South Park if you don’t,” Antonia furrowed her brow.

“On your account?”

“You forced me.”

“Nice blackmail, stunad.”

“Get them.”

“No!’

“This is a grocery store,” the self-checkout attendant handed a bag out to them. His smooth mahogany colored face calmly them dressed down.

Valentino stared into the scanner as he swept materials to construct a masterpiece. Antonia’s shoulders sank. She eyed the package and put them back on the table.

“Mom’s going to kill you over the bill.”

“Why? It’s tariffs, inflation, or something.”

“You seriously would grift for mid-tier cheese?”

Shoppers were absent from West Boylston Street, S&S was unrushed as a result. Between the three different lots, Valentino parked at the biggest one where the bakery and deli were stuffed under the butcher and directly across the farmstand that was divided by Lebanon Street. He got out and Antonia followed.

“Stay in the car,” Valentino barked.

“I want cider doughnuts.”

“No.”

“I’ll buy ‘em.”

“You got cash?” his tone of disbelief was heard throughout the lot.

“Yeah,” Antonia said to him with wide eyes and stuffed her face back into the screen.

“Just meet me here when you’re done.”

“Yeah,” she did it again.

The spices were by the entrance, and the bakery and deli was cramped as usual, stuffing many prepared meals of mediocre quality. The spice cabinet was the only thing worth visiting, at least according to Valnetino’s gourmand opinion, but it also had the Partanna. He grabbed that and a bottle of Mountain Dew and Doritos impulsively. He was shuffling shoulders with the local regulars, ranging from elderly to teens. He was rung up and attempted to win at Antonia’s similar gambit by wrapping it all under one ticket. Nadine called immediately after he stepped out of the store.

“EIGHTTEEN DOLLAHS?!”

“I got olive oil.”

“WHAT’S WRONG WITCYUH?! OLIVE OIL ISN’T THAT MUCH!”

“Tariffs. It’s from Italy”

“YEWSHOWME RIGH’NOW.”

“Fine,” he snapped a photo of the Partanna.

“Kay, holdon,” nearly three minutes of erratic raindrop noises passed from Nadine’s end.

“Did you Google it?”

“I know an’expurt,” her voice blushed.

“Really, dad!?” his bedside prayers appeared to be answered.

“Igottago,” she terminated the call. Valentino waved his center sausage finger to the screen.

Valentino’s phone went off again. It was Antonia. “I’m at the car now.”

He hung up and went right, now with an electrifying feeling in his spine and back of his head. Antonia was tugging the door handle with more stealth, with something behind her back. He started the car up, unlocked it, let her hop in, and went through the backroads. She stored a package under the seat.

“You spent nine bucks on doughnuts?” he started.

“I mean yeah.”

“You’d spend nine bucks on doughnuts but complain about butter?”

“They’re worth nine bucks. I even got the change.”

“They’re not nine bucks.”

Antonia fell silent under his disappointment that filled the rest of the ride with unbreakable silence between them, decorated with 96.9. His brow was furrowed from when he left S&S and got to Whole Foods.

“Want one?” she held out a doughnut with the left side of her face twitching up a smile.

“You’re so broke you’d steal doughnuts?”

“Okay fine,” she slammed the doughnuts shut. “Last time I do anything nice, pigface,” she slid them under her seat, hitting the two nips and pulled at the door.

“You know that can follow you into your future, right?”

“You wanna go fascist on me while gaslighting mom about tariffs to get easy neckbeard food?”

He knew she won the argument, “Can you not steal anything else?”

“Why do you care about bougie food?”

“I don’t wanna get arrested,” he held out a peace treaty among thieves.

She grabbed his hand with a limp wrist and fingers, shook it, and let out a sigh. He unlocked the car and they got to slam the doors again.

The interior of the store had old neon lights, a coffee bar, a restaurant on a balcony, and several well-to-do residents of White City. Antonia looked upon the legacy of Spag, knowing Amazon’s vassal company puppeteered local customs to demand extortionate prices.

Valentino picked out the herbs and smelled them for quality. He bagged them and moved on to the rest of the aisles hopelessly ferreting out areas or snaking around aisles for fresh lasagna sheets. He surrendered and called a slender employee with fire truck red hair, black lipstick, and several nose piercings.

“Sorry to bother you…” he managed to get her to turn.

“Nohesnot,” Antonia quietly quipped.

“We’re looking for fresh lasagna sheets.”

“Uh…” The attendant looked up to see how to instruct. “Try maybe near where the tofu is?”

“What kind have you got there?” he aimed a more technical question.

“They’re egg sheets! They’re really good and filling.”

“That’s perfect, my grandmother made those.”

“Wow really? That’s awesome.” she giggled.

“We’d make our own but we’re out of time, you know, it’s great this place has them.”

“Yeah? Big Italian night?” the girl ignored her real job.

“We’re making lasagna bolognese, my mom never did it since my dad left so we’re trying to get the best stuff.”

“Well, you’re definitely in the right place for that,” her face froze with a false smile. Antonia’s spine shook violently with disgust.

“You got summer jobs?”

“Uhhh, check back in Spring” she again tried to exit the conversation gracefully.

“Looking forward to it.”

The clerk giggled nervously as Valentino waved. Antonia waited a few seconds for Valentino to find the lasagna sheets. “Lemme guess, the boot is parmesan flavored?”

“The hell is your deal now?” he sublimated his ire about how little sheets were offered each pack.

“She’s like twenty. Don’t even,” Antonia’s eyes turned vengefully green.

“When was getting or receiving help flirting?” he took up another package.

Antonia fanned tired eyes at him.

“Is reaching for Eggo waffles considered a double date?”

“Do you always have to act stupid at me!?”

When their turn came up at self-check, Valentino became greasy and sweaty before the astronomical price point. He paid down with a five and put the rest on the card after fumbling with his sweaty hands. He formed a story in the back of his head about his appetizers, tariffs, inflation, all the buzzwords he knew. The last thing he wanted tot o was lose his dream to something as simple as cash.

When they got back in the car, they sat silently and drove off. Valentino enjoyed the rustling of the bags in the back while sipping his soda.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Antonia offered her treaty.

“Trying to save my appetite.”

Antonia looked over Lake Quinsigamond and took a video of it while they were driving over the bridge. Nadine’s text came back, demanding why so many purchases were made instead of one. Antonia responded with a selfie with the back seat full of groceries. “Get over here” was Nadine’s reply.

Upon arrival with the groceries, their mother whipped open the door. She was dolled up, in a black dress and red lipstick, accenting her large thighs and covering her stomach with a wide, tan sash bowknot. “Make that thing, Tino.”

Ther belittling was drowned out by a dream he intended to actualize through cooking. He readied the laminated page of his grandmother’s handwriting on the counter. The bowl of bolognese was freed from the cling wrap. He unwrapped the cheeses and shredded them thoroughly with the grater. His fingers smeared some mozzarella on the oven settings and keypad. He turned on the second hottest burner to a medium heat and set a pot down. He rustled in the pantry for nutmeg and flour to ensure the best besciamella recipe was followed exactly. He ripped the lasagna packet open to laid the first layer down, waiting for the liberal application of butter to melt in the pot. He dusted in flour to create the roux, whisked in the milk, stirred every fifteen seconds to ensure the sauce never stuck, and achieved the consistency and flavoring his grandmother and dad desired.

“I’llbeback. Don’move,” Nadine shouted to him.

He felt an ache of gratification from his bicep while layering the bolognaise, besciamella, parmesan and mozzarella mix. The final top layer got the remaining cheese dumped on and spread out with the same love and care he was used to. He shoved the lasagna in the oven at the middle rack and kicked the door shut. After washing his hands, he set a timer for forty minutes, and wiped down the countertop.

Valentino sat on the couch and waited for Nadine to come home. He finally had time to take out his phone and text his dad: “When are you going to be here?” He let the aroma of the sauces fill the room up. Antonia was swiping at her phone, silently and gnawing at a doughnut.

“Bolognese sauce came out good,” he acknowledged her and got a smirk back.

It was only a few minutes before Nadine was back with a bottle of Merlot and marching to place it on the counter.

“Dinner should be done in half an hour, mom,” Valentino sat with his ankle on his knee while he scrolled.

“And yuhneveagoin shoppin’ fuh me a‘gen.” she ripped off her long jacket.

“We got what you wanted though.” Valentino sat confused.

“Yuh can’t go one day without makin’ me look stoopid can ya?” she held out the receipts and pointed at the plastic box of apple cider doughnuts.

“She paid for those herself,” he vouched.

“Yuh run muh tab up.”

“Well, yeah! Dad’s coming over for the lasagna isn’t he?”

“Huh?” Antonia looked up from her phone eyebrow cocked.

Nadine’s eye pupils narrowed and the veins in her whites became obviated, matching her blush and lipstick. Her fingers were clawing at the air beside her. “If e’showzup heah, so help me gahd…”

“Wasn’t he the expert opinion?”

“Bothov’yuhz out,” Nadine impersonated a boiling tea kettle.

“I didn’t do anything!” Antonia protested.

“It’s NOT upfuhdebate, OUT!”

“Mom, what are you on?!” Antonia waved her arms helplessly.

Nadine lost her patience and grabbed the them by their collars and pulled them outside into the hall. The cider doughnut box thrown at them, miraculously in-tact holding them all in without breaking open.

The door had a man at their main entrance and they opened it for him as they made a plan to head for anywhere else. He bore a similarity to Valentino’s father: brown beard and slicked hair to match a white collared shirt and blue set of dress pants. He drew watery glares from Valentino and Antonia.

“Oh thanks,” he propped the door open for himself.

“Wait, who are you?”

“Name’s Richard, you?”

“You’re here because why?” Valentino was unimpressed by his wardrobe and cologne choice.

“AHM UP HEUH, HUN,” their mom screamed to him.

“High life huh?” Richard improvised his way upward.

“WHAT?” Antonia shrieked.

“Hey, it as just a pun,” Richard waved his hands up.

“YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!” Antonia was trying to feed him her hands.

Nadine’s wide hips and dress boots made rolling thunder down the stairs. Her face matched the wine of choice. She grabbed Antonia by her ear and tossed her out for garbage day, pushing out the plastic nips from under her sweater to the ground. Richard examined Valentino running to her from his newfound ivory tower. Nadine slammed the door shut to denounce them.

Valentino’s phone vibrated and glowed: “What r u talking abt?” He stared at the phone. His dream, legacy, passion, wish, pain, burden, struggle, love, family, commitment, soul, mind, and experience burned away in that oven while the dinner stayed. He lost everything to a stranger. The grief carried him to the baseball field to a bench. He stared off at the sunset, trying to burn out the memory with the orange glow over the leaves.

“Just take one,” Antonia plopped the plastic box of broken up doughnuts to his thigh.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I hear your stomach, Tino.”

“You were right.”

“What?” Antonia took out the nips and laid one gently next to him.

“It was a rip off. Just not the way I imagined.”