Page 43 of Reclaimed Dreams
Jo retreated to the kitchen with her wineglass, groaning as the feeling came back into her legs. Luckily, she’d started cooking earlier in the afternoon and the kitchen was redolent with tomato and garlic and wine. It was her first cioppino, and if it tasted as good as it smelled, she’d make the fish stew every Christmas Eve.
Dinner was basically done except for the rice, so while it steamed she began on her gift for Dom. Pizzelles. She’d gotten the inside scoop from Tony that Dom loved the wafer-thin cookies coated in powdered sugar. So she’d scrounged up a pizzelle press from her aunt and had figured out how to make the dough. One small ball of dough at a time, she pressed the cookies flat and cooked them over the range. Say the Hail Mary, flip, repeat, remove and cool. This was going to take all night! But it would be worth it to give her husband one of his favorite things.
The first one stuck and split in half when she opened the press. The second one burned. The third one came out raw. The fourth one oozed over the edges and set off the fire alarm.
Jo lost her battle with tears as she waved a dish towel frantically trying to get the damn thing to stop beeping. The prosecco buzz was starting to hit her too, and it always made her weepy. Of course that was why she was crying, not the impending doom of failing at Christmas.
“Everything all right in there?” Dom asked, inching the door open.
“If you value our marriage, do not open that door. Everything”—sniff—"is fine!”
The door swung closed.
“Okay.” His reply was muffled by the door. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Come on, Jo. You can do this.” The timer buzzed for the rice and she took it off the heat to set. “Just get one damn cookie right.”
She scraped off the press, coated it with oil, and pressed a smallish ball of dough between the iron plates. She set it over the medium flame and began to pray.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, please bear with me. Blessed art thou amongst cooks, and blessed is the food from your kitchen, cookies. Holy Mary, baker of sweets, pray for this sinner now and at the time to flip the pizzelle. Amen.”
She flipped the cast iron plates and sang a verse of Silent Night instead.
With a whispered plea of “Come on, baby!” Jo eased apart the two sides of the mold, and inside lay the perfect golden brown pizzelle. Using her fingertips, she ignored the heat and gently transferred the cookie to the cooling rack where she doused it with powdered sugar. While it cooled, she scooped two bowls of rice and stew and poured more wine. Gently, she folded her one successful cookie into a Christmas napkin and put it on a plate between them.
“Come and eat, babe.”
“Just a second.” He tucked some tinfoil into a brown paper bag and came to the table. “Merry Christmas, Jo.”
“Merry Christmas to you, Dom.” She nudged the plate toward him. “Go ahead, open it.”
“No, you first.” He handed her the brown bag.
Jo reached in and pulled out the foil. “Nice wrapping paper,” she teased.
“Just as nice as yours,” he teased back, lifting the corner of the red poinsettia napkin.
In slow motion, Jo watched her perfect cookie fall from its protective cover, hit the table at just the wrong angle, and break.
Her gasp was so sharp it felt like she’d swallowed knives.
“Oh shit! I didn’t know that it would fall out!” Dom collected the pieces of his cookie onto his plate, his face ashen. “It’s okay, I’ll just go get another one.”
“There isn’t another one!” Jo wailed. “I only managed to get one perfectly cooked.”
“It’s still perfect, babe. Please don’t cry.” Dom wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Look, it’s even better now, because I get to share it with you.”
Dom handed her half of the broken cookie and held up his own.
“Salute.”
Jo took it and tapped it to his, releasing a shower of sugar all over the table. Laughing, she replied, “Buon Natale,” and took a bite. The crisp anise and vanilla cookie fairly dissolved on her tongue, and Dom groaned in appreciation.
“Jo, this is delicious.”
“Maybe if you’re a very good boy I’ll make you another one next Christmas,” she teased.
“I’ll always remember my first. It’s delicious, Jo. Thank you. Now open yours.”
Jo reached into the brown bag again and her fingers closed around four small wooden figures. Pulling them out, she immediately recognized Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus and the manger.
“Dom, these are wonderful. Did you make them?”
“Yep, I carved them on my lunch breaks. They could use some stain or paint, but I just finished Jesus this morning.”
“No.” Jo brushed her fingers reverently over the whittled figurines. “They are perfect, just as they are. I love them, Dom. I’m going to put them next to the tree.”
“I was thinking I could maybe do more next year, to fill out the scene.”
“Another new tradition. I love that idea.” She stood and leaned over him to give him a kiss, which turned into kisses, which turned into fun under the Christmas tree and a very belated Christmas dinner just in time to head out to Midnight Mass.
