Too Pretty to Be a Boy -13- by Lajien

Upon our return home, Ryan followed behind, his gaze fixed on Johnny’s sleek black motorcycle. “George will be astonished,” he remarked with a smile when Johnny extended an offer for a ride. George, Ryan’s 14-year-old brother, was his role model, similar to how I viewed Johnny—a connection I would never share with the twins. Johnny placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and led him to the garage, their laughter gradually diminishing as the door closed.

“Nonna will arrive in 30 minutes,” said Mom, her voice calm. “Shall I paint your nails while we wait?” I agreed, my blue sundress was moving gently as I followed her to her bedroom. Her mahogany vanity was illuminated by a lavender lamp, with its mirror reflecting the soft pink nail polish she had selected—Essie’s Ballet Slippers. She laid out a floral-embroidered cloth and arranged acetone, cotton pads, an emery board, and clear base and topcoats, their glass bottles softly clinking together.

“Have a seat, honey,” she instructed, indicating a cushioned stool. I complied, my sandals tapping lightly, with Nonna’s necklace resting coolly against my collarbone. My mother meticulously filed my nails into smooth ovals, the emery board's sound easing my apprehension. A quick swipe of acetone removed any remaining residue, its sharp scent mingling with her floral perfume. She then applied the base coat, its coolness eliciting a slight tickle, followed by the pink polish, each stroke transforming my nails into glossy petals. A topcoat was added to the seal in the shine, which gleamed under the lamp.

“Nonna will appreciate this,” Mom commented, blowing gently on my nails. “She always notices when you take the time to dress up for her, and she might inquire about your violin as well.” I smiled at the thought of Nonna’s warm embrace and her appreciation of my effort, rather than her judging my appearance. Her kitchen, always filled with the aroma of lasagna, felt like home, and tonight, with Aunt Bella and Jimmy in attendance, it would be particularly special. I pondered whether Jimmy, similar to myself with GCS, experienced the same blend of nervousness and pride.

I wiggled my fingers, the polish catching the light, and felt a quiet strength. These small acts—nails, dress, pantyhose—were stitching Carla together, piece by piece. I wasn’t just leaving Carl behind; I was becoming someone I liked, someone Nonna would cheer for, no matter what.

“There,” Mom said, her eyes proud. “You’re ready to glow, my girl.” I grinned, the dress’s hem brushing my knees, the white pantyhose’s sheen soft in the mirror. My hair, though, looked too plain, its loose waves stuck in the past.

"Mom," I said, tucking a strand behind my ear, "I require a new hairstyle. Something that better represents who I am."

Mom's face brightened as she placed her hand on my shoulder. "That's an excellent idea, Carla. Perhaps a layered cut or a bob? We will schedule an appointment with a stylist this week who can highlight your personality." Her perfume lingered around me, offering comfort as her words did.

I stood, acknowledging with a nod, feeling the firm support of the canvas sandals beneath my feet. As we headed downstairs, I turned to my mother. “I am going to play my violin for a bit,” I explained, and she nodded with a smile.

“Enjoy your new violin,” she replied warmly. “By the way, if you don’t have plans tomorrow, how about you come to work with me? No pressure, but I would like to introduce you to everyone as their future boss,” she said with a wink.

There was indeed some expectation. My mother hoped that one day I would take over everything she had built. “Sure, if I get to wear the store’s uniform,” I responded with a smirk. The uniform for the store workers consisted of a black pencil skirt, a red blouse, and black satin gloves. Opaque pantyhose of natural colors were mandatory, paired with oxford shoes.

For men, it was black slacks, a red shirt, and oxford shoes. Both options were available for all employees. My mother believed in providing choices without imposing them. This approach sometimes caused disagreements between her and Rebecca Queens.

“Consider it done, I will order a couple in your size. Do you prefer the skirt or the pants?” my mother asked, offering me the choice. I had an equal number of formal and casual pants as well as dresses and skirts.

Although my mother often preferred skirts or dresses, she respected my preferences. Her generation had revived the everyday use of skirts and dresses. This trend also influenced boys' fashion. She always ensured that I chose what I wanted.

“I think the skirt would be better,” I replied, and she nodded. I went to the living room where a corner was set up for my music. There was my new violin, along with two others and my guitar. I picked up my new violin, appreciating the craftsmanship, the soft wood, and the tight strings. It was perfect.

I began playing it, and the sound was distinctive, in a positive way. The sound quality was enhanced. I closed my eyes, letting the music fill the room. The sound was delicate and refined. I was very pleased with this violin.

“Honey that’s beautiful.” I opened my eyes to see mom walking into the room with a tray, a slice of orange cake and a glass of fresh orange juice. “Dr. Norman told me that you need more sugar, as your body is changing, I also now know why you’re always underweight. You have been following the wrong diet,” mom clarified, placing the tray on the table right next to me.

“Thanks mom,” I said walking over to the tray and taking a sip of the orange juice, then I give mom a hug that she returned. That’s when I remembered, I had been wanting to ask mom about something. “By the way mom, I am not sure what to do with the pantyhose I wore, yesterday. Even the one I am wearing now,” I confided. I could search it online, but why do it when I can give mom a chance to teach her daughter everything.

“Well, seeing as it’s opaque, it can be worn two or three times, and these are not cheap brands. Still, I don’t recommend it, I think one wear one wash is better,” she advised before planting a kiss on my forehead. “We have the whole summer for me teach you everything. I will teach you everything you need before school.”

“Speaking of school, we’re going tomorrow, to have an interview, then an IQ test,” mom added, while a wave of anxiety suddenly hit me hard. I was going to a new school and will attend as a girl. This was a totally dark era for me, one I wasn’t sure I could handle. “Relax honey, you’re natural, your look, the way you carry yourself, even the way you think, everything says you’re a girl.”

I relaxed a bit hearing mom; she was always making me feel confident when my confidence was at an all-time low. Honestly, she was the best, the difference between her and Rebecca queens is as vast as the oceans. She’s a good mom, the best mom.

A while later, I heard the front door being opened, I immediately sat down my violin, walked out of the room heading towards the front door. There Nonna stood staring at Johnny, who she haven’t seen for years. “Mamma mia, Johnny, guardati! Non sei più un bambino, sei un bell'uomo,” Nonna e in management. She always had a soft spot for Johnny, even more than once explained he will be a responsible family man.

And she was right, for Johnny, us, his family always come first. Even with Chrystal, he would often let her get away with many things, but if she talks about me, the two chimps he would get mad. And what happened last night shows what he values the most.

“Ummm… thank you ma’am,” Johnny replied awkwardly. He knows some Italian, as he made some effort for mom, and learned Italian. But after mom and dad divorced, he only visited from time to time, so he didn’t learn Italian, and Nonna’s focus was on me. Only grandchild related to blood she gets to see more often without having to travel to another state.

"Ah, Johnny, no, no, no... Se lei è la tua mamma, io sono la Nonna di famiglia! Basta con quel 'ma'am', per favore. Chiamami Nonna, sempre!" Grandma scolded softly, while Johnny looked confused, knowing she is scolding him, but didn’t know why.

I walked over to Johnny, who looked like a deer in the headlights standing there. “Johnny, Nonna was saying that you since you see mom as your mother, then you have to call her Nonna,” I translated to Johnny who suddenly looked embarrassed.

“Sorry about this, m… No, Nonna,” Johnny replied a bit awkwardly, but I could see Nonna’s eyes, sparkling with joy.

Nona then turned to me her eyes full of amazement, admiration and love, no hint of judgment in her eyes. “Tesoro mio, Carla, guarda che meraviglia! Non importa come ti chiamavi prima, o come ti vedevamo. Tu sei una donna, una vera signora, e sei bellissima! Vieni qui dalla Nonna, dammi un abbraccio forte!” She exclaimed much to my relief before opening her arms for me. I throw myself into her arms, feeling her warm love engulf me.

“Nonna, sei la migliore. Grazie per capire, grazie per tutto il tuo amore. Significa il mondo per me averti, e sapere che il tuo affetto non ha condizioni,” I replied feeling tears[1] of happiness fill my eyes. To be accepted by Nonna, it means the world to me.

“So, Madre, what do you of your granddaughter’s outfit?” Mom asked walking over as she exchanged kissed with Nonna. While I looked at her with excepting eyes.

“Oh, Lil, it’s simply divine, give me twirl, sweetheart,” Nonna said making me beam with pride as I immediately gave her a twirl making her smile. “Your mother’s eye never fail when it comes to fashion.” I could see pride in her eyes. She was proud of me of my mom; it warmed my heart.

Mom chuckled a bit. “I didn’t choose the outfit, though. Carla did it herself,” mom explained making me blush a bit. “I didn’t even help her pick anything,” mom added proudly, bragging to Nonna.

“Well, she have your eyes, Lil,” Nonna started before tuning to me, kissing my forehead. “You know you have your Nonno’s eyes?” Nonna explained. I could feel her love for Nonno even after all these years. “But you and Lil, only share the color. Your Nonno couldn’t match a pair of socks if his life depended on it,” Nonna joked, and mom shook her head.

Johnny’s phone rang, getting all the attention in the room. His eyes narrowed, his fist clinched, and I could tell he was not happy as he picked the phone. “It’s Chrystal,” Johnny grumbled, and my eyes narrowed.

Why won’t she leave him alone? “Give me the phone,” I said, not waiting and already taking the phone. I picked up the call, and there was silence for a second, but I decided to start the conversation. “What do you want, Chrystal?” I asked with the most annoying tone I could muster.

"Give me Johnny, I am not talking to you," she said hoarsely, her voice sounding like she had been crying.

The nerve she got. Demanding to give her Johnny. “Look her, Chrissy. It’s clear you have no idea what you have done. Maybe you’re such a bimbo after all, so let me be clear, Johnny only need you to pay for everything you have ruined. If you call him again, I will show you a world of nightmares. Weather you believe it or not, it’s up to you, don’t call my brother again,” I explained, hitting all nerves, and calling her what she hates the most.

I returned the phone to Johnny, who looked at me with surprise. "Are you the same person who used to get into my bed because of the monster under yours?" Johnny asked, causing me to blush. He had always been the one I turned to when I was frightened. "Anyway, thanks for the help. I know Chrystal is actually afraid of you, so she probably won't bother me for a while."

“Enough with the chit chat, let’s start dinner,” Nonna announced, already walking to the kitchen as mom and I followed her. It’s time to make Lasagna.

The kitchen was now a whirlwind of flour, fragrant tomato sauce, and the sweet, buttery scent of Nonna's fresh pasta dough. Nonna, a blur of motion at the big butcher-block island, was kneading dough with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times. Her floral apron, surprisingly clean, almost looked out of place with the dusting of flour that covered the counter around her.

"Here, honey," Mom said, turning to me with a wide smile, holding out a crisp, white apron embroidered with delicate blue flowers. "You don't want to get that beautiful sundress messy, do you?"

I took the apron; the fabric cool against my fingers and tied it around my waist. My baby blue sundress, already one of my favorites, was now perfectly protected. "Thanks, Mom. Nonna's lasagna is legendary, and I wouldn't want to mess up this dress before dinner," I joked, adjusting the ties.

Nonna looked up, a twinkle in her eye. "Ah, Carla! Pronto per la cucina? Good, good. Lasagna is a serious business, you know." Her hands, still rhythmically working the dough, somehow radiated warmth and welcome.

"Sì, Nonna, sono pronta!" I replied, feeling a surge of pure, unadulterated excitement. This was it. This was what I needed – to be completely immersed in the moment, making something delicious with the two women I loved most in the world.

Mom handed me a large bowl filled with creamy ricotta cheese. "Okay, Carla, your job is to mix this with the Parmesan and a pinch of nutmeg. Not too much, just enough to give it that special touch."

I carefully measured the ingredients, my white pantyhose a faint sheen beneath the hem of my dress as I moved around the island. "Mom, how much nutmeg is a 'pinch' exactly?" I asked, holding up the tiny spice jar. This whole cooking thing was still a mystery to me.

Mom chuckled. "Ah, the beauty of Italian cooking, tesoro. It's not always precise measurements. It's about feeling, about instinct. Like with fashion, no?"

"She's right, Carla," Nonna chimed in, now expertly rolling out the dough with a long wooden pin. "My Nonna, she never used a measuring spoon in her life. Just her hands, and her heart."

"Speaking of Beauty, Nonna," Mom said, deftly slicing onions with a large knife, "Carla was just playing her new violin. Johnny gave it to her."

Nonna paused her rolling, her eyes softening as she looked at me. "Ah, your violin! Is it as beautiful as you play, tesoro?"

I beamed. "It's amazing, Nonna. The sound is so clear, so... rich. Johnny found a really special one." It really was perfect.

"He's a good boy, Johnny," Nonna affirmed, a proud smile spreading across her face. "Always looking out for his family. Just like his Nonno."

"He's trying to get Chrystal to pay for the damage she caused to his apartment," I added, stirring the ricotta. "Mom's lawyer, Heather, is helping him."

"Ah, quella pazza," Nonna muttered, shaking her head. "Some people, they don't understand the meaning of respect. But Johnny, he will handle it. He has a strong heart, like a good Romano."

Mom nodded in agreement. "She was quite something, that girl. But we're putting a stop to it. You know, Nonna, Aunt Bella and the twins, Jimmy and Janet, will be here soon. Bella got that hospital director job here."

"Yes, Mamma mia, it's been too long since I saw Bella!" Nonna exclaimed, her face lighting up with anticipation. "I'm so excited for her new job here. And the little ones, Jimmy and Janet! They must be growing so fast. My little Jimmy, already living as a girl, just like you, Carla! I cannot wait to see what beautiful girl Jimmy makes! I am so proud of both of you, my sweet granddaughters!" She clapped her flour-dusted hands together, her joy palpable. "Has she chosen a name yet? Perhaps we can help her! Maybe a nice Italian name?"

Mom laughed, a genuine, joyful sound. "Sempre un occhio per i dettagli, Madre. Carla was a bit worried about telling you."

"Worried? Why would my Carla be worried?" Nonna asked, her brow furrouwing slightly in mock indignation. "Nonna loves all her family, always. A girl is a girl, no matter how she comes to be! And look at you, bellissima! You are glowing, my dear."

A wave of profound relief washed over me, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the kitchen's heat. "Grazie, Nonna," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "It means everything to hear you say that."

"Now, now, less talking, more cooking!" Nonna declared, suddenly serious again, though her eyes still held that loving sparkle. "This lasagna, it needs our full attention. And speaking of attention... it is time, Lilian. It is time to pass down the secret."

Mom paused, wiping her hands on her apron, her expression thoughtful. "The secret recipe?"

Nonna nodded, her gaze serious now, as she turned to me. "Sì. My Nonna taught me, I taught your mother, Lillian, and your Aunt Bella. Now, it is time for the next generation. You, Carla, Jimmy and Janet, you will learn together. The true heart of Romano lasagna. This is not just food, you understand. It is history. It is love. It is our family." She looked from Mom to me, her eyes conveying the profound significance of the moment. "This is for my granddaughters."

Nonna then carefully dusted her hands, moving from the pasta dough to a large, aged cookbook. Its pages were yellow and brittle, filled with handwritten notes and faded splatters. She flipped to a specific page, its corner dog-eared, and laid it flat on the counter. "The sauce," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if the recipe itself might escape if she spoke too loudly. "The trick is in the slow simmering. Not too high, not too low. It needs patience, like growing a good vine."

Mom, already stirring a pot of what looked like classic marinara, nodded. "That's the part I always try to rush, Nonna, you know. But it never tastes quite the same."

"Exactly!" Nonna tapped the cookbook page. "And the herbs, fresh, always fresh. Never dried if you can help it. Basil, oregano, a touch of marjoram. And a secret ingredient…" she paused dramatically, leaning closer to me, her eyes twinkling. "A little bit of dark chocolate. Just a small square, melted in at the very end. It deepens the flavor; gives it a richness you cannot imagine."

My eyes widened. Dark chocolate? In lasagna? That was definitely a surprise. "Really? Chocolate?"

"Don't question Nonna's wisdom, tesoro," Mom said with a grin, winking at me. "She's never steered us wrong."

"And the meat," Nonna continued, picking up a bowl of seasoned ground beef. "A mix of beef and pork, browned perfectly, drained of all the fat. We want flavor, not grease." She showed me how she layered the meat mixture onto the pasta sheets, thin and even. "No mountains, Carla. Flat, like the earth."

Then came the cheese layer. Mom was already grating a fresh block of mozzarella, its milky scent mingling with the herbs. "This is where the magic happens," Mom murmured, showing me how to sprinkle the cheese evenly, not too thick, not too sparse. "Every bite needs cheese, carissima."

As we worked, the kitchen filled with a symphony of smells and sounds: the soft thwack of Nonna's hands against the dough, the gentle sizzle of Mom's sauce, the rhythmic grate of cheese, and the quiet clink of utensils. Nonna kept switching between Italian and English, sometimes mid-sentence, her stories and instructions weaving together like the layers of the lasagna itself. She talked about growing up in Italy, about her own nonna, about Grandpa and how he built his company from nothing, always ensuring his community had work.

"He was a good man, your Nonno," Nonna said, her voice soft with remembrance as she carefully placed a sheet of fresh pasta over a layer of sauce and cheese. "Strong, but kind. He would have loved you as a girl, Carla. He always said you had a spirit that couldn't be contained, no matter what."

I felt a warmth spread through me. To hear her talk about Grandpa, knowing he would have accepted me, felt like another layer of acceptance wrapping around my heart. "He sounds amazing, Nonna," I said, carefully smoothing the ricotta cheese over a pasta sheet.

"He was," Mom agreed, placing a loving hand on Nonna's shoulder. "And he'd be so proud of everything you're becoming, Carla. Your strength, your kindness… you're just like him, and just like Nonna."

As we finished the last layer, topping it generously with cheese and a final sprinkle of basil, the doorbell chimed. "Ah! They are here!" Nonna exclaimed, clapping her hands, now covered in flour and bits of cheese. "The final ingredients for our special dinner!"