Come along, Mammina

"What made things so special about this one?" Jake demanded as he tossed a fifteenth forty-year-old baby blanket onto the already overflowing laundry basket.

Mother laughed, "Are you kidding? That one was your favorite!"

Jake sighed. His mother was extra nostalgic when Christmas was close, and it made cleaning up the "guest room," formerly Jake's room, a chore. "I don't know why you don't get a storage unit for all this stuff, Mother."

She lifted a large cardboard box onto the queen-size bed. "People steal from storage units," she quipped. "Besides, why should I pay for a storage room when I have a perfectly good guest room that's only used once a year?"

Jake glared at her, but her back was turned. "Well, now that you mention it, I was kind of hoping you'd consider moving closer to Molly and me. Pop's been gone almost ten years now..." he trailed off.

December 26, 2011 was not a date he cared to dwell on. His sixty year old father had had no business going into the three-apartment blaze on Tenth Street that night. After all, a volunteer fire chief's job is to remain outside, to organize, to send the younger men in after folks trapped under collapsing wood furniture and ceiling tiles. The entire fiasco was ridiculous. In the end, the fifteen year old girl he'd carried down the ladder died on the way to the hospital and Sal Amato had a massive heart attack right there in the street from the effort.

"Oh, look!" his mother exclaimed, pulling a perfectly preserved pair of cowboy-boot-print feety pajamas from the box. "These were your favorite!" She tossed them onto the basket pile.

"I don't quite get why you keep all this junk, Mother," Jake replied.

"Giacobi Salvatore Amato," she replied as if he were a young child in trouble, "not a single item in this room is junk. Every one is a precious memory."

Jake pulled a stained baby bib in a Ziploc bag from the box. "Really? A stained bib?"

His mother snatched the bag from his hand. "That's the bib you wore on your first birthday," she grumbled, holding it up to his face as if it were labeled. "The stains are red and yellow icing from the firetruck cake Aunty Nicolina was up all night baking and decorating for you!" She tossed the bag back into the box and carried it up the folding ladder in the hallway. Her attic, like the laundry basket in the guest room, was already overflowing.

Aunty baloney, Jake thought. Nicolina had been the cook at the firehouse. She'd lived in the first-floor studio apartment reserved for the fire chief until the day she died. Both of Jake's parents were only children. He had a dozen "aunty"s and "unco"s of no relation to him except that they were members of the now defunct volunteer fire company. "Unco Hank," the police chief, was married to "Aunty Mellie," the real estate broker, just to name a couple.

Jake stood at the foot of the ladder peering into the darkness above. When his mother did not return for a long while, he called, "I am sorry, mammina," in defeat. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

Mother backed down the ladder slowly and put a firm, happy-ish grip on each of his upper arms. "Don't worry about it, Jakey," she said. Her frustration at his sarcasm seemed to have suddenly dissipated. "Tell me about Molly's new job."

"She's been there a year almost, it's not really new," Jake replied.

"Why am I only just now hearing about it?" She puttered back and forth taking boxes and dry-cleaning bags from the guest room to the attic.

Jake sighed. "You heard about it the day she got it, Mother."

Mother stopped in the middle of the folding ladder, her arms laden with dry-cleaning bags on hangers. "Nonsense, the two of you never tell me anything." She tossed the bags over her head and puttered down the ladder, pushing the trap door closed when her feet were firmly on the floor.

"All the more reason for you to move closer to us," Jake stated with an exaggerated smile. "You'd be such a big help to Molly with the baby coming in February, and right at the other end of the block is the Catholic church. They play Bingo five nights a week!"

His mother cocked her head to one side as if she were considering the matter very closely. "I can't imagine any Catholic church in a big city knows much about the religion at all, Jakey, let alone community involvement."

Well if that wasn't a big fat efyu right in the eye, he thought. "Mother, we don't live in the city. We live in a suburb no bigger than here. It's a short drive from the city, yes, because we have to go to work."

Mother waved her hand and turned down the hall, making her way to the kitchen, prattling on with no clue he couldn't hear her while she walked away. "And besides, I doubt the neighbors would care for some of my," she sat down at the kitchen table, picked up a small glass pipe in the shape of a fish, flicked her lighter, and inhaled deeply, "more questionable habits." She crossed her left leg over her right and leaned her elbow on the table.

Jake laughed. "Mother, weed is legal there."

His mother stared at him, apparently aghast. At last, she picked up her cell phone and pushed a button. "Melinda Forano, please." There was a long pause. "Mellie, I'm finally going to sell."