Free Mia the Melodramatic by Eileen Boggess

spring.”
    “And if she can’t convince them,” Henry said, “they’ll die of shock seeing who you’ve been working with this summer, and she’ll at least know where to bury the bodies.”

Chapter
Twelve
    W hen I got home from work that night and opened the door, Frank Sinatra’s voice greeted me as he belted out a song about New York, New York. Too tired to switch off the CD, I fell back onto the couch and closed my eyes.
    My mom walked into the living room. “ Buona sera. ”
    “Oh, no,” I muttered. “Don’t tell me it’s multicultural night.”
    Once a month, my parents force Chris and me to eat an authentic meal from another country, which wouldn’t be such a bad idea if my parents didn’t get so carried away with it.
    “Si, Signorina. Tonight we will eat as the Italians do.” She hoisted me off the couch. “Now, go set the table.”
    I trudged into the dining room, where an old green Chianti bottle with a candle shoved in it sat in the center of the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. I got out the good china from the hutch and started setting the table, wondering what horrendous food I was going to be forced to endure tonight.
    Mom walked into the dining room and presented me a plate filled with what looked like fried vegetables. “Here, try some calamari and let me know what you think.”
    I took a step back. “Calamari?”
    “It’s good. I promise.” Mom waved the plate under my nose, and I had to admit, it didn’t smell half-bad.
    “At least it’s not raw fish,” I said, tentatively dipping one of thefried things into a red sauce. “And it’s not covered in weeds.”
    “How many times do I have to tell you? Sushi wrapped in seaweed is very popular in other parts of the United States.”
    “Well, then, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad I live in Iowa. At least we know enough to cook our food before eating it,” I said as I bit into the calamari and wiped the grease from my chin. “Hey, this isn’t bad. What is it?”
    “Squid.”
    I spit my half-chewed mouthful into my hand. “Are you trying to kill me?”
    “What? I thought you liked it.”
    “There’s no way I’m eating octopus for dinner.”
    “It’s not octopus. It’s squid. And this is only the antipasto —the appetizer. Just wait until you see the main course—Risotto Ai Funghi Porcini.”
    I sat down and folded my arms over my chest. “I’m not eating anything with fungus in its name.”
    Chris walked into the room and took his place at the table. “What did I miss about Mia’s fungus?”
    “We weren’t talking about Mia’s fungus—”
    “Mom!” I screamed.
    Mom shook her head. “Not that Mia has a fungus...”
    “Am I late?” my dad asked as he sat down at the table dressed in his tuxedo.
    I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a little dressed up for this meal?”
    He waved his pinky ring at me and rasped in his best Marlon Brando impersonation, which wasn’t saying much, “I’m dressing like a character from The Godfather.”
    “You can’t be serious,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This family’s insane.”
    He jutted his lower jaw forward. “Mia, you are my daughter and I love you. But don’t ever take sides against the family again. Ever.”
    “That does it,” I said as I stood up. “I’m out of here.”
    “Sit down,” Dad said, continuing his Don Corleone impression. “I’d hoped we could come here and reason together. And as a reasonable man, I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to find a peaceful solution to this problem.”
    “Mom,” I whined. “Make him stop.”
    “That’s enough, dear,” Mom said as she sat down across the table from the Godfather. “Eat your antipasti like a good don.”
    Chris took a bite of the calamari. “This is good. What is it? It tastes like chicken.”
    “You’re right,” I said, offering him the plate. “Would you like some more?”
    Mom reached across the table and helped herself to a tentacle. “The exterminator