Trip to Olive Garden

It was dark in Bellingham, and the gang was hungry. They were in the rental van and hadn’t left the parking lot. Abbacchio was the driver, but he awaited Bruno’s directions while the others were bored and hungry. The white-haired man tapped his fingers on the stirring wheel, trying to entertain himself.

“Bucciarati, couldn’t we just go to the nearest restaurant?” Fugo asked.

Bruno pointed at the KFC. “You want to go there?”

“No, not fast food.”

Trish had a look of disgust and stuck her tongue out. “Ugh, I hate KFC.”

“I hate KFC and Popeyes,” Sheila added.

“I miss the food at home,” Narancia said, sounding depressed.

“Same,” said Abbacchio. “How about Olive Garden?”

Bruno looked at him with a humorless face. “That’s a joke, right? All these restaurants you won’t find elsewhere, and you want to go to a chain restaurant?”

“I—”

“I heard Olive Garden isn’t good,” Giorno interrupted.

Abbacchio scowled, turned around in his seat, and glared at him. “Shut up, Giorno!” He faced his boyfriend. “Don’t you want to find out what their food tastes like?”

“Well, I supposed we could try,” Bruno said. “Okay, let’s go.”

Abbacchio drove off, heading to Olive Garden.

When they arrived at the restaurant, the parking lot was packed, but Abbacchio managed to find a spot to park the car. Unfortunately, someone was waiting for that spot and angrily honked at him. When the gang exited the van, Abbacchio calmly stuck a middle finger at the angry driver while they crossed.

“Really?” Fugo commented. “What if that guy would’ve run us over?”

“Maybe that’s what you’d do,” he replied. “But I doubt he would.”

Inside, lots of people filled the restaurant. Servers bounced from place to place, asking and giving people their orders.

Abbacchio examined the room. “Why are there so many children? Shouldn’t they be at home doing…” He struggled to remember what kids do. “Homework or something?”

“Christmas vacation,” Giorno and Fugo answered.

Bruno approached the hostess. Her hair was black, and she had brown eyes. She wore a black uniform and bright red lipstick.

“Greetings and happy holidays!” she greeted with a smile.

“Hello,” Bruno greeted her back. “A table for eight, please.”

“I’d love to seat you right away, but unfortunately, we’re packed. Please wait for at least ten—” A group of eight headed for the exit, catching the hostess’ attention. “Thank you! Come again! You will be seated soon.”

They waited for a minute.

“Alright, follow me,” she said, bringing them to a clean table with plates and dining utensils.

Abbacchio sat next to Bruno, and Bruno sat next to Giorno, who also sat next to Fugo. On the other side, Sheila faced Abbacchio and sat next to Trish. Next to her was Mista, who sat next to Narancia. The hostess handed them the menus.

“Your server will arrive shortly,” she said before leaving.

Abbacchio skimmed through the menu, and the grilled chicken Margherita grabbed his attention. He’ll get it, along with the red blend porta vita. While the others thought about what entree they wanted, Abbacchio scanned the room again. The place was nice, though it could have more art. It was also loud and noisy, though, and why were so many children crying? Ignoring the rabble, he looked at Bruno.

“So, what are you getting? You seem conflicted,” Abbacchio noted.

“Oh,” Bruno said. “There’s a lot of pasta. I had pasta last time. What do you think I should get?”

“How about the six-ounce sirloin?” Giorno suggested.

“Shut up!” Abbacchio demanded. He then looked at his capo. “There’s not much on this menu, not even your favorites. How about trying the herb-grilled salmon? Since Mista will be driving, we could order some alcohol. I was thinking of getting the red blend porta vita.”

“Bruno’s 20. He can’t have alcohol in this country,” Fugo reminded him.

“Wait, I’m driving?” Mista asked, looking at both Bruno and Abbacchio.

The white-haired man sighed. He wished it was only he and Bruno dining together alone. Abbacchio’s face must’ve looked sullen because Bruno unexpectedly grabbed his hand under the table. The two looked at each other, Bruno smiling.

“This place is nice,” Bruno said to him. “There are a lot of families and couples here today.” His cheeks flushed, and he hid a hair behind his ears. “When we get home, do you want to—”

A waiter came by to check on them.

“Hello, I’m Todd, your waiter,” he interrupted. His hair was short, messy, and dirty blond, and he was likely a teenager. Aside from that, he held a basket of breadsticks until he placed them in the middle of their table. “Please wait for your salad. Um, so, are you guys ready to order?”

Bruno and Abbacchio gave their order to Todd.

“I’ll have the eggplant parmigiana,” Mista ordered.

“I want the spaghetti with marinara,” Narancia said.

“Eggplant parmigiana,” Giorno said.

“Fettuccine alfredo,” Fugo ordered.

“Hmm, I guess I’ll have the cheese ravioli,” said Sheila.

Trish looked at the menu longer than the others. “Um, I’ll have the shrimp scampi.”

“Very well,” replied Todd. “I’ll be back with your salad first. You all might have to wait a few minutes for your dinner.”

The eight of them looked at the breadsticks.

“It looks soft and fluffy,” Narancia commented.

“There’s nine of them,” Fugo noted. “Do they know how to count?”

Bruno grabbed a breadstick and took a bite. “Not bad.”

They all grabbed the breadstick and took a bite.

“I could eat more if I wanted to,” Mista complimented.

“Trish,” Bruno called out, “could you hide that last breadstick in your bag?”

She stared at him for a while. “Why?”

“I want more. Will the waiter give us more?”

“Probably not,” Abbacchio answered.

Todd returned with a large bowl of salad and a cheese grater. “Oh, you’re out of breadsticks. I’ll return with some shortly. As for your salad, tell me when to stop grating the cheese.” The waiter used the cheese grater, sprinkling their salad with cheese.

“Stop,” Bruno said ten seconds later.

Todd tossed the salad around and gave them the bowl once he finished. “Enjoy while you wait for your food.” He scurried away.

“Bucciarati,” Abbacchio said, “what were you about to say earlier?”

“Do you—” Bruno’s face reddened. “Ah, um.” Todd returned with some breadsticks, placing them on the table. Once he went away, he whispered to Trish, “Quick, put them all in your bag.”

“Bucciarati.” Abbacchio wanted to know what he had to say.

“Bucciarati!” Trish whispered in shock. “Seriously? I’m going to get crumbs in my bag!”

Bruno made puppy eyes.

Trish rolled her eyes. “Abbacchio, tell your boyfriend to stop.”

Bruno faced him, making eye contact, and then Abbacchio looked directly at her. “Please stuff the breadsticks in your bag.”

She crossed her arms. “Ugh, I can’t believe you!”

“The waiter is coming back,” Narancia warned.

Sheila grabbed the breadsticks and stuffed them in Trish’s bag.

“Babe!” she shouted.

Todd returned with their dinner in a food cart and handed them their food. “Sorry for the wait. Enjoy!” He left.

“Wow, that was fast,” Giorno commented. “Hmm, and this is a lot of food.”

Abbacchio looked at Bruno’s plate and noticed how little he had compared to the others. “Are you sure that’s enough?”

“I’m worried about you,” he replied. “That doesn’t look like enough to fill you up.”

“I doubt I can finish this all,” Narancia said. “If you want, I can give you some of my food, Bucciarati.”

Bruno shook a hand. “No thanks, please, eat.”

Abbacchio took a bite of his broccoli and then his chicken. It was alright. Olive Garden’s food wasn’t bad, but it’s not something to write home about. Wanting to know what his boyfriend was about to say, he looked at him. Bruno almost finished with his food. He must’ve liked it.

Before speaking, Abbacchio cleared his throat. “What were you about to say earlier?”

Bruno stopped eating. Sweat appeared on his face. “Hey, Trish, how’s your food?”

“I’ve had better,” she answered. Then she looked at the capo. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah, so, Narancia, your meal?”

“It’s alright. Maybe I should’ve gotten something else. I always eat a lot of spaghetti.”

“Bruno,” Abbacchio grabbed his attention. “Please, tell me what you were about to say.”

“I forgot. Don’t worry about it,” Bruno answered, but he knew it was a lie. The others thought so, too, due to their facial expression. They continued eating.

Bruno finished his food while the others couldn’t eat all of theirs, and his stomach rumbled.

Abbacchio cut off the second piece of chicken he had and brought it to his boyfriend’s mouth. “Come on. Eat up. I can tell that didn’t fill you up.”

“I—” Abbacchio brought the chicken closer to Bruno’s mouth. “Okay.” He took a bite. “Wow, that’s very good. Can I have your chicken?”

“All yours.” He smiled, but it dissipated as soon as Bruno grabbed his plate. He grabbed his arms, stopping him. “If you tell me what you were going to say.”

Bruno looked at the others.

“Um, I have to use the restroom,” Narancia said.

“Same.” Mista got up, causing the two blonds to get up and go to the restroom. The girls also got up and went to the bathroom.

Bruno let out a sigh of relief. “Finally, they’re gone.”

Abbacchio chuckled. “I’ve never seen you so shy.”

The black-haired man let out a deep breath. “I don’t have a ring. I would’ve gotten one, but I didn’t want to blow away the boss’ money.” He cleared his throat, brushed any dirt on his clothes, and looked into his eyes. “Will you marry me? I’ll buy a ring once we return home. Maybe we could start a family too.”

Abbacchio’s face turned red, and his heart raced. A smile grew on his face. “Yes! Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting—did I say yes? Yes!”

Bruno hugged the taller man. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”