Chapter Fifteen Cammie
Chapter Fifteen
Cammie
“You’re sure you don’t want any cannoli? My mother-in-law makes outstanding cannoli, and I’m not just saying that to upsell you. If anything, I’m costing myself.”
Tony gives West and me a cheeky smile as he looks back and forth between us once more, holding his hands out with palms up in offering.
I can only shake my head as I swallow another sip of my lemon spritzer—alcohol-free, for the sake of my head and pride—and West leans back with a hand on his stomach.
“I can’t do it right now, as much as I wish I could,” he says sadly.
“Ah, well. That’s what takeaway boxes are for, right?”
Even though we’re the ones who were purposefully—and still secretly—deceptive, Tony feels responsible for burning West’s pizza. As a result, after he wrapped up the official workshop for everyone else, he brought the two of us down to the patio of Antonio’s and began plying us with apology food.
Once he got over the initial shock of seeing his ex’s grown kid twenty years after they broke up, Tony seemed genuinely excited to meet us.
West had been frozen with clear discomfort, looking to me to see how I reacted before he said anything—whether I’d admit to knowing about Tony and my mom, therefore revealing that West and I are weirdos who’d snuck into this cooking class like undercover agents and inviting at least a few more questions about our motives…
or if I’d go with the easier out by pretending to be just as shocked as Tony.
Of course, I chose faux shock. We’re in pretty deep with the subterfuge already; if we’re not going to be honest, we might as well be consistent.
It’s sort of a wonder that all my breathy woooowwws and that’s sooo wilds and what are the oddses have been convincing enough to keep Tony from seeing right through me.
Then again, I suppose “she’s trying to ferret out whether I’m her long-lost father” isn’t a place most normal people’s minds would jump to.
Plus, he’s been too wrapped up in his own memories and reminiscing to develop any suspicions.
Tony turns his curious expression back on me. “So Alex is good, you said? Still doing her Indiana Jones thing?”
I tap my foot against West’s under the table in silent acknowledgment of the irony.
“Still an archaeologist,” I say with a nod. Mom is where I got the Indy-is-a-low-key-looter opinion. “She’s actually around here this summer—back at Villa di Bronzo for the twentieth anniversary summer, if you remember that whole thing.”
I wave a hand, like “that whole thing” doesn’t encompass not only the biggest achievement in my mom’s career, a massive contribution to world history and cultural heritage, but also, oh yeah, my birth.
Like I’m not holding my breath, acutely attuned to his every move, down to a tic of the jaw or blink of the eyes, in case anything gives me a hint of his role in that part of Mom’s life.
But the bright smile that takes over his face gives me absolutely nothing to work with. Just pure, selfless happiness for my mom’s success.
“Twenty years,” he says, scraping a hand down his jaw.
“That’s incredible. And makes me feel ancient.
” He laughs. “You know, she was interviewing for that contract job with the developer right around when we stopped seeing each other. I always wished I’d done a better job of keeping in touch afterward. ”
Now we’re getting somewhere, I think. “Was there…any reason you didn’t?”
His casual shrug is not the gesture of someone revisiting the painful memory of the girlfriend and child he abandoned. Unless I misread Tony somehow, and he actually is that cold and unfeeling. My head is spinning, trying to parse the meaning of everything in real time.
“The breakup was definitely mutual, at least from my memory. Being with Alex made me realize the strong feelings I still had for Luna, who’d broken things off with me a few months earlier because I was being a typical twenty-three-year-old who couldn’t commit.
But I knew I had to try to win her back, and at the same time, Alex was falling harder for this other bloke—she and I were never exclusive, so it wasn’t a surprise.
I think she and he really had something for a while there.
So we were both too wrapped up in new—or renewed—love to make the effort with each other.
The more time that passes, the harder it gets to reconnect, that sort of thing. ”
I have to press my lips tightly together to keep from blurting out the flurry of questions that arise about this other guy, questions I doubt Tony would have answers to. It’s definitely a subject I’d like to pursue.
Before I can figure out how, though, church bells begin to ring from somewhere nearby, signaling the top of the hour.
Tony taps his phone screen to check the time before he says mournfully, “When did it get so late? I’m afraid I should be heading home to la famiglia.
But you two are welcome to stay as long as you want, order anything you like. It’s all on me.”
He scoots his chair back and begins to stand before West and I do the same. “Oh, we’ll probably head out soon. We have to catch a train back to Villa Russo.”
“Of course, of course. I’m so glad that of all the pizza workshops in all of Napoli, you two stumbled into mine,” he says with one more of his mischievous grins, and then his face brightens as something else occurs to him.
“Hey, if you find yourselves back in town before the end of summer, give me a ring or an email, all right? Here’s my card. ”
He passes over the card with the Antonio’s logo, and I return his smile as I tuck it safely into my pocket, grateful for this opening. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to invite you to, if you’re free…”
I recite my now-practiced story about the party, and surprising my mom with old friends.
“If you think of anyone else I should invite, people she was close with…maybe the name of that other guy you mentioned?” My voice becomes a squeak at the end, thwarting my efforts to subtly slip the suggestion in, but I continue.
“That would be awesome. So, uh, here, I’ll give you my email address, too. ”
Reaching into my backpack, I tear off a corner of the first blank paper I can find and jot down my info before handing it to Tony.
“Of course,” he says with a nod, tucking the slip into his pocket. “Let’s not be strangers, yeah?”
West and I agree, and then we all say our goodbyes. As we watch Tony walk back into his pizzeria, the melancholy taking root in my chest makes me wonder if I’m still doing the right thing here. If maybe some questions are better left unanswered.
We begin our meandering journey back toward the train station.
There are still a couple hours before the last one sets out toward Villa Russo, so our steps are unhurried along the wide waterfront street, the night air filled with the sounds of diners laughing, glasses clinking, conversations from couples and groups walking around us.
Lights from the restaurants and hotel lobbies illuminate our way, along with the glow of the moon overhead, perfectly visible in a clear, deep blue sky.
I spot a little offshoot with stairs leading down to the water, where a collection of colorful rowboats is tied up along the banks, bobbing in the gentle current.
A few other pairs of young people sit on stone benches, or some on the ground, letting their feet dangle over the water.
When we’re a comfortable distance from anyone else, we sit and I cross my legs. West copies my position, his body angled toward mine. While I watch the boats and the moonlight glinting off the bay, I feel his eyes on me.
“Euro for your thoughts?” he asks, the first time either of us has really spoken since we left the restaurant.
I laugh softly, turning my head to look at him. “That’s a high price to pay.”
“I don’t know what their one-cent coins are called, and you’re worth it anyway.”
My pulse jumps and I look down to my lap so he can’t see the adoration in my eyes. It feels like it must be so obvious, I might as well have cartoon hearts popping out from my face.
“I don’t know, in the case of tonight’s thoughts,” I answer carefully. “They’re kind of all over the place.”
“I’ll take the gamble,” he says.
I take one slow, steadying breath. “Well, it probably won’t surprise you to hear that I really like Tony.
He’s someone who I could easily see myself coming to love, forming that father-daughter bond with.
But like, at the end of the day, even if it is him, I’m left with the fact that…
well, he left. He didn’t want me, and went on to have three kids, apparently not too much time later, who he has stuck around for and raised.
I don’t know how I would deal with that truth.
And if it’s not Tony”—I let out a laugh with nothing joyful in it—“this could get exhausting.”
How does this end? It’s the question I’ve thought about more than any other, and in my daydreams, it’s all tied up with a pretty decorative bow.
I have a dad who instantly loves me, a relationship that’s immediately close and deep, and I feel, all at once, complete and capable and sure of who I am and where I belong in the world.
But of course, that’s not how these things go outside of movies.
And each of the potential fathers I’ve met has pulled me further into reality.
West hums thoughtfully. He probably doesn’t know how to respond to all that word vomit. But just when I’m about to try for a “Ha ha, anyway, let’s catch a train,” he answers, his voice soft and serious.
“Those are two-euro thoughts, at least.”
My head falls back with a much-needed laugh. It’s a relief to feel the weight of the worries lifted off my chest, like he’s taken some of them on for me. I think, for maybe the hundredth time, how lucky I am that he’s by my side on this bizarre journey.