33. Maggie
33
maggie
I put a giant basket of lemons out in the front on the street. Nobody really wants them because they all apparently have lemons of their own but maybe some lemon-less person will stroll by and be like, ‘Score! Free Lemons!’
Daisy said she’d take a couple home and that her dad might be able to cook with them. “Hey what does your dad do?”
“Live to annoy me.” I giggle a little. “He did have a job but not here. He’s not doing much of anything because you know we just don’t have a whole lot going on now that we’re in Italy so he’s just kind of enjoying cooking for us.”
Mom’s dead, they’re in Italy, and he does nothing. I’m very intrigued because I figured he was a diplomat or something.
Perhaps if I offer why I’m here, it might open her up and let their stories spill. The sound of the knives on the cutting boards fill the room. The precise crunch cuts of red peppers or the clean, easy chop of a zucchini. I keep my hands moving and don’t look her in the face as I talk.
“I like Italy. I mean I’m not nuts about sharing my house with a lot of invasive animals.” She laughs. “It’s different here. My ex-husband cheated on me, which led to me to traveling around the world for a while and then deciding that I wanted to try living here in Tuscany. I thought it would be romantic or adventurous. And I desperately want to be those things.”
“I like that movie about the girl who also is cheated on and went to Tuscany and had like a nightmare house.”
“Yeah, you could say that I am following her footsteps.” She giggles.
“Are you happy now?” She shuffles her feet back and forth while she rinses the veggies.
“I don’t know, not really, but maybe someday I will be. I’m just waiting for it all to catch up, I guess. I have no clue what to do next. But I do know I do not want men around me at all.”
Daisy giggles again. “I get that, I guess. I mean… I don’t know. Were you in love with him?”
“Enough. There were times when I was super excited to see him. And it felt like love. If I’m honest, I’ve probably only ever been truly in love once. But it never really ended.”
“That sounds terrible. What do you mean it never ended?”
“It’s hard to explain, but it didn’t work out. We were young like three years older than you, and it didn’t work out. I don’t like to relive it, but I do know it still makes me sad.” And it still makes me happy.
I look at our station and I think we’re all prepped for the big expo tomorrow. I like having something to look forward to. It’s been a while.
“Everyone behave today! No killing things, Mongoose! I’ll be back later.” I place the bowl of fruit near the crack in the front room that belongs to the bats now and run down the stairs. The caretaker’s son installed a screen door in front of the bat bedroom. And we’re all much happier. Also, it took him like a week to hang the thing.
The crooked wooden door that’s more for show than keeping things in or out of the villa crashes on its frame as I bolt to my Vespa. I’m so Italian it hurts sometimes. I’m wearing a bright and sunny dress, so maybe the Vespa’s not a great idea. I turn to my battered Fiat. The Vespa is much safer than the car, but my hair and dress look cute and I don’t want to mess them up. Also, I’m all boob sweat and Vespa riding will make it worse, plus I want to look presentable for Daisy’s family. I kick some lemons out of the way and get in the car.
There’s a lady down the lane who taught me how to make limoncello, and I’ve picked some rinds for olives. I thought when I got here it was the metaphor for my life, time to make lemonade out of my life. And so, I have. But some days there’s too many freaking lemons.
My phone pings again and I ignore it. I owe Mak a check in. Lately, I talk to the mongoose at night. I should probably call a human adult soon, since my only confidants are wildlife and a 14-year-old. But I’m happy.
I woke up today thinking about cooking and a resilient Daisy. She’s funny without being goofy and so freaking smart. I’m meeting her dad and sister and since I usually show up a hot mess, I showered and put on the only dress I have with me that makes me feel happy Italian. The sun is on my face because I can’t get the windows to roll up. My hair is whipping around but at least I won’t have helmet head. A true sparkly smile breaks across my face, and it reaches my eyes and my brain and I’m flooded with a kind of hope I didn’t think I’d ever find again.
Finally. I don’t care. I’m just a little lonely.