Chapter 3
3
LAMPWICK
“G ood to see you, Pinocchio,” I say, still clutching my hat. It’s not every day you reunite with your childhood friend after ten years. Mr. Geppetto looks at us, bemused, but Pinocchio doesn’t even blink. He’s frozen, and I’m nearly shaking with anxiety. I can’t even step forward, waiting for my former best friend to say something, anything. Maybe my presence here is affecting him the way he’s affecting me.
And what an effect he has. Pinocchio is still shorter than me, and he’s just as slim as I remember. He hasn’t been a wooden boy for some time, but his brown curls are grown out, reminding me of autumn leaves falling off a tree. His coffee-colored eyes shine in surprise, and his skin is smooth. The carpenter’s apron suits him, and I’m relieved to see him healthy and doing well.
“Um, so…uh…” I look around and fidget in place. Mr. Geppetto makes no move, seemingly content in watching us be awkward. “I guess I wanted to say…”
“ Oh mio dio , come here, buddy!” Pinocchio swiftly moves forward. Before I can react, he engulfs me in a big hug. After the initial surprised yelp, I relax and hug him back. I didn’t realize how afraid I was of him rejecting me. Since I never wrote him a letter— me and writing don’t go well together— I thought for sure he would be cold to me. But no, I’m back in his arms.
I haven’t felt this warm in years.
The three of us laugh as he hugs me. When we finally part, I put my hat back on. Pinocchio taps my shoulders and looks up at me with the brightest grin. He’s grown up so much, all man, but his smile is still filled with that childlike wonder. The innocence of that puppet boy led to some difficult times, but he was always so damn charming.
“You’re here! What…what are you doing here?” He beams at his papa, then me, like Christmas came early. No one has ever cared about me as much as this ragazzo .
“I actually came to talk to you.” I turn to my left, and Mr. Geppetto leans back on the counter. He’s just as old as ever, with thinner hair, and maybe a couple more wrinkles. But that jovial, fatherly love still exudes from him like the sun. “ Signore Geppetto —”
“I already told you many years ago, Lampwick, you’re family. Just Geppetto,” he says, pointing a finger at me.
I snicker. “Right.” I bite my lip and continue. “Well, I’m in town now.”
“Where are you staying?” Pinocchio picks up the puppet from the floor. “Are you back for good? Want to stay here? There’s space in my room. I can lay down blankets!” Pinocchio is nearly vibrating with excitement and it’s all sorts of endearing.
“Piccolo , per favore , let him finish,” Geppetto says to his son.
“Right.” I square my shoulders. “So, Geppetto, I have returned to town to make amends. I was a very sinful child, but I’ve matured a lot. I need to atone, and the first place I wanted to start was here.”
“Really?” Geppetto asks.
“You don’t need to make amends.” Pinocchio moves closer to me and taps my arm. “You never hurt us.” As always, his smile is so bright it’s like his nickname should be Lamp, not mine. Pinocchio has always looked up to me, but I’m not worthy of any admiration.
“But I have.” My smile falls and so does his. “I steered you astray, Sticks, as kids. I brought you down with me. You were a good puppet boy, and I almost led us both to a life stuck as donkeys.”
“But we saved you,” he replies, face scrunching in confusion. “And the Turquoise Fairy —”
“She gave me a second chance, and I haven’t squandered it. I’ve worked hard and saved up some money.” I turn to Geppetto. “I want to pay you back for taking me in.”
“Psh.” The older man waves his hand and walks behind the cash register. “I won’t hear of it.”
“But I need to make amends!” I argue, chasing him behind the work desk.
“No. I refuse to accept any money from you, young man.”
“But Signore —”
“No, and that is final.” He frowns, like he’s personally affronted that I even suggested monetary compensation.
I look to Pinocchio who stares at me blankly. When I turn back to Geppetto, I say, “Well, I’d still like to help.”
“You want to move back in?” Geppetto asks with a friendly smile.
I bite my lip. “Mm, I was thinking I could assist around the shop. Clean up. I took any odd jobs I could find these past ten years traveling throughout Italy.”
Geppetto looks at me, perplexed. “I don’t know, young man. We kind of have everything covered.”
“Not really,” Pinocchio interjects. He steps forward and points at his papa. “We could use a pair of hands. The Autumn Festival is coming up.” My friend looks at me, and places his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll need more assistance making clocks, puppets, crates, and all sorts of wooden crafts.”
I tap his hand on my shoulder, and I swear my heart grows another size. Not only did he save my life, but Pinocchio is still vouching for me, a decade later. He still has my heart wrapped around his finger . “Please, Papa?” He turns to his Father and gives a slight pout. He may be a man now, but he can still turn on the boyish charm, that can’t-say-no face to his dad.
Geppetto looks between the two of us. “Very well.”
I sigh in contentment and Pinocchio quietly cheers. “But I’m paying you for your work, no negotiating,” Geppetto says.
My smile drops. “But signore —”
“No, I won’t hear of it. I’m no slave trader. You work here, you get a wage.”
“But I’m here to make amends, not money!”
Geppetto levels with me, and it feels like in school when the many teachers wanted to give me a stern talking to. He walks around the desk and touches my shoulders. I didn’t even realize how much shorter he is than me now. “You really want to pay me back?”
I look to Pinocchio, then back to him and nod. “Be a good friend to my son.”
I chuckle and to my right, my buddy is beaming. “Done deal, signore .”
Geppetto slowly saunters away to what looks like the backroom woodshop. “Heaven knows my son could use some friends,” he mutters.
“Hey!” Pinocchio says while I giggle. “I have friends.”
“Arpeggio doesn’t count!” his father’s voice hollers from an unseen corridor.
I laugh, but Pinocchio simply smiles. “Oh! Let me introduce you to Arpeggio!”
He tugs on my arm, and I comply. “But what about the shop?” I ask as he drags me out.
“Our house is right next door!”
“I was wondering where you lived. Didn’t this used to be your house?”
“ Corretto ,” he replies. We walk a few feet on the cobblestone sidewalk, and Pinocchio fishes out a key from his pocket. I gaze around at the town; everything is basically the same, but it’s evident that the Carlo family no longer lives in the tiny shop they do their work. This new house is just as modest, but work and sleep separation is important, I imagine.
When he opens the door, Pinocchio crouches down and picks something up. “What’s that?”
“Lampwick…” He turns around, and I step back. In his hands is a tiny black-and-white cat. “Meet Arpeggio, the third member of our family.”
“Aww.” I rub the cat’s head. Somehow, she looks like she doesn’t trust me. Good instincts, kitty . “What happened to the older cat?”
“Passed away, sadly, along with the fish.” Pinocchio doesn’t frown, but instead smiles fondly at his precious pet. “But our first cat gave birth to this beauty a few years ago. Yes, you are .” He makes coo-ing noises, and it’s insanely cute.
Pinocchio’s always been cute. But now he’s all man.
I take in how his chocolate-colored curls bounce in front of his face as he plays with Arpeggio. His cheekbones are so defined. Couple that with a muscular neck, and my knees nearly go weak. His firm biceps flex as they hold up his pet. Being a woodworker does the body good, it seems.
“Cool it,” I tell myself. “You’ve been back in Pinocchio’s life for two seconds. Don’t scare him away with your weird attraction to him.”
I clear my throat. “Pleased to meet you, Arpeggio,” I say with a smile. I pet the cat again, but this time, she gradually purrs underneath my scratches. When I look up, Pinocchio is already studying me.
“What’s up, Sticks?”
He beams at me. “Nothing I just…” He shifts his arms and hoists Arpeggio higher. “Yesterday I was thinking…and now you’re here. I’m just…so happy to have you back, that’s all.”
Well, isn’t that a nail in the coffin? Having feelings for a boy is one thing, falling for your childhood best friend is another. Returning home only to find out he’s just as amazing as the boy he was a decade ago hurts the most.
I’m supposed to use this return to set things right, not fuel my foolish attraction to my boyhood friend.
After a long pause, I reply, “I am, too. Happy to be back, that is.”
We exchange smiles as we play with the cute cat between us. The men of the Carlo family have, once again, accepted me into their lives without hesitation. Pinocchio looks at me like I’m the greatest gift he could ever wish for, which is absurd. Still, here I am, coming to work for them, and Pinocchio acts like no time has passed. But judging by how tall he is — several centimeters shorter than me still — we’ve both obviously had plenty of time to grow up.
See the rest of the countryside, earn money, do some serious introspection into who I am? Check, check, check.
Get over my impossible childhood crush — well, not quite there yet. Based on his genuine smiles of affection and the way his brown eyes shine centimeters from me, this mission may not be so simple. But I swore I’d do anything to make Pinocchio and Geppetto happy, and that still stands, even if I have to break my own heart in the process.