Chapter 16
I drag Nico behind me, feeling oddly light, until we’ve caught up with Mari and Anya. The four of us meander through the souvenir offerings in the gift shop near the exit of the excavation area.
There are replica tiles of the famous Cave Canem mosaic, which consists of a painting of a dog and the words CAVE CANEM.
It was found outside someone’s residence, the ancient version of a BEWARE OF DOG sign.
There are also replicas of gear from the gladiator barracks, ornately decorated with silver detailing, and the usual display of magnets, key chains, and postcards.
I pick up a small commemorative book and page through it before setting it back down.
With limited space, I am forced to take my souvenir selection seriously.
“Everything good?” Anya asks cautiously as I peruse.
I pick up a small vase and admire it. “Yes. I feel much better. I was just so tired earlier.”
“Oh, glad to hear that,” Anya says, but she’s skeptical. She knows me too well.
She knows something is off.
Eventually, I decide on one of the small tiles. It’s a memento of a fully inhabited Pompeii, where things were maybe not so different. We can hang it outside our house to alert others of Reza, our viciously lazy lapdog.
Everyone picks up a souvenir. Anya has begun collecting postcards, her way of gathering memories while staying within her budget. Mari purchases jewelry, a cameo made from shells, with a harp player engraved in front of Mount Vesuvius.
Nico glances down at his watch once we’ve each checked out. “If you are all done, the next train comes in twenty minutes.”
We decide we are good to go and join the masses for the walk back.
“I think my favorite part was the bakery,” Mari says. “All those loaves of bread, freshly baked and ready for sale? That’s the moment it really hit me, when I realized this was all real.”
“It’s wild when you think about it. The entire city was functioning like normal, and then in hours it was over,” I add.
“I’m so glad we came here. I’ll never see anything like this again,” Anya says.
We navigate through the mix of sweaty, tired tourists to buy our return tickets, and when the train to Sorrento comes a few minutes later, we board and claim a vacant cluster of seats.
“Do you have any more of those lemon crèmes?” I ask Mari the second I sit down.
Her face explodes into a grin. “Yes! I saved the last batch for you.” She rummages frantically through her backpack. “I knew you’d come around.” She hands me the crinkly column of what remains.
“Oh my God, they’re so good.” I down one and immediately pop another in my mouth. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Mari says. “They were Nico’s recommendation.”
I glance at Nico. “What other secrets do you have?”
“A whole lot.” He smiles, and my stomach does a little flip, like it wants to know the rest of them.
I scroll through my photos when the conversation lulls, mindlessly taking my phone off airplane mode to post a story to Instagram. Immediately, I’m bombarded by notifications.
“Jesus,” I hiss, fumbling with my phone to try to silence it. A barrage of messages from Wes flood my screen.
Hey. I’m so sorry about last night, didn’t have my phone on me.
Can I make it up to you?
Is everything okay?
Sora, I’m worried. Can you please respond?
I don’t even know how to feel. It’s a relief that he finally texted, but I thought I was done being ghosted.
I thought he was done being flaky. Things will be so different.
After ten minutes of going back and forth in my head, I decide to respond with something generic.
Because I would never leave someone hanging the way he does. I don’t have the energy to play games.
Sorry, I’m on the way back from Pompeii. Haven’t had service.
I click my screen off so I don’t have to sit and watch him type. Sure enough, my phone vibrates within milliseconds with another text.
How was it? I’d like to see you later. You free?
I exhale and lean my head back against the seat. This is exhausting. Wes is so fun, so carefree, and he has a knack for making me feel special for being the one he chooses, but I cannot be on this merry-go-round. I glance back down.
Meet me for dinner. A proper date. I want the chance to tell you how sorry I am in person. What do you say?
And there it goes again, the tiny ping of my heart.
Wes has been the thing I’ve wanted for so long that it feels like giving up to walk away.
For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll end up a failure, Nico had said.
I stare at him now, dozing off in the seat across from me, full lips half parted as he snores.
I want to believe him, I do, but I have the feeling that if I can’t even make this happen when it’s just a step away, it’s a sign of something bigger.
I’d flown all the way from Georgia to make this happen, hadn’t I?
So if it doesn’t happen, after all of that, what does it mean about me?
Okay. It’s a date, I write back. One last chance to prove me wrong.