CHAPTER 8 – ANTONIO
The trattoria is closed because of a catastrophe involving a pipe, three towels, and Dad shouting rapid Italian into the phone.
I’m sitting on the floor in my room, enjoying the solitude. I’ve surrounded myself with books.
Then Maria barges in, lunges onto my bed, and shatters my peace.
“Sibling quality time!”
I sigh. Loudly. “I was already having quality time.”
Ignoring me, she squints at her phone.
“I’m a waffle maker,” she announces. “It’s a quiz,” she adds before I can ask. “Let’s find out what kitchen appliance you are.”
“Let’s not.”
“Another quiz for you, then,” she chirps, completely missing the point.
I glance at her. She’s even more hyper than usual.
“You’re a tiny, furious dragon that hoards grudges and biscotti,” she informs me, cackling.
“Stop making stuff up,” I snort. “Why are you home? Where’s Sophia?”
“She’s going out tonight,” Maria says lightly. She studies her nails with sudden interest. “With some guy from her study group.”
She sounds like someone who tries really hard to appear unbothered.
“Have you met him?” I ask carefully.
“Nope.”
Was that a loaded nope? I’m not good at this. I’m not sure there even is a this.
“Are you upset?”
“Of course not. Why would I be upset?”
“You seem upset.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m going out tonight, too.”
Her voice sounds off, but before I can unpack what’s going on, my phone buzzes.
Maria snatches it because she’s a menace. She reads the text and gasps.
“You have a boyfriend!”
My stomach flips. “I do not!”
I throw a sock at her, then another. “What are you even saying? Give me my phone back.”
“Someone called Luca is asking if you’re free for drinks tonight,” Maria reads out loud. She looks at me. “Is this Luca Moretti from your nerd club?”
“It was the university archive group, you ignorant heathen.”
“So a nerd club.”
She’s holding my phone over her head like the unhinged gremlin she is.
“He’s hot,” she says, grinning wickedly.
“He’s nice,” I correct, my face heating up.
“Nice is what you say about the weather. I’m more interested in his power to destroy you emotionally.”
“What is wrong with you?” I snap. “Luca is not like that.”
The thought of him doesn’t make me squirm or bolt toward the fire exit.
“He told me he liked the details in my annotated Roman Empire map,” I explain . “So we both like history.”
Maria stares at me, her expression softening into something like pity.
“That’s not what he meant.”
She suddenly hits me with a pillow.
“You’ve been asked out twice this week. First the Espresso Guy, now Luca. You’ve blossomed!”
I grab the pillow from her and smack her feet with it.
“What do you mean? I have not blossomed!”
“You’ve totally blossomed.”
No thank you. I haven’t ordered any kind of blossoming. It disturbs my equilibrium and makes everything awkward.
I barely survived the Espresso Guy, and now Luca’s asking me out. I feel like everyone around me speaks a language I’m not familiar with.
Maria hands me my phone and studies my face.
“Do you want to go?”
A flash of memory surfaces. The sharpness of a locker door at my back, the cruel laughter, and the humiliation of being one small person against so many.
“I just want to feel normal,” I say, more quietly than I meant to.
Maria squeezes my hand, all teasing gone.
“Then go. See what happens. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
She’s right. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
“Sure,” I type and hit send.
Luca replies instantly with a place suggestion and a smiley face.
My equilibrium has officially exited the building.
I’m going out.