Chapter Eleven
I can’t believe it’s time for Chloe to go already.
One thing about my success that brings me pride is that I can do things like spring for my niece to come join me in Italy for a long weekend. I’m very aware that most people don’t have that luxury or privilege, and I’m so incredibly grateful.
That being said, I’m sad to send her home.
We’re tucked into the back of a cab—I didn’t want to waste the time she’ll spend driving to the airport, so I decided to go with her—and our cab driver is singing to his radio. It’s not a song either Chloe or I recognize, and he’s not exactly pitch perfect, but he’s making us grin.
I pat Chloe on the knee. “I’m so glad you came to spend some time with me.”
“Me too,” she says, looking me in the eye. A shadow crosses her face, and she glances away as she says, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“And you wait until the car ride to the airport to do that?” I say, trying to inject a little levity, because her expression has grown very serious. When her smile only lifts one corner of her mouth, concern floods me. “Are you okay? What is it?”
She clearly senses my panic because she rolls her eyes in that way that only teenage girls can do—that way that makes you feel like you’re a totally ridiculous human. “Aunt Lil. I’m fine. I want to talk about you .”
“Me?” Well. That’s unexpected. “What about me?”
“We’re…a little worried about you.” She grimaces as if that wasn’t exactly how she wanted to say it, like she’s concerned about how I’ll receive her words.
“We? Who’s we?” I ask.
She looks slightly guilty as she says, “Me and Grandma.”
My mother. It figures. Leave it to her to drag her granddaughter into her Lair of Unnecessary Concerns for Others. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. But she needs to get a hobby that doesn’t include other people’s business.
“Don’t be mad,” Chloe says in a rush, and it makes me fix my face.
“Look,” I say, choosing my words carefully. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt my niece’s feelings. “I know Grandma’s concerned, but she shouldn’t be talking to people about my work. I mean, sure, I’m a little behind, but—”
“Work?” Chloe looks confused. “I wasn’t talking about work.”
My turn to look confused. “I’m lost.”
Chloe sighs, and again, she seems to look for the right words, this time outside the car window. A scooter whips by way too fast, and I have a fleeting visual of Marina. “We’re worried about you being alone.” When Chloe finally says it, her voice is quiet. Soft. She frowns and meets my eyes.
“Oh,” I say, just as quietly. “I was not expecting that.”
“It’s just…it’s been a long time, and Grandma says you’re not dating and…
” She lets her voice trail off for a beat as I silently seethe over my mother discussing my love life with my teenage niece.
“Don’t be mad,” she says again, and I see the clear concern on her face.
“You’ve just been alone for so long and then…
” Her smile comes back and lights her up.
“And then I see you with Marina, and you’re so happy. ”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, traffic-copping her with a hand. “Marina and I are just friends.”
Chloe snorts like that’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “Yeah, okay. You look at all your friends like that? Do you lean against all your friends that way? I was there, remember?”
I blink at her and let a moment of silence pass before I speak. “Well, damn, girl.”
That makes her laugh. “Yeah. Clearly, you think people are blind. Mainly me.”
“I don’t,” I say and glance down at my lap. “I guess…” I shrug, not really knowing what to say. My feelings around Marina are so blurry and convoluted and I’m not ready to give them voice yet.
“She’s super into you. Just so you know.”
I roll my lips in and bite down on them, trying to hide the grin, but I can’t, and Chloe sees it. She leans into me with a shoulder.
“Aunt Lil, seriously. She’s so cool.”
“Sweetie, she’s way younger than me.”
“And?” When I don’t answer, she asks, “Why is that a thing?”
“I don’t know. It just is.” I’m trying not to sound anything close to irritated or annoyed or oversensitive, but I think I’m failing.
“Well, she didn’t seem to think so.” Chloe isn’t pouting, but she’s close. We’re silent for a few moments. Then she seems to gather herself and turns to face me.
“Okay. Remember how you told me if I wanted to ask Jordan to the dance just as friends, I could do that? And I told you if I do, somebody else will ask him to go as more than friends?” I nod. “Well, that’s what will happen here.”
I squint. “I don’t follow.”
She tips her head to the side. “How long do you think Marina will last out there before somebody snaps her up?”
I blink at her. That’s a question I have avoided asking myself. I saw how the lead singer of that band looked at her, how strangers in shops and restaurants and on the street look at her. With curiosity. Interest. Desire.
I don’t like it.
Still. “Chloe. She lives in Italy. I live in the US.”
Chloe looks at me expectantly. “And? What’s your point?”
“Honey.” I don’t want to make her feel bad, but she’s a kid. She has no idea how—
“You think people don’t do LDRs all the time?”
I shake my head. “What’s an LDR?”
She groans, and it’s brutal. Can’t remember a time when I’ve felt quite this uncool. “Long distance relationship, Aunt Lil.”
“Oh,” I say, drawing the word out.
“People are in ’em all the time. And they make ’em work.”
“Well. Good for ‘people.’ ” I make the air quotes, really wanting this conversation to be over. I’m not proud of the relief that floods me when we pass under the sign reading Fiumicino Leonardo Da Vinci International Airport.
Chloe sighs, and I hope it’s the sigh of somebody who has given up trying to make their point.
And that seems to be the case until we get her bags out of the trunk, and I ask the cabbie to wait for me while I get teary and hug my niece so tightly, she starts to wiggle in protest. Then I hold her face in both my hands, like I’ve done since she was a toddler, and I kiss her forehead, then both cheeks.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too,” she says, grabbing my forearms. “And you’re awesome and gorgeous and somebody like you should be worshipped, not all alone.
That’s all I’m saying.” She smiles at me as I let her face go.
She shoulders her backpack, telescopes the handle on her pullman, and hugs me one more time.
“You’re worth loving, Aunt Lil. Remember that. ”
She turns and heads into the airport. Over her shoulder, she calls, “And come home soon!”
I stand there, misty-eyed, and watch her disappear into the crowd, wondering if she’s actually sixteen or a wise fifty-year-old disguised as one. Shaking my head, I climb back into the cab.
Her words echo through my head for the entire drive back.
You should be worshipped, not all alone.
Worshipped, huh? I can’t say I hate the sound of that. I wonder what it’s like to be worshipped. Not that I need that level of devotion, but you catch my drift.
You’re worth loving, Aunt Lil.
Yeah. That one. That one worms its way in and settles around my heart like the gentlest of hugs.
I stare out the window as we drive, my eyes wet.
It’s quiet for several miles—well, quiet except for the cabbie, who is now singing to Lady Gaga—and then my phone buzzes. Two texts.
One is from Chloe, telling me she cleared security, and also apologizing for getting “hella serious” on our last day.
I, of course, tell her it’s fine. Because it is.
She texts back, I just love you and want you to be happy.
Ladies and gentlemen, my teenage niece, sounding like somebody’s grandmother.
The second text is from Marina, and all it says is Thinking of you… There’s one red heart, and what the hell? Three simple words and a red heart have me all gooey inside? Just like that, I’m a mushball? Have I always been this easy?
Okay, so maybe Chloe was right after all.
Maybe I do have it bad.
The words are flowing today.
Like, flowing.
This hasn’t happened in months. Months and months and months and I am not going to look a gift horse in the mouth over it.
(What the hell does that even mean, anyway?
I make a note to google later…) I keep typing, and the sexual tension between my pastry chefs is so thick, they could cut it with one of their pastry rollers.
My fingers fly over the keyboard.
This. This is what every writer lives for. Well, I can only speak for myself, but I’m pretty sure this kind of forward motion on a project is what we all strive for. This pace. This steadiness. This confidence.
I don’t normally stop at the end of a scene—I like to stop mid-scene so I can hit the ground running when I sit down next time—but I write the perfect hook to keep readers wanting to turn the page to the next scene, and then I realize how stiff my body is.
When I glance at my phone, it tells me I’ve been working for four solid hours.
I can’t remember the last time that happened.
I take a quick look at my word count and am shocked.
It’s been so long since I wrote that much in one sitting.
I can feel these characters. I can feel them.
It’s exactly what I need to write a believable story, and it’s only right now, in this moment, that I realize how very nervous I’ve been that I wasn’t ever going to feel a character that way again.
My eyes well up, and the deep breath I take is audibly shaky.
I push myself to my feet. I need to stretch, to move, my muscles are stiff, and there’s a throbbing ache in my back. Reggie is on the sofa, but his head is up and he’s watching me.
“How do you feel about a walk, buddy?”
It takes him about 2.5 seconds to be at my feet staring up at me in expectation.
“I’ll take that as a let’s go, Mom .” I clip his leash on him, scoop him up, and we head out to the elevator.