18. La nuova me
18
La nuova me
The New Me
Bridget
T he spoon clinks softly against the glass bowl as I take another bite of gelato. I’d choose ice cream, especially Italian ice cream, over hot chocolate any day, even in November when it’s cold enough outside to see your breath. There’s something about the way it melts on your tongue—creamy, sweet, a little escape from everything. I sit back in my chair, watching bundled-up people hurry by on the cobblestone street outside. For once I’m not rushing anywhere. No one asking me for anything. It’s just me, this cosy café, and my gelato.
My phone buzzes, shattering my little bubble. I glance at the screen—Ruthie. I sigh, swipe to answer, and press the phone to my ear. “Hey, darling.”
“Mum, oh my God, you’ll never guess what happened today!”
Here we go. I settle back in my chair, take another bite of gelato, and prepare for the onslaught. “What happened?”
“So, I’m in this lecture and Professor Henderson tells the whole class that my essay was superb.”
“That’s great, darling.” I swirl my spoon around in the gelato, watching it melt a bit, and half-listen as she rattles on about her essay and how stressful her master's programme is.
“And, guess what, oh you’ll never guess, after the class, she asked me to stay behind and invited me to be part of a project she’s doing. Can you believe it? If I impress her doing that she could support my PhD application after my masters.”
“That’s wonderful Ruthie! I’m so proud of you!” I’m always proud of my children but she’s incredible at her studies. She has determination that Christopher never had and if she wants something she makes it happen.
The bell above the café door jingles and I glance up just in time to see Omar stroll in, hands in his jacket pockets, scanning the tables until he spots me. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips and I feel an instant flutter in my stomach—one that still surprises me, even now.
“Ruthie, love, I’ve got to—” I start to say, but she barrels right on.
“Anyway, I’m a bit nervous though. What if I cock it up? She normally only invites PhD students to take part in her projects”
Omar slides into the seat across from me, nodding at my gelato. “You saving some for me?” he whispers, a mischievous look in his eye.
I swat him away with my free hand, and mouth, “Ruthie.” He grins and leans back in his chair, clearly amused.
“She wouldn’t have asked you if she didn’t believe you could do it,” I say to Ruthie, my eyes still on Omar as he steals a spoonful of my gelato.
“You really think so?” Ruthie asks. “I don’t know, I think I’m nervous. Maybe it’s silly.”
“You’ll be fine, Ruthie. I know you can do it,” I say, but my focus is split between her and Omar, who’s now making a show of dramatically savouring the ice cream. I give him a mock glare, but he just winks.
“Mum, am I interrupting something?” Ruthie’s voice pulls me back.
I straighten up, trying to cover that Omar is distracting me. “Of course not, I’m listening! I’m just... multitasking.”
Ruthie laughs. “Alright, I’ll let you go. You’re probably busy enjoying yourself over there in Italy. I’ll call you later, okay? Love you!”
“Love you too, sweetheart,” I say before she hangs up. I drop the phone on the table and give Omar a look. “You’re a terrible influence.”
He leans forward, spoon still in hand, and raises an eyebrow. “I’m not the one ignoring my daughter.”
“I’m not ignoring her. It’s just difficult to explain why I’m distracted,” I say, snatching the spoon from him and taking a triumphant bite. “Not that she really asked. She wasn’t even interested in how the trip is going. Sometimes it feels like my children think my whole existence is limited to being Mum . Ruthie had some fantastic news to share, but would it be too much to just ask how I am?”
“Sounds about right.” Omar chuckles, leaning back. “She’s twenty-two. Isn’t that prime ‘self-involved’ age?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe I’m just being selfish. Of course she’d want to tell me her good news.”
“When we are young we forget that our parents also have lives. I think in our minds they just sit at home and do fuck all because their lives are over.” Omar grins, and I laugh again.
“Probably,” I say, shaking my head. “But this trip… it’s the first time I haven’t been at their beck and call. The first time I’ve been able to focus on what I want.”
“And what’s that?” Omar asks, his voice dropping a little, a hint of something playful but serious in his eyes.
I raise an eyebrow. “Gelato. Lots of it.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. But seriously. This trip, it’s done something to you. I’ve only known you for a short time but even I can see the change.”
I pause with my spoon halfway to my mouth and realise he’s right. I feel different. I’ve felt it since we started travelling together, but I hadn’t really put it into words. “I think… I think I just forgot what it was like to live for myself. To not have to worry about the kids or my job or what my ex thinks I’m doing wrong.”
Omar nods, leaning forward on his elbows. “It suits you, you know. This version of you.”
I look at him, taken aback for a moment. “What version is that?”
“The one that’s not trying to be everything for everyone else. The one that’s just… you.”
I feel warmth spread through me but I try to deflect the compliment with a little laugh. “Well I don’t know about that. I’m still me. Still dealing with Ruthie’s dramas. But, yeah, I suppose… I do feel different here. It’s like I’ve been carrying everyone else’s stuff for so long, I forgot what it’s like to just carry my own.”
“You’re allowed to do that, you know,” Omar says, his voice softer now. “Put yourself first.”
I look at him and we sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the world outside the café feeling a million miles away. He’s right, of course. But it’s easier said than done. “I’m not used to it. I’ve always been the fixer. The responsible one. You should’ve seen me with the kids when they were little. It was non-stop—one scrape, one tantrum after the other.”
“And now they’re grown. You don’t have to do that anymore.”
“I know,” I say, though it’s more to myself than to him. “I think this is the first time I’ve really allowed myself to believe it.”
Omar reaches across the table and nudges the gelato towards me. “While you’re believing in yourself, you can have the rest of this.”
I narrow my eyes, pretending to be suspicious. “You sure you’re not just trying to offload your calories onto me?”
“I would never,” he says with a mock-serious expression.
I laugh and take another bite, feeling lighter than I’ve in a long time. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For reminding me I’m allowed to enjoy my own life.”
He grins. “Any time.”
I lean back in my chair, taking in the atmosphere of the café, the quiet clinking of dishes, the comfortable silence between us. For the first time in years I’m not thinking about what anyone else needs. Not Ruthie, not Christopher, not my boss, not my ex.
Just me. And, well… maybe Omar, too.