45） No Gio
Rava
I zip the suitcase shut slowly.
Mom is sitting on the edge of my bed. "Are you sure there's no program here, in Italy?" she says with a small voice. "Silvia's mom became a teacher just a few years ago! She didn't go all the way to Canada…"
It hurts. I hate that nobody really gets it. They all act like this was some impulsive dramatic move, like I woke up one day and went, "Hm, what if I just disappear to Canada for vibes."
Like I didn't sit there with five different tabs open, comparing salaries and hiring rates and how long it takes to actually get a stable job in a school. Didn't talk to advisors, read forums, watch videos of people explaining the process.
I didn't just spin a globe and land here?! They think I chose distance over love and family. What they don't see is the math behind it. The ugly, boring, adult shit. Canada counts more.
This specific degree counts more.
The fact that if I stay in Canada, do my hours, get my license, I can have a job in an actual classroom in a few years. Maybe even right away. Not in twenty years.
Not "maybe when I'm forty if the system decides I exist." If I chose to stay here, I'd be sending CVs and praying, watching my life stuck on pause, doing something that has nothing to do with what I studied, while I "wait my turn."
Like a number in a deli queue. Next! Not you. Next! Still not you. And they act offended because I didn't want that.
Like, what do they think? That I enjoy being on the other side of the world, in some cold city where no one knows how to spell my name and everything closes too early and the weather wants me dead??
They think if I really wanted, I could've stayed.
You know, "Find a master's program here, look around, there must be something."
Yeah. There are things. And I looked.
But be for real, how many people have you seen stuck in the same town, overqualified, underpaid, waiting for an opening that never comes?
Substitute teacher here, temp contract there. No stability. No guarantee. Just a "Maybe next year." I don't want "maybe" when I'm thirty-five.
So Canada is clearer.
You do this program, you pass this exam, you get this license, you apply. Is it perfect? No. Is it easy? God, no. But at least there's a line you can actually follow.
At least when they say, "If you do A, B, C," something actually happens at the end.
Here, it feels like, "Do A, B, C, D, E, F, G, sacrifice your soul, wait ten years, and maybe you'll get half a contract if someone retires or dies."
Why is it so hard to understand that I didn't want to build my entire life on that? They don't get that choosing this was also choosing them. Because what was the other option, really?
Stay near Gio, near my family, sure. Physically close. But constantly stressed, constantly hoping that "one day" I'll get the call that says, "Congratulations, you can finally do the job you've wanted since you were a kid."
How long before that stress eats everything?? Before it turns me bitter, resentful, exhausted. Before I start snapping at the people I love because I'm stuck and it's not their fault but they're the ones in front of me.
Do they seriously think that would've been better? That some half-version of me, frustrated and trapped, would be more present than the version of me who's far but actually building something?
I want to be the guy who comes back and says, "I did it. I got the job. I can stand in a classroom and actually teach." Not the guy who shows up to dinner like, "Yup, still waiting. Still temporary. Still maybe next year."
And do they really think I don't miss them? Like, honestly. Do they think I get off on walking through a city where nobody knows me?
Where I can't just bump into Daisy at a store or Jin at some random bus stop. Do they think I like counting time zones in my head to see when it's okay to call?
Do they think I enjoy watching my mother's face glitch on video call because the Wi-Fi sucks and I miss half of what she says?
Do they really think I chose loneliness on purpose? If there was a master's program in Italy that gave me similar security, similar respect for my profession, do they think I wouldn't have taken it?
I walk over and kneel in front of my mom, resting my hands on her knees. "Mom," I say gently, "what I'm doing now…it's so I can get placed in a school in two or three years. Not twenty-three."
She stares at me for a second. Then lets out a soft laugh while wiping her eyes.
"Right. Of course. That makes sense," she murmurs, brushing her fingers through my hair, trying not to cry. "I'm so proud of you, Rava," she says. "For everything. You're incredible, and your future students…they'll be the luckiest little kids in the world."
I wasn't planning to cry. But I feel it building in my throat.
It burns. I bite the inside of my cheek, nodding. Then Daisy barges in. "Ehhhh?! Don't have a family moment without me, you traitors." She throws her arms around both of us dramatically, and I can't help but laugh through the tears.
Jin appears at the door, debating whether he's allowed to be soft today. He ends up coming over and hugging us too, awkward but warm. Mom sniffs, looking at all of us.
"You see? The four of us…we're doing just fine. I'm so proud of you. All of you. You're such wonderful kids." Then she pauses. "I just wish your father ever saw it."
I take her hand. "Don't be sad. He didn't deserve to."
That makes everyone smile. Even her. Then Daisy eyes me sideways. "Sooo... you and Gio. What are you two gonna do?"
I sigh. I don't answer right away, because there is no easy answer. No clear next step. We are just two guys in love with the world trying to literally pull us apart.
"We're... figuring it out," I say finally. "Even we don't know yet. But we'll find a way. I promise." Mom stands and strokes my cheek. "We don't have much time left. When you're ready…let's head to the car."
I nod. I'm definitely not ready. But I nod anyway.
I zip my shoulder bag too, and take one long look around the room. God, it looks empty. Not physically, everything's still here, but it feels empty. Like it's already mourning me. I sigh, throw myself face-first onto the bed, and stretch out like a starfish.
My spine lets out a crack of gratitude. Finally. After hours of packing, crouching, folding, organizing. I let my cheek sink into the pillow, try to freeze time for just one more minute.
Bang.
Something lightly hits the back of my head. What the flip. I turn my face to the side.
Oh? It's Gio.
Sitting at my bedroom door. Wearing those gray sweatpants that should be illegal, low on his hips, and definitely not hiding a damn thing. Black tight tee that hugs his chest and his arms.
I blink. Nope. Real. Unfortunately.
"You good, angel?" he asks, with that little smirk. I bury my face in the pillow again. I just made peace with leaving. I was this close to accepting reality. And now my reality has biceps and dick print and no sense of timing. My brain is in emotional survival mode. But my body's planning crimes.
Gio lies down next to me. He doesn't say anything at first, just lets out a deep sigh. "Can you tell Noah I said hi?"
I smile into the pillow. "Of course."
"And maybe slap him too? Wait—no. Forget it. He might be into that. You know, masochist vibes. He's crazy. Might end up liking you."
I let out a short laugh and turn my face toward him. "He won't like me. I'm not his type." Gio raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Good. Real good."
I lift my hand and admire the duck ring like it's made of actual diamonds. I move it a bit, just for effect. "I can't wait for some guy in Canada to hit on me," I say dramatically. "So I can flash this and go: I am a married man, you certified headache!"
Gio wheezes next to me. "My married man's so unhinged," he says, grinning. "Damn right I am." I keep staring at the ring.
"This face? Off the market. This ass? Protected by duck law." He grabs my jaw with both hands and starts attacking my face with the most chaotic, rushed little kisses, cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, everywhere. I'm dying laughing, trying to push him off.
"Gio, what the hell—stop," He kisses me again, right on the mouth. "Mine," he mumbles. God help me, I love this man so much I'm gonna start crying.
He stands up, brushing his palms on his sweatpants. "Don't forget to read that notebook I gave you," he says, nodding toward my bag. "Take it on the plane. You've got a long-ass trip."
I nod. "Of course. I'll read the whole thing."
He groans. "Fuck—I forgot the bracelet. I'll bring it to the airport, alright?" Then he leans down and ruffles my hair one last time. "Alright. I'm heading to my mom's home to check on her for a bit."
"Shit," I blurt, sitting up. "I didn't say goodbye to her. She's gonna think I'm some horrible rude-ass boyfriend—"
He laughs and kisses my forehead. "Don't stress. I'll bring her. You'll say bye to everyone. Chill."