45 #2
I smile at him, still in survival mode but still comforted just by that. "See you at the airport, okay?" he says quietly. "I love you." He's already halfway down the hallway.
"Love you too!"
He throws a hand up in the air without turning around. "Stop lying, Weston!"
…
I'm dragging my suitcase across the shiny airport floor, the wheels squeaking every now and then. Time to buy a new one I guess. My carry-on is heavy as hell, and I have to shrug the strap back onto my shoulder every five seconds, which is driving me crazy. Daisy walks beside me, chewing gum.
"When's Gio coming?" she asks casually. "Relax," I tell her. "He'll be here. He just went to check on his mom first."
"Aww," she sighs, clasping her hands together. "I love that man. He's such a green flag. Please don't cheat on him with some random Canadian."
I stop. Literally stop walking. "Do I look like someone who cheats?!" I snap, completely offended.
She smirks. "I mean—"
"And more importantly, do I look like someone who would cheat on freaking Gio?! That would be a downgrade. A cosmic downgrade."
She starts laughing, but I just keep walking. Let her laugh. I meant that shit.
…
It's been… an hour.
We're sitting in a random corner on the floor. There isn't a single empty chair in this godforsaken airport, and I'm starting to feel every bone in my back scream.
Daisy leans her head toward me. "I know there's still time," she says quietly. "But… does he know you're actually leaving?"
I swallow hard. "Yeah. He knows," I say quickly, almost too quickly. "He'll come." I know he'll come. He has to. Because anything else just isn't possible.
I pull out my phone. Send a message.
ME:
-Gio?
-It's almost time. You on your way?
No answer. Hm. My stomach twists. He hasn't opened any of them. Nothing. I stare at the three grey dots that do not appear. Maybe he's driving. He shouldn't text while he's driving.
That's good. That's responsible. Right.
Good job, Gio.
Safety first, I love that for you, I hate that for me.
I try to stay calm. Maybe he's just busy with his mom. Maybe I'm overthinking. If something had happened…he would've told me. Right? He's at home. That's what he said.
He's coming. I believe it. I have to.
…
Shit. Another thirty minutes. My knee is bouncing so fast. I'm pretty sure I've circled the same ten feet of terminal at least six times, running my fingers through my hair like I'm trying to rip it out of my skull.
I've called. Again. And again. Voicemail. Voicemail.
That's it. He's not coming. He's not fucking coming.
"He's not coming," I say. "He's not gonna make it."
Daisy stands up. "Rava—"
"No. No, don't—please." I sit down on the cold tile floor with my elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands.
He fucking promised. He promised me. And I believed him. Why isn't he answering? Why won't he pick up? Did something happen? Did he change his mind? Did he remember that I'm just the stupid little kid he used to roll his eyes at and decide I'm not worth the trouble after all?
Or worse—did something happen to his mom? My hands are shaking. I don't know. I don't know anything. And I fucking hate not knowing. I just want someone to tell me what's going on. Just tell me why he's not here.
The announcement comes through.
Flight to Toronto. Gate 12. Now boarding.
It's real. I try to close my eyes and open them again like a fool. It's not a nightmare. Everything inside me shuts down. The world around me becomes pure static. The voice on the speaker, people saying goodbye, doors hissing open, none of it registers clearly anymore.
I want to cry. I want to cry like someone just pulled the ground out from under me and told me to keep fucking walking.
My mom wraps her arms around me. It should help.
It doesn't. Not even a little.
He said he'd be here. He promised. I pull away and look at her. "Did you try calling him again? Or his mom?" She nods slowly, with sympathy already in her eyes. "I did, sweetheart. You saw me try. There's still nothing."
I shake my head. "No. No, this doesn't make sense." I know Gio. I know the chaos, the carelessness, the rough edges.
But this? Leaving me like this?
This isn't Gio. It can't be.
I swallow hard. Trying to think of a possible reason why. He wouldn't do this to me. He wouldn't. But what if he didn't change his mind? What if something happened and I just don't know?
Ten minutes later
It's over. It's actually over. I'm standing. Moving.
Dragging myself toward the line, falling apart inside. My name's not being called. There's no sprinting through the terminal. No dramatic entrance.
No Gio. No nothing. He didn't come. He's not coming. He's not going to come. And I still can't make myself believe it.
My brain is still screaming that this isn't real. That maybe I missed him. That he's outside arguing with security or stuck in traffic or something, anything. But every step I take toward that gate feels like a nail being driven in deeper.
He didn't even say goodbye. I wasn't even worth a goodbye. I leave my family behind as I walk to the queue. They don't say anything. I think they can feel it too, that I'm not here. Not really.
It's finished. And somehow I still can't let go. Because it's Gio. And Gio was supposed to fight…
The plane smells like plastic. Everyone around me is either scrolling on their phones or flipping through safety pamphlets like nothing's wrong.
I'm dying quietly in seat 24A. I sit by the window.
Hug my arms tight to my chest. Maybe it's all some kind of joke, right?
Some twisted, cruel surprise Gio planned.
Maybe he bought a last-minute ticket. Maybe he's going to come strolling down the aisle and sit next to me and whisper something cocky like "Missed me already, Weston? "
Maybe. But then the plane lurches. We begin to move.
And something inside me just breaks. Because that's it.
It's over. It's real. He's not coming. All this time, I thought I'd accepted it.
That maybe something had happened and he'd explain it all later and we'd laugh and cry and kiss in the middle of the street.
But I was lying to myself. Because somewhere deep down, I was still waiting for him to show up. Still hoping. And now the runway is sliding past. The city is growing smaller.
Italy is fading, and with it, him.
My throat tightens. My eyes burn. And I cry.
Silently and desperately. I press my forehead to the window so nobody can see. But the tears are there. Sliding hot down my face, and I can't stop them even if I wanted to. I watch the land shrink beneath the clouds.
And all I can think is that I'm leaving without him.
I'm leaving behind everything I wanted. Everything I loved. And I don't know how I'm supposed to survive this. A part of me is still down there, on the ground. Still waiting.
I hold the notebook like it's proof that any of this was real. That he's real. That I didn't just dream him up, this man with his stupid smirk and the sexy smile.
It's black. Of course it is. Big. Worn. Covered in ridiculous stickers of motorcycles, flames, traffic lights, tiny racing cars. So painfully Gio. I run my fingers over the cover. Then I open it. The first page hits me like a brick. The handwriting is chaos.
Some letters are huge, like he actually shouted them. Others are small and messy, crammed into corners like secrets. The ink smudges in places. I start reading.
PAGE 1:
OKAY. First of all, I don't even know why I have to write in this dumb notebook.
Miss Bianchi said it's good for 'processing my emotions'.
Ew. I don't have emotions. I have muscles.
And I punch stuff. But fine. If I have to write, I'm gonna write like a boss.
Like a cool dude. Like someone who can ride a motorcycle without holding on.
(Not saying I've done that. But I COULD.)
So. This is MY notebook now. And if anyone reads it without permission, I hope they step on a LEGO and never find a good pizza again. Anyway.
Today was boring. School sucked. We had math first, and Mr. Lupo is such a nerd. He said I 'need to apply myself'. I told him to apply his face to a wall! Hahaha. I didn't actually say it out loud, but I thought it really hard, and I think he felt it.
Lunch was meatballs. I traded mine for chips. BEST DEAL. I'm a genius. Oh, also Elio fell on the stairs and said a bad word and everyone laughed, and I laughed too but not at him, just with him. (Maybe a little at him.)
My favorite part of the day is when I go home and dad's back from work. He smells like engine stuff all the time, and it's the best smell in the world. He's the strongest person I know. One time he fixed a whole car engine with just a wrench and some cursing.
He says I'm gonna be tougher than him one day. I believe him. He calls me 'il mio piccolo terrore' and that's way cooler than being called 'Giovanni' like I'm some fancy violin boy.
Anyway. I don't know if I'm doing this right. But whatever. If this notebook is gonna be mine, it's not for feelings. It's for facts.
1. Pizza is life.
2. Homework is evil.
3. I will own a motorcycle before I turn 14.
4. Kicking is not always the answer, but it usually is.
5. My dad is cooler than your dad.
6. I don't cry. Ever. Except that one time I got shampoo in my eyes. That doesn't count.
7. No one messes with Gio Fontana.
– GIO FONTANA
I laugh through a sob, covering my mouth. People probably think I'm insane. Let them. I keep reading. This is too good.
PAGE 2:
Okay so today sucked again, obviously. Mr. Roberto made me sit in the front of the class which is illegal. Pretty sure. He said I talk too much. I don't even talk that much. People just listen too slow. Not my fault.
Also, I stepped in MUD. Not regular mud. Evil mud. It got in my SOCK. I screamed a little. Man scream. Not baby scream. My mom said "Giovanni, breathe." I WAS. That was me breathing aggressively. Anyway. Everyone at school's acting dumb lately. Talking about crushes. Barf.