Chapter 38
James
The pizzas have been demolished, but the smell of marinara and basil still lingers around us. Tammy, Nina, and Maso have their heads bent together on one side of the table discussing the merits of each pizza, not knowing who made which. The truth of the matter is, neither of us really can take credit for how amazing it was because the sauce was Nina’s, but that little tidbit doesn’t seem to matter to anyone right now as they point to my empty tray on the left and comment on the crispy crust.
Ava is smiling at me, the only evidence of the sadness that just engulfed her presses against my forearm where her tears dampened the fabric of my T-shirt while I held her. My chest might have ripped in two when she broke down had I not been able to wrap her in my arms and hold her until the grief passed. I felt her pain so deeply that comforting her turned into comfort for me. And then, almost as suddenly as it began, the moment ended.
She popped right up after a few minutes and got straight to work on the dough. Her transition was so sharp it made me dizzy. It also made me a little nervous for her. It made me wonder if she ever truly allowed herself room to grieve her loss. I imagine after her mother’s death, her transition was just as sudden—that she treated life just like she treated the dough, pounding and kneading it into submission—moving forward from task to task with her elaborate plans.
“We choose this one,” Tammy says, pointing to Ava’s pizza tray with the tiny dent on the rim.
Ava’s mouth stretches in triumph, and I see Nina clapping out of the corner of my eye when she sees that smile and realizes that the American has me beat. Traitorous woman.
“What were the stakes?” Tammy asks, looking between us.
“None of your business,” Ava answers just as I say, “Winner plans Friday night date.”
Now all three of the judges are grinning like idiots. Maso shakes his head at me and mouths his favorite American slang, “You’re her bitch.”
“Alright, then, let’s have it,” I say and Ava shifts uncomfortably in her chair, looking at each of the people who should not be involved in our relationship but somehow are. “If you don’t have a plan then I’d be more than happy to—”
She puts up a hand. “So Tammy has a flight out on Friday …”
She trails off and looks at Tammy, who is still grinning at her like a lunatic.
“From Venice.”
She chews on her lip and looks back at me.
“Okay?”
She lets out a frustrated breath and then goes on.
“Soooo, I was thinking, instead of her hiring a driver like she did to get here, we could drive her to the airport and then you could show me around Venice.”
Wow. This is way better than my dinner at the botanical gardens plan.
“You want me to take you to Venice?” I clarify.
She flushes and nods.
“Can I come?” Maso asks.
All four of the adults say no at the same time. Maso shrugs.
“I’d love to show you Venice, Ava,” I tell her seriously, and her smile splits me right down the middle. I need some fresh air. Inside.
“I’ll clean up,” I say, grabbing the empty trays and heading for the kitchen, Verga right on my heels.
Venice. Bella Venezia. Better than that—Bella Ava in Bella Venezia.
Imagining an evening spent with her getting lost in shadowy, narrow alleys makes me want the week to fast forward to Friday. But then I remember that we have eight days left together and I want to hit pause here and now so I can watch her shaking with laughter from this kitchen window forever.
Forever.
It’s a ridiculous thought—a pipe dream—the same silly delusion that had me sending my portfolio to the owner of UK’s top magazine when I was younger. The same pathetic hope that had Nonna and me setting the table for my mother every night, just to put the plates and cutlery right back where we found them hours later. Forever isn’t real. Especially not for Ava and me, with her life and future across the Atlantic and mine here—with her departure approaching like a freight train. No one gets forever.
We get here.
We get now.
Everything else is a gift.