. . . a final straw
Sara’s itinerary planning is either something to be praised or something to be feared, and I’m not sure which one.
I’ve done more in these three days than I have in the entire three months I’ve travelled around Europe.
We’ve toured the Arena and the theatre, perused an art museum in a medieval castle and walked through so many different piazzas that they’ve all started to blend into one.
I’ve eaten my weight in gelato, focaccia and truffle pasta, and have frolicked through gardens so beautiful they made me feel ugly.
She even organised a day trip to Lake Garda, taking Paige and me to the exact spot where Richard proposed to her.
My thighs are sore from all the walking.
My bunions have grown bunions. And I’m sick to death of stressing to my sisters that I’m absolutely fine.
‘Keep up, Squeak!’ Sara calls to me as we march through the crowd of another vibrant piazza, mint gelato in hand.
I weave my way through the people and narrowly avoid a collision with a group of tourists who stop dead in their tracks for a photo.
My ice cream wobbles as I halt, almost falling off the cone, but I swoop to catch it with my bottom lip.
I can feel coldness spread to my chin and am suddenly starkly aware that my hands are too full and messy to search my bag for a loose tissue.
However, Sara appears by my side in an instant, fresh napkin ready to dab at my skin.
‘Can’t take you anywhere,’ she says jokingly.
I tilt my chin further up, allowing her to wipe the remaining damage. She smiles when she’s finished, lightly waving the tissue in triumph before turning on her heel and continuing her stride.
We veer off the piazza to a narrower street, laden with stone buildings, painted in a variety of earthy colours. I stand still for a moment, glancing up at the wooden shutters and railed balconies as I feel a wave of excitement run through my body. It looks just like the movie.
‘I think it’s this one,’ Sara says.
She glances up from her phone to point at a humble apartment building to the left of us. It looks pretty unassuming, but the closer we get the more my heart patters at the thought of what I’m about to do.
‘Yep, definitely the one,’ Paige says.
I follow her finger to the entry system and the paper rectangle that reads Club di Giulietta. It prompts a sharp intake of breath, both of them turning towards me at the sound.
‘Care to do the honours?’ Paige asks, beaming back at me.
I start to raise my hand and feel all my hopes and expectations pool at the tip of my now burning finger.
It shakes a little as I lift it and I feel a wave of shame at the drama of it all, but I cannot help it – this is everything I need to feel better about myself.
Behind these walls, there are letters from people all over the world expressing their worries and concerns when it comes to love.
Their problems are likely bigger than mine, more real; a stark reminder that the world is bigger than just me and my stupid crush.
I need this like water. I need to hold problems in my hand and help them like I can’t help myself.
I ring the doorbell and we wait.
A minute passes. Silence.
Another minute. Paige lifts her finger and rings a second time.
‘Maybe they’re all too busy writing,’ she says hopefully.
Two more minutes. I press again. Sara picks up her phone and starts typing.
‘Did you email in advance? The website says you have to email,’ she says.
My heart plunges through my chest.
‘It does?’ I ask shakily.
Sara tries to mask her disappointed sigh but it rings too clearly, echoing in the silence as we stand at the door.
‘I’m sure it’s fine; we’ll just ask if they have room to squeeze us in, and if they don’t we’ll book a slot for tomorrow. We still have one more day!’ Paige says reassuringly.
‘I don’t think that’s going to work . . .’ Sara is reading her phone screen once more. ‘I think they’re closed.’
‘What do you mean they’re closed? It’s the middle of the day!’ Paige says. ‘Okay, that’s fine – it’s fine. We’ll just have to come back when they’re not.’
‘Closed for renovations,’ Sara sighs. ‘It’s on their Instagram – they’re closed for the next few weeks and not opening until August. I’m sorry, Squeak.’
Her hand comes to my shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze of support, but I feel nothing. I am nothing as I stand in my place. A veil falls over my eyes and all at once, my entire world shatters.
I don’t know when I started crying or for how long, or how loud I am as I screech in the street.
I’m just a shaking, howling vessel of pain in a strapless top and a three-tiered skirt.
A hand flies to my back, guiding me to the floor as my knees give way and buckle beneath me.
My whole being trembles, gasps and screams out for air.
I can’t do this any more. I can’t pretend to be okay.
‘It’s all right, Am. It’s going to be okay.’
I hear Sara whisper as she cradles me in her arms. I try to focus through the tears for a moment, make out remnants of her terribly worried face, but it’s quickly washed away with new water as I sob uncontrollably, and she pulls me in tighter.
A hand gently brushes my braids out of the way so I don’t ruin them when they’ve barely had time to breathe, but I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything right now. I can’t bring myself to care again if it means ending up like this.
‘Paige, call a taxi. We’ll all go back to the hotel, you can get into bed, and we’ll get room service and watch movies. That sound good?’ Sara asks softly.
I can’t stop crying, my breath picking up pace as my chest starts to tighten in sheer overwhelm. I cannot believe this.
‘It’s closed,’ I manage to say. ‘It’s closed and I’ll never get to write my letter, and I’ll never feel better because everything’s so messed up.’
It’s all my fault. I should have checked their page properly, but I was too busy trying to move forward with my plans sans-Noah and act like nothing had changed.
But everything’s changed. Everything’s changed so much that I can’t even think his name without feeling my heart being ripped from my chest.
‘What’s messed up, Am? What’s happening?’ Paige asks cautiously. Her hand moves to my forehead, stroking it softly.
‘Everything!’ I flail my arms in time with my broken scream.
‘I can’t do this. I can’t keep seeing people when I know they’re not him.
I’ll just be lying and wasting everyone’s time like the horrible person I am.
I’ve already been doing it for so many months and I’m broke.
I’m so broke. 50K seemed like loads, but there are taxes and instalments and hotels and food and trains to pay for, but then late invoices . . .’
My shallow breaths pick up some more, taking the rest of my words with them as I devolve into shivers and pants. I’ve ruined everything. I feel a hand against my skin. It’s Sara’s, armed with a tissue as she gently dabs at my soaked, salty face.
‘I can give you money,’ she says softly.
I shake my head as my breaths start to calm. ‘You don’t need to. This is my trip and my fucked-up finances.’
‘And you’re my sister, who I refuse to let starve. Consider the money transferred,’ she says, whipping out her phone. ‘Now, who is him . . . Noah?’
I nod my head, which prompts them both to sigh heavily.
‘Amorie . . .’
‘I know. I had one job – not to fall for my cute travel friend, and I messed up and did it anyway.’ I take one big sniff through my snotty nose.
He keeps texting me about Nice. He keeps asking when we’ll next meet, because I can’t give an answer because I’m terrified.
I don’t know if I can be around Noah any more without being reminded of the brutal truth .
. . that while I fell in love, he fell for another girl and caused me to fall apart in the process.
‘Oh, babe, we’ve all been there,’ Paige says softly. ‘Falling for a friend can be pretty rough.’ Her hand moves to my back, rubbing it softly as she speaks. I close my eyes and rock into it, following each motion, letting it lull me back to peace. ‘Have you asked him how he feels?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t need to.’ A small quiver accompanies the words as new tears fall from my eyes. ‘He’s off in Nice with another girl, telling her how he feels. They’ll be so cute and happy and in love, and I’ll be . . .’
I take a deep, broken breath, blowing it out of firmly pursed lips. Sara’s arm flings round my shoulders as I lean into her, my head falling helplessly into the crook of her neck.
We must look like a state, all three of us sitting on the cobblestones, huddled together as I weep softly in the middle, but I don’t care. This is exactly what I need. With them by my side, the world feels a little less bleak.