Chapter 3 #2
I feel the weight of what she’s saying, and not saying, heavy on my heart.
I know she probably typed that message out over and over again, trying to put into words how her grief feels now that she’s on her own.
But I don’t want to push her to open up more than that if she’s not ready.
For now, all I can do is be there for her when, and if, she decides to talk.
Sipping my coffee, I log into my bank account and check the balance. Still nothing. A sigh escapes my lips as I gaze out the window that overlooks a parking lot.
This hotel is close to the airport, which means easy access for travelers, but the view is certainly less than stellar.
Today is technically a free day, since my call time isn’t until tomorrow.
It would be easy to order a car to take me into Rome and do some exploring.
But after Kyla’s messages, the idea of doing it alone isn’t very appealing.
Then I remember Sora, and her confession that she’d never left the country before yesterday.
While her nonstop talking—on the plane, off the plane, in the van, up the stairs, down the stairs, and up the stairs again as we lugged suitcases to my room—had been exhausting, her company had actually been pleasant enough.
That is, she didn’t annoy me…for the most part.
Deciding to sacrifice my sanity for the comfort of company, I pick up my phone and send her a quick text.
CHLOE: Hey, world traveler. Fancy a trip to the Trevi Fountain today?
I set the phone down to get dressed, but a response comes in almost immediately. I can’t help but smirk.
SORA: YES!!!!!!!!!!!
CHLOE: Meet me in the lobby in half an hour.
“It’s incredible,” Sora breathes, her voice thick with emotion as she studies the faded white limestone of the centuries-old structure in front of us.
The Trevi Fountain’s sunbaked statues lift high out of the shimmering blue water, and the rays reflect sparkling glints of copper beneath the surface. Pennies. Thousands of them. Wishes from every corner of the world.
The fountain towers over a sea of tourists, the crowd undulating as visitors wander off and more arrive to replace them. I’ve never been to the Trevi Fountain when it’s quiet—and while this is busier than I’ve ever experienced, there’s still something magical about the place.
Something romantic.
Even if I did just see a couple get scammed into buying a Polaroid photo of their own engagement.
“Do you think any of the wishes have come true?” Sora wonders, still mesmerized by the architecture.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. The last time I was in Rome I tossed a penny into the fountain—my back turned, with my right hand over my left shoulder as the tradition calls for.
But I don’t remember what I wished for, or if it came true.
Dad was alive the last time I visited. I imagine that whatever my wish was, it wasn’t heavy, like my wish would be today.
There’s no use throwing a penny in the fountain now, though.
Because I know my wish won’t come true.
“I mean, I’m sure some have,” Sora continues, breaking my train of thought. “It only makes sense, right? But probably not because of the fountain. Just, you know…life doing its thing.”
“‘Life doing its thing’?” I echo, tearing my gaze away from the fountain to give her a sardonic look.
“You know what I mean,” she grumbles. “I’m jet-lagged, leave me alone.”
I laugh. “I actually don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s just that some things are bound to happen simply because you want them to. You’ve heard of the law of attraction, right?”
“Isn’t that a movie?”
“What? No. Is it?” Her head tilts quizzically as she glances at me.
Of course, she wouldn’t know that movie; she would have been a toddler when it came out.
“No, I’m talking about the belief that what you put out into the universe is what you get back from it.
Like, if you think positively, then you’ll encourage more positive things to happen in your life. ”
That sounds like bullshit to me.
Mom had been the queen of positive thinking. Whenever something bad happened, she would always say, “It could be worse, right?” and Dad and I would nod along, like she couldn’t be wrong about a thing like that.
But no amount of positive thinking kept her from passing—not even two years after Kyla had been born—her body riddled with cancer that, by the time the doctors realized what was happening, left her with only a few weeks to live.
And then again, with Dad’s stroke and the complications that killed him, our prayers—to whatever deity would listen—remained unanswered.
“I don’t know, Sora. I think sometimes things just happen, whether you want them to or not.”
“You don’t think we control our own fate?”
“I think it’s…complicated,” I reply, frowning.
I catch Sora’s gaze. She looks hurt, but then she flicks her eyes back to the fountain, chewing her lip thoughtfully.
A few minutes pass as I think about our conversation.
I didn’t mean to offend her by dismissing the idea that positive thinking attracts positive experiences.
I didn’t even mean to disagree with her outright—because the logic is there… sort of.
But life is complicated.
Grief is complicated.
And sometimes I have trouble seeing the world the way other people do because of it.
Still, my stomach feels a little sick at the idea that I might have tarnished Sora’s first introduction to Rome.
It’s a magical city, and maybe sometimes it’s better that people believe in magic than be bogged down by the realities of life.
I let loose a deep sigh and look for a break in the current of bodies flowing past us.
“Come on,” I say, nudging Sora. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m tired of staring at tourists.”
She gives me a curt nod but looks happy to move on.
We wander through the sunlit streets of Rome’s Trevi district, ducking into shops and perusing menus posted outside bustling restaurants and cafés before finally settling on a trattoria tucked away on a quiet side street with less foot traffic.
The sun hangs lower in the sky now, and its hazy, late-afternoon rays bathe the entire patio in dreamy golden light.
Things get less awkward as we eat and chat.
I learn about Sora’s love of wine after she flawlessly orders an off-menu Chianti that I’ve never heard of, but the server seems excited for her to know about—it turns out Sora’s mother is a one of the top sommeliers in the country.
She shares her five-year plan with me, step by step (PA for a bit, become a producer, then eventually get into show development), and I smile at her confidence, because I, too, had a plan once upon a time.
I don’t say what I really want to, which is “Temper your expectations, kid. Because when you fail, it will hurt less.”
Our conversation revolves mostly around her and her life, but I don’t mind. It gives me the space I need to process the way my grief shows up when I’m least expecting it, over my dad…and my career.
By the end of the afternoon, I’ve learned a lot about this young woman who reminds me so much of my sister—and of myself, too.
Getting to know Sora makes me homesick, in a way. But it also makes me miss who I was ten years ago. And, if I’m being honest, who I thought I would be by now.