Chapter 31 #2
He cocks an eyebrow, correctly disbelieving my intentions, but lets it go.
I change into my pajamas before scurrying around the room and gathering what I need.
He takes off his shirt and pants before settling in the bed.
As I walk out of the bedroom, I take a last look at Gio, who’s already softly snoring in his sleep.
His arm is thrown across my side of the bed, almost like he’s saving me a place next to him.
I need to be somewhere else.
Calm down. It’s not that big of a deal, I repeat in my mind. Taking a deep breath, I check in with myself. As a woman who desperately wants to come first to someone, it still feels like a big deal to me.
All of the guests must’ve left while I lingered in the bathroom, because when I walk into the hallway, the house is completely dark and quiet. Breathing a sigh of relief, I weigh my options.
I could go back into the room and watch Gio sleep like some kind of lovesick idiot, or I could procrastinate.
I choose the latter, tying my robe around my pajama set and walking outside in my slippers.
Then I sit down on the bench in the garden and stare at the moon like some sort of forlorn actress in a low-budget soap opera.
I give myself permission to feel “woe is me” for a bit.
Breaking out my metaphorical, microscopic violin, a few tears slide down my face.
Given the privacy out here, I don’t bother trying to prevent them.
“It’s late, Tessa. Why are you up?”
I quickly look up to discover that Roberto has found me in the garden. More specifically, he found me dressed in a robe, perched on the wooden bench, softly weeping like a widow. I train my eyes back on the ground and lean forward a bit, letting my leftover tears water the cobblestone.
Maybe a weed will grow.
Roberto is quite possibly the last person I want to see right now. Encountering the father of The Boy I Like Against My Will while sobbing in his backyard feels very much like seeing your high school teacher at the local bar. Nice guy, wrong time.
“Oh, I just wanted some fresh air. Really, um, take in all of the, uh, nature before we leave tomorrow. Gio’s in bed if you’re looking for him. He kind of passed out after all the festivities.”
“No, I’ve seen that boy enough. Can I sit by you?”
I kind of want to say no. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Italians, they won’t let things go, and I won’t let my bleak outlook ruin my relationship with Roberto.
Maria told me her grandmother once held a grudge against her sister for twenty years because she made her vanilla bean panna cotta recipe without explicitly asking first.
“Sure,” I mumble, trying to open my mouth as little as possible for fear of my voice wobbling.
Roberto sits down next to me, nudging his shoulder against mine.
“You know, Maria used to hate me.”
“What? There’s no way. The two of you are so in love.”
“The line between love and hate is as fine as silk. Both are passionate emotions, and passion is the closest emotion to love.”
“What do you mean?”
He places his hand over mine on the bench. “To be passionate is to care. It’s the opposite of apathy. Apathy is where true hatred lies.”
I nod, absorbing his words. “Why are you telling me this?”
He pauses, not answering my question outright.
“Maria and I first met in school. We were students. I worked at the local market on the weekends, and every time she came in, I’d smile at her.
But she’d always ask other employees for help—never me.
In fact, when I’d walk down an aisle she was in, she’d bolt. ”
He chuckles, and I grin back.
“Maybe she liked you and was nervous.” I offer it as an obvious explanation, because it hits close to home right now.
“I thought so, too. So, one day, I sauntered over to her and said, ‘Ciao, Maria, it’s good to see you.’ And do you know what she said?”
“What did she say?”
“Maria said, ‘It’s not good to see you, Roberto.’”
The force of my smile causes my eyes to squint in delight. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “And I had no idea why she hated me so much. For weeks, I wondered what I did to offend her so badly.”
I shift my whole body toward him, fully invested in his story. “So, what did you do?”
“The next time she came to the market, I marched straight up to her and said, ‘Why don’t you like me?’ And she finally explained everything.”
“What was it?” I’m on the edge of my seat, totally enthralled.
“Her mother owned a floral shop. One day, she brought a rose to school for every student in our room. And she saw me throw mine in the trash as soon as class was over.”
I gasp dramatically, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Roberto! You didn’t!”
“I did. I picked it up with a tissue and tossed it in the garbage on my way out.”
“If you liked her so much, why not treasure it?”
He blinks. “Well. I’m deathly allergic to roses.”
My shoulders start to shake as he launches into his deep, rich laughter.
“It was a risk to accept it in the first place, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
I didn’t think she saw me dispose of it.
” He shakes his head. “She hated me for months when it was a simple misunderstanding. When I told her the truth, she felt a little guilty.” He pauses to lean in closer to me, like he’s sharing a secret. “So, I asked her out on a date.”
Winking mischievously, he says, “She forgave me, and the rest is history. I just had to muster up enough courage to seek the truth.”
Why do stories of the past always seem to hold so much meaning in the here and now?
Sometimes, when I’m with Gio, there’s this shared sense of confusion.
Like a comment one of us made doesn’t make sense.
Perspective changes everything, and it’s clear that whatever happened between us in New York two years ago wasn’t what I thought it was…
Gio isn’t who I thought he was. Maybe it’s time for both of us to gather courage in the name of honesty and new beginnings.
In the meantime, I wonder if I can seek a little bit of truth on my own.
“Hey, I have a question if you don’t mind. If it’s too personal, I totally get it. I probably shouldn’t even be asking.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know why Gio and Cara broke up? He seems really hung up on her, and I guess… I guess I was just wondering what he was like with her.”
Roberto looks confused. “Cara? Gio didn’t… When did he say that?”
“Well, sometimes when he’s sleeping or tipsy, he accidentally calls me Cara. Kind of a blow to my ego, honestly. Actually, do you have a picture of her? Or know her social media handle? I need to see what I’m up against. It’s a girl thing.”
His lips part in what’s clearly shock. “Gio called you Cara?”
My face heats. “Um, yeah. Embarrassing, I know. But my curiosity is getting the better of me.”
A wistful smile spreads across Roberto’s face and a light sheen coats his eyes. Shit. Did Cara die or something?
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s silly, really.”
He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes at his eyes. “No, Tessa. It’s not silly at all. His mamma and I hoped one day he would feel…” He trails off his English and switches to a soft-spoken string of Italian. He looks nostalgic in a way, almost like he’s recalling pleasant memories.
Seemingly remembering that I don’t speak the language, he stops talking and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
I frown. “I’m sorry I’m making you sad.”
“You’re making me happy,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes. “But you need to ask Gio. He should be the one to tell you about… that.”
“Oh.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. “Okay. I, uh, will.”
Over my dead body am I talking to him about his ex. I simply do not have the self-confidence for that right now, Roberto.
He grins, almost like he knows what I’m thinking. “Chi non risica, non rosica.”
I raise my eyebrow, tilting my head in question.
“It translates roughly to ‘nothing risked, nothing gained.’”
He gives my shoulder a squeeze before standing up. Guilt consumes me, and my conscience won’t let me do anything else but confess.
“Roberto, Giovanni and I aren’t actually—”
He cuts me off. “Now, now. You don’t have to explain your relationship to me. Whatever happens with you and my Gio, you’re family now. My daughter.”
He holds out his arms. I blink at him as my eyes well up with fresh tears. They’re not sad tears, but not quite happy tears either. A bittersweet middle ground, one where I mourn a father that exists but never wanted me and relish the warmth of one who gives me advice like I belong to him.
When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “Silent pain hurts us most. Share it with me.”
Roberto doesn’t wait for me to stand. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and hoists me up in a firm hug.
For a moment, I let myself believe him. I indulge myself and dream of a reality in which we do stay in touch. I picture us on video calls, chatting about Giuseppe the pigeon. I fantasize about overhearing him bicker with Maria and what pranks or mischief we’d pull over on Gio next.
But, until I hear it from Gio, it might all be an illusion. If it is, when Gio and I return to New York, my relationship with his family will die, too. It’s a natural, circle-of-life event that’s unavoidable. And, out of all the things I’ve agreed to pretend, this is one that I just… can’t.
I eye the night sky and marvel at the stars, which appear brighter than any I’ve ever seen. My bones begin to ache from squeezing him so tightly, so I loosen my hold and we both sigh.
“My papa used to sing me an Italian lullaby. One of the verses is about the moon. It calls on the moon to be your guiding light, and encourages you to dream of the sun and the blue sea, and you’ll be safe. I used to sing it to Gio before bed. Why don’t I sing it to you?”
I wipe a stray tear off my chin and nod.
He slowly, softly sings in Italian, his voice barely rising above the soft hoots of owls in the trees. I stand beside him and soak in the melody, thinking about how hard it would be to let all of this go.