Chapter 8 Well-Intentioned Cupids #3
An hour later, George limped down the three stories to Via Giulia, every muscle in his body suffering from fatigue.
He told himself to buck up. Bianca pulled open the building door, making way for a heap of sunshine splashing through.
George slipped on his sunglasses and came onto the street.
His cushiony new shoes were the best thing going, as she’d already warned him that they’d be walking everywhere.
He could use the exercise; maybe it would get him out of his head.
They stopped for coffee and a tasty pinza Bolognese, which was a doughnut with jam in the middle, then kept going. George hid his yawns. All he wanted was to be easy, so that she wouldn’t regret hosting him. No, he wanted to be more than easy; he wanted to be fun. If only fun were easy.
After walking through the University District, they left the city walls, crossed over a big road called Viale Giovanni Gozzadini, and entered Giardini Margherita, which she claimed was her favorite park in the city.
Fountains in a large pond shot water into the air in wide arcs.
The sun spilled through the trees, painting yellow lines in the green grass. There were worse places to be.
They took a seat on one of the benches that wrapped around the oak trees. George all but collapsed, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he said, “I don’t know much about steps, but I’m sure we did our ten thousand.”
“It’s a good thing we got some exercise, because I’m taking you to my favorite pizza place for lunch. We have a while, though. Italians don’t eat lunch till two or so.”
“Two? That’s dinnertime.” He’d forgotten this tidbit about life here.
“We’ll be there right when they open.” She checked her phone, then sat back. “So . . . I know you’re tired and never want to talk about things, and I should probably wait till I get a glass of wine in you, but how are you? I’d like to help.”
Her abrupt question punched him in the gut. There was nothing worse on this earth than making your kids feel like they have to help you. It should always be the other way around. He’d better head this off right now. “Don’t worry; I’m already coming out of it.”
“Right.”
“Seriously, I’m finding my way now.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Dad.”
He laughed. She was always the one who could make him laugh.
“There has to be something good about retirement. Isn’t it nice to not have to deal with all the Intel bureaucracy? Isn’t it nice to finally have some free time?”
“I don’t need a session, honey. I’m here for you.”
“We’re here for each other. C’mon, humor me. What are the good things?”
“The good things? Plural?” After they shared a smile, he patted her hand. “I don’t need to be analyzed or fixed. Your mom’s already done enough of that. I’m not taking cooking classes or knitting or whatever else it is. I’m going to find another job.”
“Another job? Why? You have enough money, don’t you?”
“Maybe I do. Who knows how long I’ll live, how much money I’ll need.”
“If you make it to one hundred, I’ll be there for you.”
Please, please don’t let me last that long, he thought to himself. “I have feelers out about some consulting work. Might move back into Phoenix, get away from the purgatory of the golf course.”
A brown bird with a white head landed in front of them, and they both watched it peck at the ground.
“My sun is setting,” George said after a while. “Let’s figure you out; what you’re going to do next.” Even as the words left his lips, he knew he’d crossed into the demilitarized zone.
“Figure me out?” Bianca said, her tone confirming that he’d breached the boundary. “I’m doing great.”
He sat back, chewed on possible responses. “You walked out on everything. Might be nice for a minute, but trust me, you need to get back to work.”
“And you’re the expert?”
How quickly their conversation had escalated. He did have over thirty years on her, but he forced himself to stop. On the plane ride over, he’d planned his angle of attack, even practicing what he’d say to her. Now that he was in the heat of it, he’d bungled it mightily.
Calmly this time, feeling his love for her, he said, “I get that I’m not exactly a role model, not someone you aspire to be like, but all a dad can do is hope he can save his daughter from learning everything the hard way. Sixty-five years is a lot of time out there hacking away at life.”
Bianca stared off toward one of the fountains on the pond. Was she listening with an open heart or grinding her teeth and wondering why the hell she’d let him come?
Whatever it was, he had to get the rest out. “You’re going to get bored fast doing nothing. If you wait too long, you’ll realize the world back home has passed you by. It might not be as easy as you think to rebuild your client list. Your friends will move on.”
She came back hot. “I didn’t put my world on hold back in Austin.
I have no plans to return. I might. Or I might not.
I might stay here forever. Or move to Thailand .
. . or try the East Coast. This whole thing I’m doing is not living in a paused world.
I’m taking a step toward living a better life, breaking free from this trance that I got pulled into.
And it’s not that I don’t aspire to be like you, Dad.
That has nothing to do with it. But I don’t aspire to work as hard as you.
No offense, but I don’t. There’s so much more out there. ”
George resisted saying, “You’ll see soon enough.” He saw the candles of his retirement cake again, the way they had turned into nails in his mind. He said nothing, though, because he knew he’d already gone too far.
She plowed ahead. “All I’ve done since grad school is go, go, go.
Where has it gotten me? I barely remember the last few years.
I want what the people have here, soaking up each second, living like they might not wake up tomorrow.
That’s why I’m here. If I run out of money, I’ll figure it out. But that’s not right now.”
George was incredulous. She didn’t get it, the millions of people back home who didn’t have degrees, who didn’t have jobs, who floated around without contributing.
He’d been so proud when she opened her practice and grew it into what it was.
It sounded more like she needed two weeks of sitting by the pool in Honolulu, not a year of whatever this was.
He looked around, the people so not like them sitting in the grass or circling the pond, the city’s skyline rising over the trees, so, so foreign from anything he knew, wondering what she saw in Bologna.
Okay, the food was surely tasty, and despite it being a crumbly old city, it had its charm.
But there was a reason the US was the leader of the free world.
Wait till a labor strike kept the trash from being picked up for a month.
Wait till the electricity went out for a week.
Or until she realized how terrible the pay was here, the job market, the economy, the government.
Sure, she and her mom had Italian blood, but they’d been born in America. They were American!
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.
“You know I support you. I just worry about you. Of course I want you back on American soil. It’s a crazy time right now.
What if we end up at war? We’re on the edge of World War III.
You’re not safe here. And not that this makes the argument, but selfishly, I can’t keep coming back over here to visit. I’m too old.”
To her credit, Bianca held back a rebuttal and soaked it all in. She smoothed her hands together, her eyes set on the fountains, her mind surely in motion.
She eventually turned to him. “Will you please stop trying to fix me, Dad? I’m not broken; I’m healing.
And you’re not too old. That’s one of the many stories you’re telling your subconscious.
What’s happening is that you’re lacking in purpose since leaving Intel.
And I get it. That’s so tough. But the great news is that all you have to do is find a new purpose.
That seems far more appealing than giving up. ”
She stood abruptly. “Now, let’s stop before it gets ugly.”
Great job, George, he told himself, as he watched her stalk away.