Chapter 16 Lost Pieces of You #3
It wasn’t the fear of being in debt, more the fear of college in general.
He hated school. Why endure more of it? He already saw a scenario where he was the geeky lone wolf of his dorm, getting picked on for countless reasons, thrown into a dumpster or whatever else they did to losers.
He didn’t like leaving his mom either. They were best friends and had learned to survive together.
She certainly wasn’t pushing him out the door, likely for the same reason. They still needed each other.
Honestly, it was all too much: picking a school, a career, leaving his mom, trying to go it alone. The easier play had been to stay at home, get an hourly job, and buy some time till he felt more enthusiastic about becoming an adult.
What he hadn’t planned on was how each month that passed shot him further away from ever going to college and making something better of himself.
In the afternoon, Harold dressed in another new outfit—sharp collars and flashy colors—coming alive as Aroldo, and walked—no, strutted—to Renzo’s place.
He wasn’t sure when Alice finished her classes, so he took the same table where he’d sat last time and kept an eye on the entrance while reading Bianca’s book and sipping sparkling water.
(Aroldo did not drink acqua naturale; he drank acqua frizzante.)
That Peggy Meh was a mess, even more so than Harold. Today he read about finding the courage to live loudly, to leave burn marks. When he closed the book to take a break, he felt validated. Aroldo was definitely living loudly.
Deciding to stretch his legs, Aroldo dipped into a gallery, and in the spirit of leaving burn marks, spent ten minutes haggling with the owner over a $20,000 painting that he very much liked. “I’ll give you ten.”
“Eighteen is as low as I can go.”
“Twelve.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Thank you for your time.” Aroldo knew about art, and he wouldn’t be taken advantage of. The fact of not having even $100 that he could spare for a painting didn’t matter to a guy like him.
That night, he sat at an outdoor table of Sorso Sospetto, remembering Alice there with him, his strawberry love stirring her Aperol spritz and gazing into his eyes across the table. If what they had wasn’t love, then love didn’t exist at all.
He cracked open Love Lessons, a collection of translated Alda Merini poems that Moira had insisted he read. Harold resisted giving the words their fair shake, but Aroldo dove in, reading both the Italian and the English versions, saying the words to himself slowly, feeling their rhythm.
The Alice-and-Harold situation was a planet off its axis, a moon out of orbit.
And with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the Merini book resting on his lap, Harold closed his eyes and imagined reaching a hand into the solar system and rearranging the planets and stars so that Alice would come back to him and that all the wrongs would be righted and that the cavernous hole in his soul would once again be filled.
On June 5, he entered the bookstore with more confidence than he’d ever known. Perfectly tailored khakis, an Oxford shirt, and a slight mustache—a Timothée Chalamet sort of thing. He’d purchased a gold watch that was entirely too expensive, but it shone mightily on his wrist.
From behind the cash register, Sandy gave a soft clap, cheering him on. “Look at you.”
He ran a hand through his hair and thanked her.
“Have you been practicing your steps?”
He grinned. “Every day. Are we on for tonight?”
She looked pleasantly surprised. “I’ll meet you outside at five forty-five.”
He tapped on the counter. “I look forward to it.” These little gestures, the tapping on the counter, the winks, they amplified Aroldo’s confidence.
“Everyone’s in the back; they’re about to start. I’m sure Moira will be grateful you came.”
“How’s the turnout?” he asked.
“About fifteen people. Better than I expected.”
Aroldo took a breath, holding on to the man he’d become, then strutted under the arch to the main room, where book clubbers mingled around a table of food and bottles of wine.
He knew he looked good, but the shock on Moira’s face was enough to rattle even Aroldo. “Oh, my God, is that Harold? You look so handsome.” She kissed both his cheeks. “You look dashing.”
“Thank you, dear. As do you.” He’d noticed she dressed in a lot of black and white, a black skirt, white top today, trying to hide in plain sight. Still, he found her adorable, perhaps even titillating in her attempt at muting herself.
“And I appreciate you coming. Not exactly the turnout I hoped, but . . .” She turned back to look at the people gathered. “It’s a start.”
“I’m delighted to be here,” he said. “And proud of you too. It’s something Alice would have done, going out on a limb. I know she’d love to be here. It’s her kind of thing.”
“Yeah, well, I hope one day she walks in with you.”
He thought of seeing Alice kiss Renzo’s lips this morning on his way to work. “As do I.”
“If not, there’s someone even better out there waiting for you.” She adjusted her glasses, a ball of nerves. “Okay, I better get this thing started.”