Chapter 25 What’s the Point, Duo? #2
She stopped and made him face her. “Do you hear me, Harold? You’re a good man, and there’s someone out there who’s lonely and sad and about to give up, too, and one day, you’re going to walk into her life, and the whole world will light on fire. Got me?”
“Yeah.”
She pulled him in for one more hug, and she felt so grateful to have him in her life.
Deciding to stay in Rome a couple of nights, Bianca and George found an Airbnb in the Trastevere neighborhood and were able to grab a last-minute table at Rimessa Roscioli for one of the best meals of their life, including a cacio e pepe pasta that came close to giving Bianca a new religion.
Such a simple pasta—black pepper, pecorino Romano, maybe some Parmigiano-Reggiano, butter, olive oil, and noodles—but a dish that took generations to master. What better captured Italy?
Cones of gelato now in hand, still high off their meal, they strolled to the Colosseum to see it lit up at night. To be here with her dad meant everything to her. She even wished that Faith were here, too, not to bring her parents back together in a romantic sense, but just for old times’ sake.
The good times really had been good.
The next morning, they both woke complaining about the firmness of the beds. Bianca had made the giant mistake of not reading the reviews beforehand. Unfortunately, the day they’d planned was not the best to tackle on limited sleep.
They went at it hard, starting with a hefty walk to the other side of the city to experience the National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art.
Some of the exhibits were a bit much for George, but he found a few that apparently captured him.
Mistiming the day, they had to skip lunch to connect with a group for a walking tour that an ambitious Bianca, who hadn’t yet known how bad the beds would be, had committed to.
All was well until it wasn’t.
By the time they wrapped up near the Spanish Steps, George was complaining about the new shoes she’d talked him into buying (they didn’t have the cushy soles), and Bianca was hangry.
Maybe the tour wouldn’t have lasted so long if George hadn’t asked so many questions.
What type of stone is this? Where exactly did they source it?
How did they transport it? Apparently, walking tours were his jam—and he didn’t even know it till now.
It was after three when they started looking for a restaurant for lunch, but with it being the last few days of June, the city was overly crowded, making for limited dining options. George’s meat-and-potatoes mindset made it even more so.
Deciding they might have better luck in Trastevere, they flagged down a cab, both sighing as they climbed in. It went without saying that they’d both be happy never walking again.
Bianca rested her head on the back seat and closed her eyes. She just wanted to grab a slice of pizza and crawl onto the couch.
But George had to open his big fat mouth.
“Can I say one thing, B? Before we get back?”
“What’s that?”
“I have a feeling about that guy. Corrado. Forgive me for saying so, but I do. You’re right, you’re all grown up, but I can still have my say, and the last thing I want is to watch you go through a divorce like me.”
Pressure swelled up around her eyes. Was he really doing this right now? “You’re talking about a guy that I’m not even dating,” she said through clenched teeth, then drew in a slow breath, held it for a count of five.
“Yeah, but I can see it. I see how this whole country is.”
“So this whole country is to blame? Oh, c’mon.” Another breath.
“It’s like anything new. It’s exciting, invigorating, inspiring even, but then you settle in and realize you might have been swept away for the wrong reasons.”
Fuck the slow breathing. She couldn’t believe he’d chosen this moment to attack Corrado, and Italy. Catch her on any other day and she might have been able to bite her tongue.
“I love that you’re suddenly an expert on life. He who is in his sixties but still can’t figure out how to be happy.” She didn’t give a shit if she’d hurt him. “What?” she said. “You fired the first shot. Did we not learn anything on our trip? What happened to the George from yesterday?”
He shrugged.
“I’m serious. Don’t you see . . . what you’ve felt since Venice. It’s not a romantic illusion. It’s the real thing, a way of life.”
He was silent for a while, then: “Look, forgive me. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Hopefully the cab driver didn’t speak English. Either way, Bianca didn’t care enough in the moment to let that stop her.
Her words came in an avalanche. “You’re damn right you shouldn’t have said anything!
And this isn’t even about Corrado. This is about your war on Italy.
And about me abandoning you and your vision of what makes life worth living.
Honestly, you’re the reason I’m here . .
. this misery of needing to overwork, to never stop.
You know what you learn when you study psychology?
It’s your father who’s supposed to give you confidence.
Guess what? You weren’t there, so I missed that bit. So I very often hate myself.”
He reached for her hand, opened his mouth to speak.
It was too late. She’d flipped her lid.
Swatting him away, she said, “And you know what I hate most about myself?” She paused, to let the next bit seep in. “That part of me that’s you!”
Her words seemed to freeze time, and despite her bubbling rage, she wanted to pull them back.
Her dad let his head fall and gave a nod. “Yeah, I understand.”
Her whole body shook. “Stop the car,” she said to the driver in Italian. Once the taxi rolled to a stop, she climbed out. “I’ll see you back at the place later.” Not even an apology was possible right now.
As he tried to say something, she slammed the door and let out a frustrated yell that echoed across Rome.
Bianca didn’t return to the apartment until well after six. She found George perched in a chair in the living room watching BBC. Sunlight cut through the lone window and painted a yellow line across the scratched wooden floors.
George pointed the remote at the television and switched it off.
“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing it wasn’t nearly enough. How could she ever forgive herself for saying such a thing to a man who’d dedicated so much of his life to making sure she’d be okay?
Setting the remote by the lamp, he stood and wordlessly held out his arms. When she went to him, she didn’t let go till she’d bathed his neck in tears.