“You know what I mean,” she grumbles. “I’m jet-lagged, leave me alone.”
I laugh. “I actuallydon’tknow 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 logicisthere… sort of.
But life is complicated.
Griefis 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 meso 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.
FOUR
Chloe’s ‘90s Hits, Now Playing:
BYE BYE BYE — *NSYNC
The hotel lobbyis bustling with at least twenty crew members when I make it downstairs the next morning. Black hard-shell equipment cases of all shapes, sizes, and conditions—though most are scraped to shit from being lugged across oceans and countless borders over the years—are piled up in mini mountains throughout the lobby, taking up any available space a crew member isn’t occupying.
I make a mental note to leave myself enough time before I head out this morning to bring my own equipment down to add to one of those piles. Production assistants will be busy all morning helping to transfer everything to the ship, and I won’t need anything more than a camera and some spare batteries for the next few hours.
As I scan the room, my eyes snag on the concierge behind the counter. He looks positively horrified at the state of his once-civilized lobby, which now looks more like a scene out ofJurassicPark.
