“Yes or no?”
“Maybe . . . I don’t know . . . two more minutes.”
I can last two minutes thinking about some very boring things: documentaries on armadillos, car servicing, London tube stops ...
“Is there someone going at it in that old hut?!” a young male voice exclaims from afar. “Get a hotel!”
A thin female voice giggles.
“Maybe we should stop,” says Elisa, breathless.
The two silhouettes, which are holding hands, move away in the direction of the swings, so Elisa and I take the chance to recompose ourselves.
“Do you think it’s a bad sign that we always get interrupted?” she asks me.
“I really hope not, but it’s for the best. I don’t think I would have given the greatest performance in this setting.”
“Who was that?” she asks me, buttoning her blouse.
“Did you see?”
“No, but judging by how they’re kissing on the swings, it seems we’ve inspired them.”
We’re about to leave our cave of sins, when Elisa freezes. “That’s Linda!” she says, elbowing me in the gut.
“Linda?”
“Yes, my daughter!”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s the top my sister got her. I restrained myself earlier, but it’s time to put an end to this.”
She’s ready to sprint over, but I grab her by the waist of her jeans.
“She’ll know her mother was the one getting it on in a public park.”
“And my lecture will have no credibility since I made a fool of myself and my daughter would feel entitled to do the same?”
“I’m not exactly a psychologist, but yeah, sounds about right.”
“So what should I do?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
“Nothing?” she asks, astonished. “I should just let my daughter be seduced by that cheap Casanova?”
“I know him.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. You know Linda and I have been speaking English for an hour every day, right? Well, he joined us last week. He’s a good guy, all things considered. He has a good head on his shoulders, the attention span of a steamed sea bass, and an unmistakable Tuscan accent. He keeps his lips pressed together to hide his braces, and when he laughs, he hides his mouth with his hand, because even though he acts tough, he’s insecure to the core—except that girls don’t know this and they go crazy for fake tough guys,” I explain, hoping to reassure her. “He’s harmless.”
“Harmless? He doesn’t seem like it to me.”
“It’s just a first kiss. Your daughter will write it in her diary with a little heart around the date, and in two weeks it’ll be a thing of the past.”
“First of all, today’s teenagers don’t keep diaries, and second, you’re wrong. After first kisses come first pets, after first pets come first times, and after the first few times you get pregnant like I did.”
