This past week with both of them has been…an experience. They bicker like an old married couple when they think I’m not listening, and in front of me, they act like everything is mostly fine. Maybe some time without me will help them reconcile, or at least figure out how to survive a few days together without killing each other.
“I better get going,” I say, standing up and grabbing my bag.
“At least let me walk you to the car,” Gabriel insists, giving me those impossible puppy-dog eyes.
“Sure,” I laugh.
He takes my bag from me and walks through the front door, waiting for me in the hallway while I say bye to Zale.
“You’ll still be here when I get back, right?” I ask, roughing up his hair.
He swats my hand away. “Yeah, as long as I don’t kill your boyfriend first.”
“Come on, Zale,” I say quietly. “He’s not the same person that he was.”
He scoffs. “Then I’m sure he won’t have a hard time convincing me of that while you’re gone.”
When he looks up, he must see the worry in my expression because he lets out a deep sigh. “Don’t worry about us, Z. We’ll be fine.” He squeezes my hand before letting me go.
I meet Gabriel in the hallway, and we ride the elevator down hand in hand. He’s quiet, holding me close the whole way, and by the time he loads my bag into the car and hands over the keys, he looks deflated.
“Why do you look so sad?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“I’d rather be spending this weekend with you than with your brother,” he mutters, and I have to bite back a laugh at the uncharacteristic whine in his voice.
“If we’re going to have children together one day, I need you and my brother to get along,” I say, trying to sound serious. “We’re all going to be a family.”
“Your brother hates me, baby,” he says, smiling sadly.
I press a quick peck to his lips and pull away. “Well, you’ve got a whole weekend alone with him to figure out how to get back on his good side.”
I hop into the driver's seat and start the engine while Gabriel watches me, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he might melt right there on the sidewalk. I wave, forcing a smile, and drive off.
He needs this weekend with my brother just as much as I need this one to myself.
After tossingmy bag on the bed in my ocean-view hotel room, and texting Gabriel that I arrived in Varazze safely, slip into my swimwear and throw a flowy floral maxi dress over it before walking outside to check out the beach.
The view takes my breath away as I approach the beach. The water sparkles under the sun, and this place reminds me more of Saltwater Springs than any Italian coast I’ve seen so far. I’m not surprised to see surfers already out, riding waves that range from three to five meters, and I can’t help but smile at the thrill that stirs in me.
I walk along the beach, sandals in hand, watching the rolling waves. The drive here gave me a lot of time to think about how surfing has always felt like freedom, but maybe it wasn’t just the waves that I loved. Maybe it was the person I thought I was whenI rode them. I convinced myself that I was carefree and alive, but I was also running from responsibilities, and from the idea of being anywhere near Gabriel.
I still love surfing—I think I always will—but I’m ready to plant roots, too. I want mornings filled with laughter and pancakes, healthy dinners that Gabriel and I cook together, nights we fall asleep next to each other sprawled out on the couch with our children snuggled up on our sides. I want my family around me again. I miss seeing my brother and my parents everyday.
The thought of returning to Saltwater Springs after this year in Italy isn’t something I ever considered. But why stay in Hawaii if I’m not pursuing professional surfing anymore? I only moved there for work, and now that it’s done, it makes sense that I return back to that small coastal town Gabriel and I grew up in.
Standing here, in Italy, thousands of miles from the girl I used to be makes me realize that while surfing has always been the loudest part of me, it’s never been theonlypart. Giovanna must have seen right through me the day I met her.
She didn’t convince me to join the program because she thought I’d become some world-renowned painter. She convinced me because she saw how tightly wound up I was. How my life revolved around proving something to myself and everyone around me. Maybe Giovanna brought me to Florence because she knew I needed to experience a version of myself that wasn’t constantly fighting for first place.
A version that creates without needing applause from the outside world.
Or a version that loves without keeping score.
Surfing may have given me freedom for a few years, but it also gave me pressure. There were so many expectations to make it big, contracts to keep up with, rankings to fight for. But Italy has taught me that it doesn’t matter who I’m ranked against.Here, the only thing that matters is whether you let yourself feel the Dolce Vita, as Giovanna put it.
I watch a surfer wipe out and come up laughing and I can’t help but smile. I still love how the ocean feels like home away from home, but for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel chained to it. I don’t feel like if I step away, I might disappear for good.
I can surf, and I can paint, and I can do anything I want to. I can build a life with Gabriel.
