“Ren, Ren, Ren. Forgot your reality meds this morning?” I teased, making her laugh.
“Funny. Okay, saying a prayer for you. Keep me updated. I really hope you’re chosen. I know it’s a long shot. There are hundreds of applications going in from what I’m hearing, but I believe in you. You’re an amazing designer. You deserve a chance.”
Ren was fun, chaotic, and a total extrovert, but we shared a comforting common faith. God had always been a part of my life, even as a child. My faith came more from Mama than Papa and Enzo, but our family was grounded in that faith.
“Thanks, amica. Did you send yours in?”
“Nah, I’m happy where I’m at. Plus, I recently started seeing a cute guy from Ireland. Can’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he’s pretty to look at,” she said with a loud laugh. “When we open our own design firm, you’ll look back on this moment and remember how it all started. Oh, boss is here. Ciao!”
I hung up the phone and set it down on the table. Too nervous to stay still, I grabbed my laptop and dropped it off in my room as I quickly changed clothes, deciding to head out to my favorite place in Rome.
Lucking out and nabbing a parking spot near Trevi Fountain, I lockedmy car and joined the crowds walking to the famous landmark. As I approached, the sound of the fountain mingled with the rush of voices raised in amazement sent chills down my spine as if seeing it for the first time. I usually avoided the tourist crowds, but there was something about the sound of the fountain that calmed me.
The sight of the white sculpture of Oceanus, god of the sea, always took my breath away. Hidden among modern buildings was this Baroque-style fountain that dated back to 19 BC. It felt like stepping back in time as I moved through groups of people to stand before it.
It was unseasonably hot, even though it wasn’t near midday yet, and I could already feel the effects as I pushed my short hair away from my face.
As a curvy girl, summer wasn't always pleasant. However, growing up here, I was used to the humidity on warm days, and today was no different.
I watched tourists taking pictures and selfies, each of them doing the same thing I was there to do. Throwing a coin over your shoulder was a tradition that guaranteed your return to Rome. For me, the Trevi Fountain was my own wishing fountain.
Feeling a bit self-conscious as model-thin girls with perfect makeup and trendy outfits took photos and videos, I stepped aside so they could get their perfect shot, tugging down my shirt to cover my least favorite parts. Watching couples kiss as they stood in front of the iconic fountain, my heart dropped.
I’d developed early, which made me self-conscious when I compared myself to the other girls in my class. My parents told me repeatedly that I was beautiful, but a few crude remarks and looks of disdain from mean girls and arrogant boys were enough to convince me that my parents were wrong.
Why was it always easier to believe the bad stuff than the good?
Shaking off those annoying thoughts, I took out my coin and performed my ritual. With my back to the fountain, I closed my eyes and threw it over my shoulder as I made my wish.
“Let me find my dream job in a new city andsomedayfind true love.”
As my coin splashed into the water, joining a sea of other wishes, I turned with a smile and blew a kiss. I wandered around for about an hour, glancing into various shops before heading back to my car. As I drove home, contemplating the application I’d sent in, my nerves returned.
“Don’t know what I’m nervous about. It’s never going to happen, but a girl can dream,” I said with a sigh. As I got closer to home, I smiled atRen’s comment about starting our own design firm. One day, that dream will come true.
“Mama, how does carbonara sound? It’s too hot for much more than pasta,” I asked, rummaging around in the refrigerator.
Her muffled sound of affirmation came from her bedroom. She was determined to reorganize the closets —her usual summer project —and apparently she was starting in her bedroom.
Turning on my Pinguini Tattici Nucleari playlist, I danced around the kitchen. After putting a big pot of water to boil, I grabbed some farm-fresh eggs and Parmesan. After a smooth slide across the floor to Romantico Ma Muori, I heard an email notification. I ignored it until I finished getting everything ready, then diced the pancetta I had just brought home from the market.
I placed a lid on the pasta pot after adding a generous amount of salt, pulled a piece of Parmesan from the block, and checked my email. I was waiting to hear back from a small design firm in Ostia Antica, about 30 minutes away that I’d applied at since it had been weeks and I hadn’t heard back from Elena’s firm. Swiveling my hips to the upbeat music and humming the words, I opened my laptop.
My heart stopped as my email app opened and I read the words.
To: Victoria Lazzara
From: Elena Sala Designs
Dear Ms. Lazzara. We are delighted to inform you that you have been chosen for our new design position in San Diego, CA. You are required to start your work visa application immediately. We will help with that process to expedite…
The words disappeared as the shock hit me like an earthquake, and I began to scream. I ran around the kitchen yelling, which made my scared mother run out with a box in her hand, her hair sticking to her sweaty brow.
“Vicky, what is it? Did you hurt yourself?” she screamed, scanning me from head to toe.
“Mama! I’m going to California,” I exclaimed, before I could stop myself.
Her expression went dark, and the thud of the box hitting the floor, narrowly missing her bare feet, punctuated my mistaken outburst.
