In all the years that we spoke of Italy, planned my study abroad as she shared her memories, not once did she mention an affair.
“He was her art restoration professor,” Leo says.
“Can I meet him?” I ask without thinking.
Leo shakes his head.
“He retired from academia years ago to paint. Last I heard he had moved to Venezia,” he says.
I trace my mother’s figure sitting on the edge of the fountain in the piazza, her finger in the water sending ripples across the surface.
So many things that she never told me. But then again, she never expected to have so little time. No one expects that.
James’s hand slides over mine, and I look up from the image. His eyes are asking me if I’m okay, and I nod slowly.
“Thank you for these, Leo,” I say thickly.
“Prego, cara,” he says, then presses a kiss to the top of my head. I hear his footsteps make their way through the kitchen and out the door, but I can’t see much through the tears in my eyes.
The breath-stealing need to have more time with her is a feeling I know well, but right now it is swallowing me whole.
James slips his fingers between mine as he circles the island and wraps his arms around me from behind. I shut my eyes and hold onto him for dear life so that this wave of grief doesn’t sweep me out too deep.
“I’m here,” he says into my hair. “I’m here.”
And as I inhale his scent and lean back into his chest, my mother’s words echo one last time, then soak into my brain like syrup into pancakes.
Too late.
Too late.
Too late.
TRENTASETTE
James
The pizzas have been demolished, but the smell of marinara and basil still lingers around us. Tammy, Nina, and Maso have their heads bent together on one side of the table discussing the merits of each pizza, not knowing who made which. The truth of the matter is, neither of us really can take credit for how amazing it was because the sauce was Nina’s, but that little tidbit doesn’t seem to matter to anyone right now as they point to my empty tray on the left and comment on the crispy crust.
Ava is smiling at me, the only evidence of the sadness that just engulfed her presses against my forearm where her tears dampened the fabric of my T-shirt while I held her. My chest might have ripped in two when she broke down had I not been able to wrap her in my arms and hold her until the grief passed. I felt her pain so deeply that comforting her turned into comfort for me. And then, almost as suddenly as it began, the moment ended.
She popped right up after a few minutes and got straight to work on the dough. Her transition was so sharp it made me dizzy. It also made me a little nervous for her. It made me wonder if she ever truly allowed herself room to grieve her loss. I imagine after her mother’s death, her transition was just as sudden—that she treated life just like she treated the dough, pounding and kneading it into submission—moving forward from task to task with her elaborate plans.
“We choose this one,” Tammy says, pointing to Ava’s pizza tray with the tiny dent on the rim.
Ava’s mouth stretches in triumph, and I see Nina clapping out of the corner of my eye when she sees that smile and realizes that the American has me beat. Traitorous woman.
“What were the stakes?” Tammy asks, looking between us.
“None of your business,” Ava answers just as I say, “Winner plans Friday night date.”
Now all three of the judges are grinning like idiots. Maso shakes his head at me and mouths his favorite American slang, “You’re her bitch.”
“Alright, then, let’s have it,” I say and Ava shifts uncomfortably in her chair, looking at each of the people who should not be involved in our relationship but somehow are. “If you don’t have a plan then I’d be more than happy to—”
She puts up a hand. “So Tammy has a flight out on Friday …”
She trails off and looks at Tammy, who is still grinning at her like a lunatic.
