I look up at the underside of the white umbrella hanging overhead. I have not told James about looking up Professore Genaro’s actual address. He heard what Leo told me on Sunday, but I just haven’t broached the subject again. I don’t want him to think thatthis trip is only about my insane need for answers about my mother’s secrets.
“It hasn’t come up,” I say, just as our waitress stops by to ask us if we need another drink.
We both say yes at the same time and she inclines her head and turns down her lips—a gesture I’ve learned means “of course.”
“Well, I doubt James is just going to randomly ask if you stalked your mom’s lover,” Tammy says when the waitress heads back into the bar. “So I’d say ball’s in your court there. Based on everything I witnessed, I’d say James would have no issue tagging along—”
The table of students beside us breaks out into raucous laughter, and I smile and nod at a girl named Lily who sits in the front row of James’s—our—class and Tammy hammers on.
“—in fact, I think James would do anything you asked. He’s clearly in—”
I put a hand up.
“Please don’t finish that thought,” I tell her before taking a long sip of prosecco.
“The two of you are going to have to come to terms with what’s going on here,” she says.
I avoid her eyes and count the bubbles in my glass. Coming to terms is the last thing I want to do. Coming to terms sounds terrifying.
“Why don’t you push your flight back?” she asks.
I already did. I meet her stare and swallow down a huge gulp of prosecco. Tammy leans back in her chair.
“You did already, didn’t you!?” She laughs and smiles, shaking her head. “Good for you, Ava. Good. For. You.”
“It’s just a few days,” I say, sounding defensive, but knowing damn well I don’t need to defend myself to Tammy. It’s the voice in my head I need to defend myself from.
Her phone pings on the table for the thousandth time, and she lifts the screen and starts hammering away, her eyebrows pulled together making an angry little V as her thumbs fly.
“What does he want?” I ask, knowing that it’s Ethan texting her like crazy. At least they are speaking again.
She puts the phone down with a sigh.
“Don’t worry about what he wants. He’s thousands of miles away. Worry about what you want,” she says.
What do I want? Tammy watches me closely, awaiting a reply. She sees right through me to the other side of the piazza. Maybe she can tell me what I want.
“Did you accept the position at Grant and Stanley yet?” she asks.
“I did. What about you? Any news from the Brits?”
“Nothing yet. When does your job start?”
“September fifteenth,” I say.
She nods. Presses her lips together. And I know she’s holding back.
“What aren’t you saying?” I ask.
She lets out a long breath and swirls the ice in her glass with the straw.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want you to come home,” she says, and I laugh at the absurdity of the comment. “I’m serious, Aves. You’re different here. Lighter somehow.”
“Of course I am. I’m on vacation,” I shoot back.
“No you aren’t. You are a TA in a major university. You just enjoy what you are doing and who you are doing it with,” she says.
“I enjoy what I do at home too.”
