“James—” I start, but my throat is so dry it hurts to say his name.
Tell him.
My mother’s voice makes the first tear fall, but I shoot back at her.
Like you told me everything?
The silence in the guest house begins to swell like a fresh bruise.
“You don’t need to say it, Ava. I just want you to know. I’m in love with you—and if I’m being honest, I have been for a while. Maybe since that night in the courtyard—maybe before.”
He kisses a tear that has reached my jawline and I shut my eyes.
“I have to go back,” I whisper. And when I open my eyes again I know these words—the truth—is ripping through him.
“Do you?”
I nod. “Yeah. I do. Just as much as you need to stay here with your family, I need to go back. And I can’t give up my pl—the future that I worked so hard for.”
He holds my gaze and I can see in his eyes that he’s deep in thought, but he doesn’t share.
Neither of us brings up the logical next solution. Long distance. We don’t need to. Because long-distance relationships have a light at the end of the tunnel. A goal to work toward. An eventuality of landing in the same country so that you can be together.
That eventuality doesn’t exist here.
James looks down at my hand in his and then back into my eyes.
“Then I guess we better make the best of these last few days together.” He tries to smile, but the effort’s too much.
So I save him the trouble and cover his mouth with mine as he pulls me on top of him and I do everything in my power to show him how I feel without the words that I can’t bring myself to say.
CINQUANTATRE
James
I shift the camera so that the lens rests between my left thumb and forefinger. Maso flicks the ball up from his toe to his chest, down to his knee, back up to his head. I snap away, the huge grin he’s wearing lighting up the frame as much as the sun hanging directly overhead.
“Lose the camera and come play,” he says without pausing his juggling.
“My back’s bothering me,” I tell him.
He makes a face and kicks the ball my way anyway.
“Did Ava hurt your back?” he asks, the joy in the grin turning to something far more devilish.
I put the camera on the chair next to me and get a toe beneath the ball to flick it back up in the air without answering his pervy question—mostly because he’s right—I am sore from Ava. We’ve only left the bedroom for meals and passeggiata with the family. And I still haven’t had enough of her.
Honestly, I don’t know if I ever will.
The sting of knowing she doesn’t feel the same way reminds me that there are tough days ahead. She doesn’t feel the way I feel, which should make it easier to let her go—knowing that the love is one-sided. But it doesn’t.
Right now she’s in the guest house with my phone and computer, finally calling Tammy back and writing that email to her father. And I’m giving her plenty of space.
Massimo clears his throat and pushes a hand through his curly hair.
“You should focus more on getting your own life than what’s going on with mine,” I say, floating the ball his way.
He receives the pass effortlessly.
