My father takes the pancakes off the griddle and piles them onto a plate. “She said it was a mistake, Coll. That’s all I know.”
“Which part?” she asks, echoing my father’s exact question.
“Can I have some of those?” I ask as my dad divides the stack into three servings. He brings me a plate and they sit on opposite sides of the table, watching as I pour syrup on top and start eating. “Can the interrogation wait until after breakfast? I’ve been in Europe for months and my body misses processed food.”
My father winks at my mother. “Well, at least we know the real Izzy’s in there somewhere.”
“We’re just worried, honey,” my mother says. “It’s been so hard for you since. . . since November, and it seemed like you were finally finding some version of happiness again.”
I glance back and forth between the two of them. “Are you serious? You were against this move from the start.”
They share another look. “I’ll admit we didn’t get it at first, but we were coming around,” my mom says.
My dad nods, concurring. “We’ve been so worried, Iz. We just want to see you figure out what’s next.”
I drop my fork to my plate. “I don’t know how many times I have to say this: Nothing is next. I am not meant to change the world. That burden should not be on me.” Thinking of Benito’s words stings. Thinking of Benito stings. I am thousands of miles away but it’s like he’s in the room with me.
My mother hands me a napkin and I realize in my dramatics I have splattered syrup all around me. “No one’s saying you have to change the world, but you can’t sit around and do nothing for the rest of your life.”
My dad laughs. “You don’t have to do anything great, but you will. It’s in your nature. You’ve been nothing but driven since you were a little girl, and even if you can’t see it now, you will figure out a way back.”
I push my chair out and stand up abruptly, the friction of the chair’s legs on the creaky floor causing a loud screech. “And why do you think I was so driven? It’s because you always told me I had no choice but to do great things. You drove into me thatI was predisposed for greatness, and then when I finally worked hard enough, when I finally earned the opportunity to do that, I crashed and burned. I failed. I lost. What was the point of all of that drive? What good did any of it do?” I take another bite of pancake because I’m working up to a storm-off, but I really am so hungry. “Why do I have to do great things? Why isn’t it good enough that I simply exist?”
I’m asking them, but I know that I’m really asking me. That’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? The person I most disappointed with my failure was myself. I went to Italy hoping to findil dolce far nienteand an existence that relied on stasis, but I wound up caught in Benito’s drama and saving a town from the brink of financial collapse. I told myself I was doing it to preserve my anonymity, but there was at least a small part of me that wanted to feel important again.
It’s not that Ihaveto do great things, it’s that I want to. I want to make the world better, and make other people’s lives better, but I’ve been lying to myself if I thought that was a selfless crusade. I wanted credit. I want my name to mean something other than “flamed-out, sex-crazed congresswoman.” I want to matter.
“Sorry,” I say as my parents both stare at me wide- eyed. “Excuse me.”
I run up the stairs back to my room. I know my dad’s right; I have to figure out what’s next. But right now, all I want is sleep.
Chapter Twenty
I wake a few hours later to my mother lightly shaking me. “Izzy,” she says. “Get up. There’s someone here to see you.” My mind flashes to Benito. Did he follow me here? I get up and brush my hair, changing out of my casual clothes and into a floral dress that’s hanging in my closet and is one of the few articles of clothing I own not hastily balled up in my suitcase. I anxiously head down the stairs, stopping when I see a male figure through the screen door. I look to my mother, who’s pretending to read on the couch in the living room. I take a deep breath and open the door.
He’s smiling at me, which is annoying because he does not deserve to feel any semblance of happiness in my presence. And it’s not really a kind smile but more of a supportive grin you give someone who you know is in crisis and you don’t want to add to their grief. I do my best to keep my face from showing any emotion, least of all shock that he’s standing on my parents’ doorstep.
“Hello, Levi,” I say. I open the screen door and he reaches out to hug me, but I pull the door back in, blocking him. “What are you doing here?”
He nods toward the front porch, but I don’t move. “I need to talk to you, Isabella, and you haven’t responded to any of my emails, my texts, my calls,” he says. “It’s important.”
“Unless it’s a matter of national security, I don’t think it is,” I say. “And if I recall, even then you’d be the one more equipped to handle it.” I’m surprised how quickly I’m able to summon my anger toward him, considering I was sleeping not five minutes ago.
Levi laughs lightly and tilts his head back. “I deserve that. But I’m serious. I really do need to talk to you.”
I look back to my mom, who’s fully watching us now, and she shrugs. I walk outside and lead him around to the side of the house. It’s where I used to take calls with Priya in high school about our crushes and all the drama, out of earshot of my parents, which also came in handy during congressional recess. “How did you know that I’m back?” I ask, proud that I’ve barely noticed how good he looks in tailored, expensive blue jeans and a gray shacket, his blue eyes popping out against the dreary backdrop of the June Gloom morning.
Levi rubs his hands together. “LA’s a big city but it’s a small town,” he says, adding an Old Hollywood transatlantic inflection which he does when he thinks he’s being cute. Like he can win me over by summoning the spirit of Jimmy Stewart. I debatetelling him now that I always found it cringe but was willing to overlook it. “Someone spotted you at LAX,” he admits. “It was on Deuxmoi.”
“Great, so everyone knows I’m back,” I say, but I’m surprised to find it doesn’t really upset me. Maybe after everything I’ve been through, I’m finally realizing that if other people know I’m struggling, it doesn’t matter. I get to feel what I feel, and they’ll just have to deal.
“Isabella, I’ve made a huge mistake,” he says, taking a step closer to me. I instinctively take a step backward, my back flush with the exterior wall of the house. “I never should’ve turned away from you,” he says.
“That’s an interesting way to frame it,” I say.
Levi reaches out toward me, and with nowhere else to go, I let his hand land on my shoulder. “Now that I stand where you stood, I get it,” he says. “I get how lonely the job is, how hard it is to go through it without anyone who gets it.” He lightly caresses my arm and I feel absolutely nothing.
I glare at him. “That’s not why I was texting you, dumbass,” I say. “I wasn’t lonely. I had friends. I was on top of the freaking world. I was texting you because I thought I was in love with you.”
