“Ciao, bella[XXIX].”
“Ciao.” There’s a faint sound of a door closing on her end before her voice comes through more clearly. “You still haven’t told me why you’re awake at this hour. It’s already Saturday morning for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes... almost six,” I answer, glancing at the sky. “The weather will be good today. I want to take advantage of it and go fishing for a bit.”
“Oh, I forgot about that fisherman side of yours,” Cecilia laughs.
I grin and walk toward the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the slope that separates my house from my family’s villa farther down the hill. Terracotta roofs and olive trees catching the early light, creating one of my favorite landscapes.
“Tell me how the graduation went,” I say.
I hear her contented sigh that hits me in the chest every damn time.
“It was a memorable day,” she begins, her voice tinged with pride and emotion. “Ethan gave such a beautiful speech, Alexander... Of course I cried. I knew it would happen, maybe when he got the diploma. There was no way to hold back the tears.”
She ends with a laugh, and I find myself smiling.
“You recorded it?” I ask. “If you want to show me later, just send it.”
“Yes, yes. I hired someone to photograph and film everything, but Colin recorded it too, so I can send it to you.”
My jaw tightens the second his name crosses her lips, a reflex I’m not proud of, but don’t bother fighting anymore.
“Of course,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “I’d love to see it.”
I make myself breathe calmly. I ask her for more details. Her voice is soothing, and I cling to that, not letting my mind wander into the places it wants to go. Places where she’s sitting beside him. Where he’s close enough to touch her. Where he might have put an arm around her when she cried. Held her hand. Stayed glued to her side the whole time.
Cazzo[XXX].
We talk for about twenty minutes. She tells me more about the ceremony, and afterward, about the trip she’s taking with the kids. And I listen to every word.
Eventually, we say goodbye. I promise to send her videos of Marina di Pisa once I get there with Sam, and she gives a light laugh before hanging up.
It’s with her laugh still echoing in my mind that I get ready and head downstairs. Sam is waiting at the bottom of the staircase, tail wagging. I kneel and rub his head, my fingers sinking into his fur.
“Ah,ragazzo[XXXI]...” I murmur. “I’m getting too old to be falling in love and feeling jealous like an idiot over a woman who only sees me as a friend.”
Sam barks once, as if he’s correcting me. I let out a laugh and push myself to my feet.
“Come on,” I tell him. “There’s nothing the sea can’t heal... or at least help you forget.”
I smile as I look at the picture Cecilia sent me hours ago, right after we ended our call.
She’s wearing a long, loose white sundress, thin straps, red hair, loose and untamed over her shoulders, her body turned slightly to the side... and she’s smiling. Smiling as she looks up toward a balcony overflowing with flower pots, colors spilling over the railings like something out of a painting.
The entire street is framed by colorful houses standing shoulder to shoulder, vines blooming across their façades. Calle de las Flores, that’s what she told me it was called.
They’re currently in Colombia, the second-to-last stop of their trip. We haven’t spoken as much in the past couple of weeks; she’s been soaking up every moment with her kids. That makes me happy for her. And for them too.
We’ve exchanged plenty of texts. Enough to keep our thread pulled tight, no matter the distance.
I’ve gotten photos and videos from Panama, Costa Rica, and now Colombia, vivid pieces of her days that she sends like she knows I’ll treat them as something precious. Like she knows I’ll look at every image more times than I should.
They’ll be on their way to Mexico soon—Tulum, she said—before finally heading back home.
I can’t stop staring at the way she’s smiling.
How is it that a single picture of her can undo me more than anything else in my life ever has?
