Once they walk away, I figure it’s safe to come out.
“Hey.” I kept missing Nico after we talked about the tour. The B and B is short-staffed—his mom had to take someone to the airport in Naples, so he and I were left to split up the tasks for the rest of the day.
“Buona sera.” Nico grins at me, blinking behind his dark lashes. He doesn’t tell me what Mari and Anya had been saying, but he does share some other interesting information. “So, I have some good news.” A pause, a hesitation. “A room has opened up, if you want it.”
My stomach sinks. This should be good news, but it feels like the exact opposite. I’ve loved sleeping outside. With him. Most days, I count down the hours to dusk, until we can meet out there and have an Aperol spritz or Persian tea while we watch the sky darken over the water. It’s been a respite after a messy few days—a messyyear—to talk to him about anything, everything while life passed slowly beneath the stars. No rush, no worries, and no fear, either. But I’m sure the last thing his mom wants is a strange American stowaway in their courtyard for all to see, and if I’m being honest with myself, I knew this wasn’t going to last forever. I plaster on a smile and force myself to say the right thing. “Nico, that is so kind. But I was going to tell you, I think I should probably try to talk to Anya and Mari.”
“Oh.” Nico slips the key he was holding back in his pocket, and I swear he looks disappointed. Had I missed something? “Of course. You should do that. It’s time you three make things right again.”
I swallow. It’s not actually what I want. But I can’t accept a handout from Nico, especially when I know how badly the B and B needs to book that room, and I can’t afford to pay for a second room just because I’m too prideful to apologize to my friends. “Yeah, it’s probably the right thing to do.”
“I have something else to tell you too. Look at this list.” Nico opens up his trusty leather agenda, to show me a list of ten names with six more beneath. “We already have a wait list. This could really happen.”
“I told you, Nico.” I squeeze his arm, but a pit is opening in my stomach. One day closer to making this tour a reality means it’s also one day closer to leaving—leaving Amalfi, leaving this B and B, and most of all, leaving a boy who has become a friend, a real one. It also means one lessday to make amends with Anya and Mari. I think about going up to the room, but the truth is that I can’t face them right now—I haven’t prepared anything to say.
So instead, I procrastinate. I tidy up behind the counter, wiping up imaginary crumbs. I find any menial task to do until it is late enough that Anya and Mari are probably asleep.
Eventually, when I’ve managed to do all I can possibly think of, I turn to Nico with a resigned smile. “Well, I’ll be headed to bed, then.”
“Yeah, I probably should too. Good night, Soraya,” Nico says, looking almost as disappointed as I feel.
“Good night, Nico.” I turn to walk toward the elevators, taking a deep breath once the doors open to bring me up to the third floor.
I stand outside our room, hand hovering over the doorknob. As quietly as I can, I slide the key in the lock and force myself to enter. Relief washes over me when I see the room is pitch-black and hear soft snores rumbling through the dark. I slip under the covers without even brushing my teeth to avoid waking them. They’re sleeping in the same bed still, despite my not being here the past few nights.
Almost like they’ve been waiting for me to come back this entire time.
CHAPTER 30
When I wake up inthe morning, sunbeams are shining on my face and the room is completely empty. Anya and Mari aren’t here, had vanished at some point without me stirring at all.
Gone girls.
An ache blooms. How much longer can we keep this up? This tiptoeing silence, this total lack of communication. It is starting to exhaust me. Even so, I force myself up. I have another staring contest with Anya’s cat, who now has a collar with the nameMASSIMOon it—another thing I’ve been completely out of the loop for. I sling my backpack over a shoulder, inspecting my face in the mirror on my way out for the day. I pull down on the baggy skin under my eyes—it is all purple and blue, a sight no eye patch has any hope of fixing.
Luckily, tour prep has provided me with a great distraction. I check my notes app for the itinerary I’ve made for the day. Some of the stops are of my own design, like purchasing the small trinkets that will comprise a souvenir bag each tour member will get at the conclusion ofthe trip. The others are more practical errands from the list Nico gave me, like packing disposable ponchos on the chance we encounter rain, and grabbing a first-aid kit—just in case.
I meander through the town center, stopping by shops that aren’t on the list at all to admire bowls and platters decorated with hand-painted lemons that would be perfect for the giant rice dishes with kebabs of meat that my mom makes for any family occasion, but sadly they are too bulky for my luggage. Instead, I buy her a catchall, patterned with vibrant floral motifs, that I can wrap in a thin layer of bubble wrap.
I miss her, I find. And my father, too. If I were home, I could talk to them about all of this—the trash fire with Wes, who still hasn’t sent a single text apologizing for how he behaved; the mess with Anya and Mari, who seem likely to ignore me if not for the rest of all time then at least for the remainder of this three-month trip; and these new, uncertain, very likely delusional feelings about Nico, who probably already has a girl he likes. Instead, they are five thousand miles and a whole ocean away, and even though the circumstances are totally different, I think I understand now why they would always refuse to tell our family back in Sari, Iran, when things weren’t going well with their visas or with the restaurant. I want them to think that I’m having the time of my life, that they didn’t make a mistake sending me off on my own. That I can handle being independent. But the truth is I’ve never felt less like a grown-up.
I check the time and do some quick math. It’s an hour before the restaurant opens back home, so I take out my phone to FaceTime my parents. They answer on the first ring.
“Soraya Joon!” my mom sings as her face fills the screen. Upbeat Persian music is blasting in the background, and the phone pans over to my dad, sitting at a table and rolling silverware into napkins. A steaming glass of black tea sits in front of him, lemon wedge hung over the side.
Dad leans in to see me clearer, squinting. Immediately he straightens, like something’s amiss. “Soraya, where is your whistle?”
“Dad, I can’t wear a rape whistle everywhere I go,” I sigh. “People will think I’ve lost my mind.”
“That’s the whole point!” He tosses down a roll of newly rolled silverware to punctuate.
“Ahmad, she’s on vacation.” My mom playfully hits my dad with a dish towel. “Soraya Joon, where are Anya and Mari?” she asks, craning her neck around like a giraffe as she tries to spot them behind me. The innocence of her question hits me like a punch to the jaw.
“Just taking a nap while I’m out.” I swallow quickly and tuck my hair behind my ear, hoping my mom doesn’t catch my eyes getting glossy. I flip the phone camera around to show off the landscape, hoping the awe-inducing beauty will distract her from this line of questioning.
“Oh my gosh, Italia!” Mom clasps her hands to herchest. “The flowers, the colors. I can’t believe it! It’s so beautiful, Sora, even from this far away!”
“I promise it’s even more magical in person.” I flip the camera back around. My mom’s face is aglow, and I wonder how something can be so far away but feel so close. “I really miss you guys.” Being here makes me realize how much I’ve taken them for granted. My newfound freedom can have some definite perks, but fending for myself hasn’t been fun and games all the time.
