Out of the small cabin window we watch the sun rise in full, our unexplored beginning. It’s a sky like I’ve never seen before, purples and oranges and pinks that swirl together like a mess of cotton candy. And I am swept away in it. This beautiful country and the majestic sunrise and mostly, as he pulls the covers up over us, Nico.
CHAPTER 44Four Weeks Later
Mari attaches my bag tagand tosses my suitcase up on the scale at Rome’s Fiumicino “Leonardo da Vinci” airport. We are fixated on the luggage scale as it hovers near the maximum weight limit of 23 kilograms. Mari gasps as the number settles a half kilogram under the limit without any recombobulation needed whatsoever. She turns to me, shocked. “It’s a miracle!”
I shrug off my feat, posturing like it’s no big accomplishment before breaking into a grin. I peel back one of my wide-leg pants pockets, revealing that it’s stuffed to the brim with trinkets: the spoon catchall for my mom, theBEWARE OF DOGtile from Pompeii, and a half dozen pistachio chocolates that are getting mushy from the heat of my body. I’m lumpy and carrying at least ten pounds on my person, which makes navigating security a bit of a hassle. “Didn’t even need to use Anya’s bag this time.” I beam, proud of myself, before I confess one small detail. “Nico did also mail a few things home for me.”
“We still have a month and a half left,” Anya warns. “Those pocket seams may not hold up.”
Almost like he could sense us talking about him, my phone vibrates with a FaceTime from Nico. I answer, and his bright face fills the screen. Anya and Mari pop their heads into frame, blowing air kisses to Massimo, who’s currently perched on one of Nico’s shoulders like he’s a parrot. Nico is cat-sitting until Anya gets the necessary vaccinations and documents to bring him home.
“How’s the B and B?” I ask. “Has a new batch of beautiful American women checked into our room?”
“Funny you should ask. They just checked in this evening. In fact, one called down specifically to talk to me.” Nico’s eyes sparkle.
“Is that so?” I perk up.
“Yes. She asked if I could fetch her arthritis medication from the pharmacy down the street.”
“Well, it’s good to know that I could take her in a fight,” I joke. “If it comes to that.”
“You two never quit, do you?” Mari pipes in.
“Lovebirds,” Anya adds.
“I miss you,” I say, ignoring their teasing. I wrap my hand around his pendant and gently tug, my way of feeling close to him when we’re apart.
“I miss you too, Soraya. I’ll see you soon enough.” Nico’s face turns to Anya and Mari. “Travel safe. You two take care of my girlfriend for me.” He offers up a final wave, and then he’s gone.
“Oh my God, he saidgirlfriend.” Mari looks like she is going to cry.
“He’s been calling me that for a few weeks now,” I say, laughing. “We’re really going to give this a go.” It feels nice, unexpectedly, to be dating—officially dating—someone who isn’t afraid of his feelings, who makes sure to let me know how much I mean to him and who doesn’t run when I tell him the same. I’ve spent so long trying tomakethings happen that I forgot that sometimes, it can be easy.
“Like we said, we’re just happy that you finally got to this point,” Anya adds.
“It only took a short flight and a whole lotta drama for me to see the light,” I say.
“Amen to that.” Anya settles into her chair, but then shoots straight back up, panic-stricken. “Wait. We didn’t use my mom’s hundred-euro bill!” She takes out the note from her journal and holds it up on display. It’s as crisp as it was three weeks ago.
I relax and grab her hand, laughing. “Anya. We’re barely halfway through vacation. The best is yet to come.”
Watching Anya tuck away her journal reminds me of Mari’s photo album. Despite knowing the answer will likely sting, I finally garner the courage to ask the thing I’ve been wondering ever since we left Amalfi. “What did you two do all those days we avoided each other? Did you do a lot of exploring?” I pause, swallowing. “Did you take a bunch of photos?”
Anya and Mari share a mischievous look.
“We’ve been waiting for you to ask.” Anya sits back in her chair, all smug.
“We did take some photos. Want to see?” Mari asks, pulling out the photo album from her backpack.
“Sure!” I say, way too cheerfully, as my throat clenches. Mari hands me the album and I lay it in my lap. Inside is the first batch photos we took together before things went south: in the Atlanta airport holding up our crocheted passport covers; a photo I didn’t even realize Mari took of us on the bus, with Anya’s face looking green; and lugging our suitcases toward the B and B a whole lifetime ago. There is a photo of us stretched out on our towels during the beach day, fishing with Nico, lounging on Aurora’s boat, me eating the lemon crème cookies with crumbs all over my lap, and even one of us in Pompeii.
My chest gets tight as I go to flip the page.
I’m shocked to find that, on the first page of photos without me, I’m still there. Anya and Mari must have taken the ferry to Capri, as they are standing on a cliffside in their hiking clothes, but I’m standing right in between them.
“We couldn’t leave you out of the memories,” Anya explains, taking note of my surprise.
“You were always there with us. In spirit and physically.” Mari grins. “Even if it was only in two dimensions.”
