“I may end up regretting this trip,” Frank says.
“Party poopers.” Huan bursts out laughing. “See what I did there? Okay, that fancy marble shower is calling my name. But first, take my picture.”
After eating way too much at the hotel breakfast the next morning, we set out with our itineraries in hand. We head back to St. Mark’s Square first so we can get in the front of the line for the basilica and Doge’s Palace. I send photos to Will as we walk. Then we head west for the Guggenheim. Dev recognizes half the art and takes the rest of us around like we’re on a guided tour. In fact, a few clueless tourists trail us for a bit. By the time we’re done, my head is spinning.
“Okay, next up is the Accademia Gallery,” he announces.
Huan and Frank exchange glances.
“That sounds great and all, but maybe we could do something a little less... cultured?” Huan asks. “Like shop for cheap souvenirs?”
Dev groans.
“Yeah, we’ve seen enough art to last us a year. I’m knackered,” Frank replies.
“I could do with a slice of pizza,” Huan adds.
“Plus, I promised Sage we’d save some of this for when she gets here,” I reply. “You know she’s not going to want to shop for Venetian masks.”
“Damn, I hate it when you’re right.”
“Your heart must be full of hate, then.”
Dev snorts but doesn’t argue, so we head over to a small open-airmarket. I snap a selfie in a sequined masquerade mask for Will, but he only replies with a quick laughing emoji. His father must be keeping him busy because I haven’t heard much from him all day.
Frank and Huan leave to get lunch alone and I find a glass rose that’ll be perfect for Mom. Dev is nowhere to be seen. It reminds me of when we were all at the flea market together and Dev left only to return with a pamphlet for Quidditch shoved in his pocket. What’s he snuck off to find now? Maybe there’s an Italian team?
Someone touches my elbow and I spin. Dev is in front of me, practically vibrating with excitement. “Come with me!”
We push through the crowds, but there are so many people that I can’t keep up with him. He reaches back and takes my hand. It isn’t lost on me that this is the second time we’ve held hands in as many days, but I brush it off. We’re notholding hands. We’re just ensuring that we don’t get swallowed alive by the horde.
Dev pulls me down a narrow alley and stops, triumphant, in front of a small shop. One look and my hands are over my heart. It’s a miniature fantasy world in glass. Tiny trees and flowering bushes. Herds of unicorns in white, pink, and blue. Tiny fairies with wings so thin you can see through them. Each figure is so small, I can’t imagine how anyone could make such a thing.
I look up at him. “It’s... everything.”
“Yeah, pretty much. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to rush back to get you. It basically screams Ellie.” He waves me closer to the window. “Let me get a photo of you.”
He takes a few and then we go back to studying each piece. I expect him to get restless, but he seems as interested as I am. Iguess this is artwork, like anything else we saw this morning.
“Let’s go inside. Maybe you can find something for your fairy gardens?”
I nod, eager to see more, but I can’t imagine I can afford anything here. Some of the glasswork out in the stalls was reasonably priced, but this is a specialty store directly from Murano and it’s clearly pricey. Sure enough, the unicorns and fairies are forty euros or more. Way more than I can afford.
“What about this?” Dev holds up a red toadstool. It’s tiny—shorter than my pinkie finger—but it’s beautiful. And it’s only ten euros.
“Perfect.”
After I buy it, Dev and I wander down more streets, pointing out window displays and reveling in the fact that we’re here. Eventually he gets caught up looking at small pieces of art for sale. I try calling Will but it goes straight to voice mail. Next I call Mom to wish her a happy Thanksgiving. It’s hard to believe that millions of people back in America are sitting down to turkey and football right now. A lump forms in my throat as she describes her favorite cheesy floats from this year’s Macy’s Day Parade. This is the first holiday I’ve ever spent away from her.
“When you get home, we’ll pick a Saturday and make an entire Thanksgiving feast. It’ll be like you never missed it,” she says, sensing my melancholy.
“That sounds wonderful.”
“I miss you. But you’ll be back home before you know it. For now, soak in every second of Italy.”
I wish we could celebrate Thanksgiving at one of the gorgeous waterside cafés, but I’d need Will-level money for that. So instead we meet back up with Frank and Huan, grab huge slices of pizza from a sidewalk vendor, and head back toward the Grand Canal.
Dev’s chomping on pizza and talking with them about an older James Bond movie that was filmed here.
