Cammie sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry in the air in my direction. “Booooo. Anti-souvenir propaganda.”
I laugh for what feels like the millionth time today and feel another pound of tension lift from my shoulders. Our conversation earlier unlocked something, like a barrier that’d been blocking us from fully being ourselves in each other’s presence. The result has been an afternoon full of joking and talking with refreshing ease, both of us gradually finding our footing in this new-yet-old friendship. We saw a few more grottoes and other gorgeous scenery from the boat before Paolo brought us to the marina for some free time to explore Capri.
Cammie and I had lunch—caprese salads, which neither of us knew were invented here, and a few other small plates shared between us, washed down with glasses of sparkling water that Cammie insisted on drinking to be “like a local,” determined to train herself to enjoy it, even though she still makes a disgusted face after every sip. We walked around the narrow cobblestone streets filled with luxury shops and fellow tourists, and took in more views of the island and the sea beyond. And, once again, ate gelato.
We’re now killing time until we meet back up with Paolo in a few minutes, and while I don’t typically enjoy cheesy souvenir shops, I do enjoy how much Cammie enjoys them.
“What about this?” she asks, holding up a mug from a spinning rack of monogrammed Capri drinkware. Fittingly, all the name options are Italian—Giulias and Fabios instead of Emilys and Johns. The one Cammie holds says “Papa.” Her face istrying and failing to hide her amusement with herself. “Darkly funny, or just dark?”
“Is that the title of your memoir?” I ask in return, and Cammie gives in to the giggles again. I’m not really paying any attention to the spinner rack I’m slowly scanning, turning it this way and that, too wrapped up in thoughts of the girl I’ve spent the day with and how wonderfully normal it’s felt.Finally.
But suddenly, a woman is at my side, gesturing to a row of necklaces.
“You know the cornicello?” she asks in thickly accented English. All the necklaces in the row she indicates are gold chains, each of them strung with a red pendant in a shape resembling a chili pepper.
“No, I don’t,” I answer, perpetually wishing that I could meet the multilingual skills Europeans seem to have.
“It is an Italian horn, a token of good luck, found in Naples, Capri, and other parts of Campania.”
“Oh, very nice,” I say mildly. Cammie approaches with a curious expression, and I try to give her the uncomfortable smile of socially awkward people everywhere that says,Please save me. I’m not even sure if this lady works at the store or is just an overly friendly local who’s a big fan of the Italian horn.
“We do not buy the cornicello for ourselves,” she goes on, shooting a smile at Cammie before looking back to me. “A young man like you may want to give this lovely pendant to a beautiful young lady, as a symbol of your affection. We give the cornicello to someone we love, to fend off evil and offer her protection and good fortune—and so every time she gazes upon it, she’ll think of her handsome gentleman friend.”
There’s a brief pause as we all take in her meaning, and Cammie starts to say, “Oh, he doesn’t—”
“I’ll take it,” I cut her off, before I’ve thought through what the hell I’m doing.
Then, like the confident, mature, sure-of-his-feelings guy that I definitely am, I don’t make any eye contact with Cammie, instead catching the saleswoman’s knowing wink as she takes a necklace and goes to the register to ring it up. I follow her and pay without even having checked the price tag, then thank whoever’s in charge of my own good fortune that it isn’t a solid gold chain with an heirloom ruby cornicello and therefore doesn’t require me to max out my credit card.
When I’ve dragged out the transaction as long as I possibly can, I turn around to find Cammie standing there with her arms crossed and a curious expression on her face.
“You really didn’t need to do that,” she says, and it occurs to me that maybe I’ve embarrassed her or put her on the spot somehow.
“Do you not want it?” I ask. “I can hang on to it and, I don’t know, give it to—”
“No! I mean, I’ll take it. It’s not doing anyone any good if you keep it, right? Luck-wise.” She freezes. “Unless there’s someone else you’d rather…like, back home—”
“All yours,” I say, barely holding back the grin trying to break free at her nervous babble. “Turn around.”
She spins and brings her hands up to hold her saltwater-soaked, wind-dried ponytail out of the way. I reach around her to link both sides of the necklace at her nape, surprised to see goose bumps pebbling the skin there. I don’t think either ofus is breathing for a moment, and I feel the need to say something, anything, to get back the levity we’ve had most of the day.
“I just figure you can use the good luck, right, with this whole quest? Or the protection or whatever.” I give a short laugh. “Safety first, right?”
My fingers feel clumsy, the clasp too tiny to manage, but I finally get it locked into place and let go of the chain. Cammie turns, lifting the pendant between two fingers to inspect it from close range before looking back up to me with a smile that’s soft and sincere.
“Right,” she says. “Well, I appreciate it.”
Despite my best efforts to end our great day on an unnecessarily awkward note, Cam and I are able to fall back into lighter subjects as we reunite with the rest of our group on the boat. Exhaustion has started to set in for everyone, and by the time we set out for Sorrento, conversation peters out in exchange for a peaceful sunset cruise with the engine and waves as the soundtrack.
Back at the dock where we started, the captain ties up the boat for everyone to disembark, then hands us each one of his business cards with instructions to reach out if we need anything while we’re in the area. Cammie tucks it in her pocket carefully, and I imagine she’s relieved she didn’t need a reason to request his contact information, after all.
One by one, Paolo offers his hand to help each person step up off the boat, McKinsley and Victor first, followed by Marge and Graham. Then he gets to Cammie.
“Is that a new necklace from today?” he asks as her handslides into his. I doubt he notices the quiver in hers before their palms connect, but I don’t miss it, can assume she’s having some sort of internal Moment about the possibility that this is the first physical contact she’s ever made with her father. It takes her a beat to respond to his question.
“Oh, uh, yeah. West got it for me at a gift shop.”
Paolo gives me a funny look, a little tilt of his head and furrowed brow before he seems to school his expression into blank politeness. “Well, that was kind of him. I bought a necklace just like that once, for the first girl I ever loved.” His laugh is soft and self-deprecating. “It didn’t work out with us, so maybe I could have used some of that cornicello luck for myself.”
