“Okay, you snoop, watch it.” Her laugh turns into a wistful sigh. “But of course that’s one of the hardest parts of this whole thing. Wondering what could have been, had he just gotten my letter. Kicking myself for not, I don’t know, trying to follow up in person when I thought he’d dumped me by proxy. Though he skipped town so quickly, it would have been tough, but I could have tried harder. I was just heartbroken, thinking he’d left me, and left you, and the one person I thought was really it for me had turned out to be the biggest letdown of them all. That’s an awful feeling, and the would’ve, should’ve, could’ves will probably haunt me for, oh, forever.” She has to pause, her voice wobbling as she gets a hold of her emotions. “But we’re all going to have to live with that and figure out how we go forward now, you know?”
She’s voiced many of the same thoughts I’ve had in the last twelve-ish hours. Moving forward feels daunting, terrifying, and, okay, kind of thrilling.
“My turn to ask you a question,” Mom begins. “Camilla Lovett…you just found your biological father, against all odds and the nefarious machinations of a fake-Italian sociopath. What are you going to do next?”
I scrunch my nose. “Go to Disney World?”
Mom makes a buzzer sound. “Try again. Pretend either of us is capable of dealing with serious, completely life-altering matters without using humor to mask our real feelings. When you first decided you wanted to find your dad, what were you hoping would come next?”
I think about it before answering slowly, carefully, like I’m unsure yet how high I can aim. “I loved to imagine that he would be thrilled to meet me, and we’d have a relationship, as wildly unlikely as that seemed. But as we’ve already established, the wildest possibilities I thought of don’t even touch the reality. So I guess…” I take my lower lip between my teeth, biting back the truth for a few last moments before setting it free. “I guess I hope that Luca is game for getting to know each other, and, I don’t know, we go from there.”
She gives me a soft, encouraging smile, and I see the tears welling up again in her blue eyes that are so like my own. And notunlike Luca Goedhart’s.
“Okay,” she says, barely a whisper. “I support you, Cam. Whatever you want, I want to do what I can to give that to you. And Luca…” She sighs, the sound of it doing nothing to dispel my suspicion that she still has the hots for my long-lostdad, all this time later. “He has no idea how lucky he is to get the chance to know you. But he will very soon. I’m sure of it.”
In a turn of events I absolutely did not see coming this summer, let alone only twenty-four hours after learning my dad’s identity, I think he and my mom are on a date.
“It’s not a date,” she told me while she put on a dress that I had definitely never seen before. I’m shocked she even packed it for her time here, most of which has been spent digging in the dirt, walking through the dirt, covered at any given moment in dirt. But she wasn’t tonight, when she set off in her slinky cocktail dress.
“It’s not slinky” had been her retort when I referred to it as such in front of her. More denial of reality. She’s even wearing perfume; I didn’t know she owned perfume.
Now that she’s left me behind, I’m wandering Villa Russo like the ghost of a woman scorned here or something. The word around the residence hall is that John Mark has fled the premises, and his resignation from his role as director is anticipated any time now. I didn’t realize, until I found out he was gone, that I’m much more comfortable knowing I won’t turn a corner to find him looming there, all creepy and angry-eyed.
I’m not sure what to do with myself, since I’m still frustrated with West and how he handled telling me about Germany. He was doing the whole “I don’t know if I can be what youdeserve” bullshit again, and I hate that. He needs to get it through his beautiful, apparently brainless head that he is exactly who I want, exactly as he is.
But that would probably be a more effective message to deliver when I can do it without sounding so angry. Still, I need to assure myself he’s okay. Not having heard any sounds in his room when I stopped by, I head to the library, where I find the door ajar and voices drifting out to the hall.
Dr. Danny and West.
Apparently I haven’t quite learned my lesson when it comes to eavesdropping, because I tiptoe closer, nearly pressing my ear to the door. They’re discussing…is that math terminology?
“Okay, I know what ‘linear’ means and I know what ‘algebra’ means—well, sort of—but it’s when you put them together that you lose me,” Dr. Danny cracks with a laugh.
I tiptoe back the way I came, a reluctant smile spreading across my face. God, does West come by his weirdness naturally. But if they’re talking about one of his very favorite things in the world, he can’t be doing too badly. The thought settles my mind enough that I return to my room, ready to queue up a comfort show and get some sleep.
I shut off my phone when I crawl into bed, starting up some episodes ofThe Great Pottery Throw Down. What could be more therapeutic than watching Judge Keith be moved to tears by the beauty of a well-made teapot? I certainly can’t think of anything.
But when I fall asleep, instead of visions of ceramics dancingin my head, the only thing occupying my mind is West, the need to feel his arms around me like it’s been a year and not a day since I felt them.
When I wake up in the morning, it’s to drool running down my chin and the mildly passive-aggressive “Are you still watching?” pop-up message on my computer screen. But I feel surprisingly refreshed. Even if West hasn’t tried to talk to me again, I’m ready to talk to him.
With a calm, can-do spirit, I set out on another West Quest.
He’s not in his room or the library. But more concerningly, all the furniture that he moved for his optimal computer hyperfocus zone comfort has been moved back to the original layout he’d described. It’s like his presence, which felt as essential to this room as the shelves lined with books, was erased overnight.
I don’t know where else to look, so I return to my strategy of wandering the halls, checking behind all the open doors, jump-scaring a few miscellaneous Villa Russo staff in the process.
“Mi dispiace,” I murmur, only half certain it’s the actual term for “I’m sorry.” I let my LingoLegend streak lapse on day two in Italy and haven’t returned to it since.
I give West’s room one more try—this time, withfeeling. “West!” I call out as I knock. “Weston Jacobs, paging Weston Jacobs. This is Camilla Lovett—red hair, freckles, mouth you seem to be fond of kissing…”
I press my ear to the door and hear absolutely nothing, not even the quiet movements of someone pretending they’re notaround when they really are. That’s when I decide to text him.Hi, I type out.Wondering where you are?
If ever a situation called for double-texting, it would be this one. So I do.
I think my mom went on a date with my dad last night!
Oh, what the hell, might as well make it a triple. It’s not like I can double-lose the shame I’ve already abandoned.
