“Wow. You’re serious,” she said. He searched her face for some clue to her opinion, but she was only listening. It felt good to say it out loud without a corresponding scowl—so good that the momentum of it kept him talking.
“I am. I was on a waitlist to get into an accelerated training class, and the phone call I got this morning when we were on thelungomarewas to let me know that there’s a spot open for the one that starts in August.”
“Did you accept?”
“I will.” He would. The admissions office was giving him a few days to decide and, in truth, he should have accepted on the spot. He braced for whatever she was going to say about it demonstrating his lack of commitment.
“You should.”
“What?”
“You should accept.”
“You don’t think it’s outrageous?”
“Oh, I do,” she said, smiling. “But it’s also pretty great. Most people would not do that. Most people in your position would take an easier route. They would get caught up in what other people think and their own fears. But, if everyone thought that way, no good work would ever get done.”
“That’s true,” he said, watching a stray tendril of hair slip down over her cheek. He wanted to reach out and push it behind her ear but thought better of it.
“Then why didn’t you accept right away?”
“I think I was waiting for something, you know? Like a sign, maybe? I don’t know.”
“When people say that, it means they are looking for someone else to give them permission to do something they already want to do. So, do it,” she said, dragging her hair back behind her ear.
“That sounds like something my dad would have said.” He laughed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t trying to sound like a dad.”
“No, no. It’s okay. I liked it.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “That’s the other part. I feel like walking away from swimming is also walking away from him. Before you get your Freud pants on, I have talked about this with my therapist. I know it’s not rational. It doesn’t change the fact that I still feel it—only sometimes, though.”
“Emotions are hardly ever rational.”
“Agreed,” he said.
“You must miss him so much,” she said, her eyes turning softer. “Those photos from the slideshow—I had forgotten about so many of those things.”
“Not me. Yeah. I do miss him, especially being here in Chiavari again. You know what I think about all the time? The fact that we won’t get to be friends. I knew what it was like to be a basically feral little kid looking up to this guy I saw as a superhero, but I’ll never know what it’s like to know him as a man. Sometimes I just want to call him up and ask him how to do the hard things, you know?”
“Maybe that’s why you’re looking for signs. Maybe you’re looking for him.”
Cris closed his eyes and put his face down. He couldn’t remember what he wanted to say next. The thoughts in his head exploded into dust and disintegrated. In all the time he had been mourning his dad, in all the therapy sessions, no one had ever said anything like that to him. She was right. It was probably the reason he couldn’t seem to make decisions, avoided everything, bailed on everything. He wanted to ask someone for advice, but because he couldn’t, he’d done nothing. He hadn’t even tried.
“Um…” Ellie leaned forward and touched the top of his hand that was resting on his thigh. Her fingers were impossibly cool despite the warm night, and he wished she would never move them. “Maybe that was too much.”
“No,” he said, turning his hand slightly to wrap his thumb around hers. “I think you’re very insightful. Thank you for saying it.” He expected her to pull her hand away, but she didn’t. “Hey, I think I want to get going. Would you walk a little with me?”
“Okay, yes,” she said, scanning around the room. “But we’d better start doing the rounds if you are thinking about getting out of here before dawn.”
It took at least fifteen minutes of double-kissing before they could finally get out of the building. In Italy, you couldn’t just take off from an event without personally saying goodbye to each person or they’d send out a search party. Ellie wondered for a moment if anyone would think it odd that they were leaving together, but after the dinner, the slideshow, and so much limoncello, it seemed like a waste of worry. Theyfinally made it outside, where the night was still alive and the street was still busy. Even past eleven on summer evenings, it was normal to see couples, teens, and even families with young children out walking or enjoying cones of pastel-colored gelato. A few eyes darted over to Cris as they walked, but no one did anything beyond recognize him silently and tuck back into their own nights.
“I’d ask you if you want an ice cream, but…” Cris laughed.
“Oh my God, no,” she said, clutching her belly. “I am so full, I think I ate enough to make up for the last few summers of food I missed out on. It was so good, though.”
“It was. It makes me feel bad for all the boring stuff I eat back home.”
“Well, there’s a place for boring. Boring is comfort. Sometimes it’s nice to have the same thing because you know you can count on it.” This was probably not the time to mention that she ate the same breakfast every single day of her life: oatmeal with a chopped apple cooked in, Greek yogurt on top, and a violent amount of cinnamon. The only thing that changed was the kind of apple. When you didn’t know what the day was going to bring, at least you could count on breakfast being stable.
