Page 12 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“Maybe I did know that. You’ll have to join my yoga studio. I still teach a morning class almost every day.”

“I’d love to.”

A collective song of church bells rang and echoed around them, signifying 8:00 p.m. “Listen to those bells. That’s why I’m here. The magic of Europe. Honestly, I’m jealous of you. Full on, want-to-kill-you-in-your-sleep jealous.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“I’m serious. You never left. You found your Italian soulmate and have built this amazing life.”

Carol batted her eyelashes. “It’s not terrible.”

Bianca paused to drink her wine, the bubbles tingling on her tongue. “Tell me about it. Rub in my face all the things I’m missing. When can I meet this husband of yours?”

“Silvie is charming. A doctor, an orthopedic surgeon. We have a home up in the hills and our pied-à-terre here.”

“Of course you have a pied-à-terre. God, I hate you so much.”

As Carol painted the picture of her life, Bianca couldn’t stop shaking her head. “You even have a slight Italian accent when you speak English. That’s how long you’ve been here. Would it be awkward if I took your life? We could trade. Would your husband notice?”

Carol laughed. “I remember how funny you used to be.”

A deep longing came over Bianca, a voice harkening back to the good old days. “Yeah, well, I hope I can find that person again. I remember how much we used to crack each other up. Youth fades away, doesn’t it? I feel like a frog in boiling water; adulthood snuck up on me.”

Carol raised her wine. “To frogs that better jump out of the pot before it’s too late.”

Bianca clinked her glass, feeling desperation in her chest. “Cin, cin.”

“Are there really cracks in the veneer of Bianca Briggs?” Carol asked. “I don’t believe you. You look so happy in the pics I see of you. You’re famous back home. And the book. I’m jealous of you!”

“Oh, there are cracks all right. I did a good job of hiding them, even from myself. Italy definitely has her hands full with me.” At Carol’s prodding, Bianca elaborated on what she’d been doing the last ten years and how it had started to come apart at the seams.

“Still, you wrote a book. That’s a big deal. Were the reviews that bad?”

“Oh, yeah, they were bad. Want to hear a few?” Bianca found them quickly, as she’d become Christopher Columbus when it came to finding the awful shit people said about her book.

“My favorite from last week, from Self-Help Junkie02: This could have been an email.” She looked up. “My life’s work could have been an email? Or this one: Clearly written by someone who doesn’t understand real human beings. Or this: Meatless, not even a bone. Three hundred pages of overconfident, tone-deaf cartilage. Or: I would give it negative one star if I could. I’m actually worse off after digesting this drivel.” Bianca moved to the next page. “And she calls herself a therapist? The only reason I’m not returning it is I don’t have the energy to drive to UPS.”

The last one caused a chuckle. “You probably shouldn’t be reading those. Besides, I’m sure some people loved it.”

Bianca set down her phone. “Firstly, every author reads their reviews. If they say they don’t, they’re lying. And that first review on Amazon, the five-star, that’s my mom.”

Carol brushed her hand through the air. “You’re hitting a nerve with these people. They’re not ready for what you’re throwing down.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Bianca let herself relax. “You want the truth since I’m letting it all out? I got too ambitious. I let my insecurities get the best of me and got caught up in thinking that if I became a big deal, then I’d matter. So I’ve been relentless, clamoring for things to achieve, whatever it took to get to the top.”

“Spoken like a true psychotherapist.”

“At least I’m self-aware.”

Carol twisted her glass between her fingers. “So that’s it? You’re giving yourself over to Italy, letting her resurrect your spirit? And maybe or maybe not returning home afterward?”

“Esattamente. I’m leaping headfirst into the proverbial bowl of pasta. See if there’s some meaning to be found by the time I scarpetta the last of the sauce with my bread.”

Carol patted her hand. “I like your plan. You’ll be good as new before too long.”

“Let’s hope so. It worked last time.” Moving on, Bianca asked, “You remember the fortune teller Donna Bologna, right?”

“Naturally. I went for a reading last year.”