Page 121 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

A minute later, he sent: Still four of you?

Bianca: You’re ignoring me.

I will not accept a world where we are not friends.

Friends. What was she supposed to do with that? How could they possibly be friends now? Because he would always have the upper hand. She wanted more and he’d drawn the line. There would always be a divide between them.

She dialed Carol. “Hey, about tomorrow night.”

“Oh, my God, B. I’m so sick and totally forgot about it. We can’t go.”

Relief settled in. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’d prefer not to go either. Corrado and I decided that—actually—he decided that we’re not compatible, so I’m bailing too.”

“I don’t believe it,” Carol said. “He’s obsessed with you.”

Bianca explained everything that had happened but only skated the surface of how he’d basically ripped her apart with his psychological assessment.

“He’s kind of right, right?”

“Not you too.”

“Hey, it’s none of my business, but this is exactly what you told me when we first met, that you’d been chasing this moving target, trying to prove yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. And I know he’s right, and that’s the problem.”

“You should still go. Don’t shut him out of your life for calling you out.”

“I don’t like being called out. And I hate being wrong.”

A chuckle from Carol.

Though Bianca hadn’t planned it this way, hadn’t even truly seen it till he’d shoved it in her face, she supposed the book had captured pieces of her life. She was always striving, always had been. It was always about the goal, reaching for something, trying to reach that pinnacle that would finally be enough.

“Okay, amici,” Bianca said. “I hope you feel better. We’ll catch up soon.”

After the call, Bianca continued to chew on what her two friends had said today. It seemed that in a matter of weeks, she’d gone from a flawless go-getter to a troubled, broken woman splayed upon her own couch.

It wasn’t comfortable being the one on the couch. That’s why she’d gone to grad school, so that she could be the one in the chair with a notepad and a long list of solutions.

And yet, she knew she may find some peace in surrendering to her own vulnerability. If she were on her own couch, she’d tell herself that she should listen to her friends, that she’s lucky enough to have ones that were willing to say it like it was.

Her dad returned to the living room. “Trying to decide which shoes to wear, my tennis shoes or the new ones.”

“Dad, those tennis shoes should be burned.”

What was far more important than her discomfort was the fact that she could have lost her dad. Her mother was right. She had such an awful tendency to cut people off and put all her focus on herself, consumed by her own troubles. All the while trying to hide them from the world.

Meanwhile, everyone else had their troubles too.

Enough cutting people off, she thought. That ends today.

“Carol and her husband can’t go to the dinner,” Bianca said, “so it’s you and me. Unless you want to bring Sandy?”

He gave a false laugh. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, c’mon. What are you afraid of now?”

“Rejection?” George suggested. “Continuous heartache? The agony of being friends with someone you might love?”