Page 66 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

Even to this day, Harold wanted to strangle Jamie Everhorn, wherever he was. He’d love to sic Aroldo on him. Aroldo, who did not tolerate bullies, would see that Jamie got his due.

Halfway through the run, Harold checked his phone to make sure the app was counting his steps, then set off on a jog toward Renzo’s apartment. He passed by the entrance several times, hoping that Alice might appear, but he had no such luck.

As he was walking back, sweat dripping from his brow, he noticed the poster for the book club on the bookstore window. Aroldo would go—he had to go—because he had moved on from Alice, and he had a life.

After a shower, he stopped himself from turning on the Xbox. Aroldo didn’t play video games. His body and mind were temples. He danced the tango and studied new languages. Read poetry and self-help books.

In that spirit, he picked up Bianca’s book to read chapter 2, in which Bianca encouraged Peggy Meh to identify the wounds of her younger self, what had possibly led to what she’d confessed in chapter 1. In Peggy’s case, she had an overbearing and abusive alcoholic father who’d told her all her life that she was good for nothing.

Though it wasn’t funny at all, Harold found himself chuckling as he read, because apparently, he wasn’t alone. His father hadn’t had a drinking problem, but he’d definitely been an abusive asshole. Few days went by that he didn’t hear his father’s discouraging words running through his mind. As if Harold needed anyone else to beat him up for his failures.

And what were those? If he wrote them down, the list would go on for ages, but he knew that his biggest failure was not going to college. Because not obtaining a degree defined his future more than any other choice.

Everyone else around him had gone to school, or so it seemed. All anyone was doing during senior year was chatting about all things college: which schools they were applying to, how they were amping up their extracurriculars to beef up their application, how their parents were taking them to tour their top three or four.

Why hadn’t Harold even applied? He was still scratching his head over it. He’d had decent enough grades to get in a few places, definitely a state school, but it wasn’t like his parents had set up a college fund. He’d have to take out student loans. His guidance counselor had tried and failed to push a few applications into his hand, but he’d always fed her excuses.

It wasn’t the fear of being in debt, more the fear of college in general. He hated school. Why endure more of it? He already saw a scenario where he was the geeky lone wolf of his dorm, getting picked on for countless reasons, thrown into a dumpster or whatever else they did to losers. He didn’t like leaving his mom either. They were best friends and had learned to survive together. She certainly wasn’t pushing him out the door, likely for the same reason. They still needed each other.

Honestly, it was all too much: picking a school, a career, leaving his mom, trying to go it alone. The easier play had been to stay at home, get an hourly job, and buy some time till he felt more enthusiastic about becoming an adult.

What he hadn’t planned on was how each month that passed shot him further away from ever going to college and making something better of himself.

In the afternoon, Harold dressed in another new outfit—sharp collars and flashy colors—coming alive as Aroldo, and walked—no, strutted—to Renzo’s place. He wasn’t sure when Alice finished her classes, so he took the same table where he’d sat last time and kept an eye on the entrance while reading Bianca’s book and sipping sparkling water. (Aroldo did not drink acqua naturale; he drank acqua frizzante.)

That Peggy Meh was a mess, even more so than Harold. Today he read about finding the courage to live loudly, to leave burn marks. When he closed the book to take a break, he felt validated. Aroldo was definitely living loudly.

Deciding to stretch his legs, Aroldo dipped into a gallery, and in the spirit of leaving burn marks, spent ten minutes haggling with the owner over a $20,000 painting that he very much liked. “I’ll give you ten.”

“Eighteen is as low as I can go.”

“Twelve.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you for your time.” Aroldo knew about art, and he wouldn’t be taken advantage of. The fact of not having even $100 that he could spare for a painting didn’t matter to a guy like him.

That night, he sat at an outdoor table of Sorso Sospetto, remembering Alice there with him, his strawberry love stirring her Aperol spritz and gazing into his eyes across the table. If what they had wasn’t love, then love didn’t exist at all.

He cracked open Love Lessons, a collection of translated Alda Merini poems that Moira had insisted he read. Harold resisted giving the words their fair shake, but Aroldo dove in, reading both the Italian and the English versions, saying the words to himself slowly, feeling their rhythm.

The Alice-and-Harold situation was a planet off its axis, a moon out of orbit. And with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the Merini book resting on his lap, Harold closed his eyes and imagined reaching a hand into the solar system and rearranging the planets and stars so that Alice would come back to him and that all the wrongs would be righted and that the cavernous hole in his soul would once again be filled.

On June 5, he entered the bookstore with more confidence than he’d ever known. Perfectly tailored khakis, an Oxford shirt, and a slight mustache—a Timothée Chalamet sort of thing. He’d purchased a gold watch that was entirely too expensive, but it shone mightily on his wrist.

From behind the cash register, Sandy gave a soft clap, cheering him on. “Look at you.”

He ran a hand through his hair and thanked her.

“Have you been practicing your steps?”

He grinned. “Every day. Are we on for tonight?”

She looked pleasantly surprised. “I’ll meet you outside at five forty-five.”

He tapped on the counter. “I look forward to it.” These little gestures, the tapping on the counter, the winks, they amplified Aroldo’s confidence.

“Everyone’s in the back; they’re about to start. I’m sure Moira will be grateful you came.”