Italian for Beginners Page 26

  “How did I know what?”

  “How did you know this was your mother’s favorite place?”

  I felt the breath go out of me. “I didn’t,” I said after a moment.

  She looked puzzled. “But why did you give me this photograph?” she asked. “Of all the places in Roma?”

  “Because it has always been my favorite place in Rome,” I said.

  We stared at each other for a long moment. Somehow, my mother and I had both chosen the same spot in the city to claim as our own. It wasn’t like choosing the Spanish Steps or the Trevi Fountain or the Colosseum or any of the other monuments that graced postcards and calendars. It was like choosing a needle in a haystack.

  Finally, Gina smiled. “Perhaps, then, your mother is not so far away, after all.” She smiled and looked around us.

  “I think maybe you’re right,” I said after a moment. We chatted for a few more minutes, she insisted on pressing a beautiful pale pink silk scarf into my hands, and then I gave her directions to Karina’s apartment and said I’d see her that night at seven thirty. She kissed me good-bye on both cheeks.

  Next, I made my way to Pinocchio, where I knew I’d find Marco working.

  “Cat!” he said happily as I came in through the front door. He was standing near the busing station, drying glasses. “Come in, sit down!”

  I shook my head. “I can’t stay long,” I said. “I just wanted to bring you a gift.”

  He looked puzzled. “But it is you who is going away,” he said. “You should not be giving me a gift.”

  I smiled. “I want to.”

  We sat down together at a table near the back of the restaurant. I took a deep breath and pulled his photo out of the bag.

  He stared for a moment, his eyes moving around the image slowly. Then a smile spread across his face. “It’s the place I found you sleeping,” he said.

  “Yeah.” I nodded and looked at it with him.

  It was my favorite photo I’d taken a few days earlier. In it, the two birds that had landed on the edge of the bench were facing each other, their beaks nearly touching. It almost looked as though they were kissing, or perhaps preparing to tell each other an intimate secret.

  It was sweet, and I felt like it fit perfectly with what I wanted Marco to remember about me, about us.

  He gazed at it for a long time. “Princess Ann,” he said finally. “I will treasure this forever.”

  I leaned forward to hug him as we both blinked tears out of our eyes.

  I left the rest of the photographs with Marco and asked if he’d bring them to Karina’s tonight. I’d had three printed for her, and I wanted them to be a surprise. Plus, I had one more thing I needed to do before I left Rome.

  I set out from Pinocchio thinking a bit about the restaurant’s namesake and the meaning of the truth. I followed the map I’d printed out earlier, and within twenty minutes, I was standing at the door to Francesco’s apartment building, feeling very much like I’d come full circle.

  I took a deep breath and went inside. I walked up the four flights to his door, held my breath, and knocked.

  I told myself that coming here had been enough. If he wasn’t home, it didn’t matter; it wasn’t meant to be. I listened for footsteps, but I didn’t think I heard any. I knocked one more time just to be sure. Nothing.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. There was a part of me that wanted to tackle my last remaining ghost, but a bigger part of me was relieved that I wouldn’t have to see the man who had hurt and humiliated me just four weeks earlier. Despite all that had happened since then, the wound was still raw.

  I was just about to turn away and retreat down the stairs when the door swung open, revealing Francesco standing there, shirtless, in just a pair of tight jeans and bare feet.

  “Cat?” he asked surprised. He glanced from side to side. “What are you doing here?”

  I stared at him for a long moment, wondering how it was possible to have felt so much for him when I stepped off the plane but to feel absolutely nothing for him now. And it wasn’t that I didn’t like him anymore; I didn’t hate him, either. I just felt incredibly, refreshingly indifferent. “I need to talk to you,” I said.

  He smirked at me a little, and I could swear he sucked his gut in a bit, as if he was conscious, despite himself, about how his body looked to me. “I didn’t know you were still in Roma,” he said.

  “Yes,” I answered simply. I didn’t owe him an explanation.

  “What did you do to your hair?” he asked. “You look good.” He looked me unabashedly up and down, then waited for a response.

  I knew I was supposed to answer in kind, but instead, I simply smiled and said, “Thank you.” Then, on second thought, I added, “I know.”

  He looked a bit startled to have not had his ego stroked in return. He blinked a few times and cleared his throat. “Do you want to come in?”

  I thought about it and shook my head. “No,” I said. “I have just one thing to say to you, and I think I can say it here.”

  He swallowed hard. It was finally hitting him that I hadn’t come here to beg him to take me back, or to tell him much I missed him, or to ask him for one last roll around in his bed. “Cosa?” he asked warily.

  I took a deep breath

  “Thirteen years ago, you had a fling with me, and that’s all it ever was,” I said. “It meant too much to me. And when I was gone, you moved on to the next young, foolish girl.”

  He looked at me for a moment and shrugged. “It was not just a fling,” he said. “I had some feeling for you, Cat. But yes, I moved on quickly. I think that you loved me. And I did not love you the same way.”

  I shook my head and smiled slightly. “But that’s just the thing,” I said. “I don’t think I loved you, after all. I thought I did. I was young and foolish. Which is exactly what attracted you to me in the first place. But you know what, Francesco? I think I loved the feeling of being wanted and needed. And I blamed myself when it didn’t feel like that between us anymore. But it was never about loving you. It was about me trying to complete something that felt empty.”

  “I don’t understand.” He was staring at me blankly. “Why are you telling me these things?”

  “Because I think it’s important to be honest,” I said. I took a deep breath. “I also wanted to come here to thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For being you,” I said.

  He looked at me warily, as if he wasn’t sure whether I was making fun of him. I wasn’t. I meant it.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You’re a complete asshole,” I said. I hardly ever cursed, but I knew it was fully deserved this time. He opened his mouth to protest, but I held up a hand to stop him. “And I’m glad that’s who you are,” I said. “Because if you’d been a better person, if you’d been a decent man, I might still be here with you. And I would have missed having the best four weeks of my life.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, looking at me in confusion.

  I smiled. “And you never will.”

  And with that, my head held high, I walked away from Francesco for the last time. I could feel his eyes following me as I left, but I didn’t turn back. There was no reason to. He was in the past. As I walked down the stairs and finally emerged into the sunshine outside, I felt like I was walking straight into the future.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The dinner party that night was lovely but bittersweet. It was wonderful to be surrounded by the people who had come to mean so much to me in Rome but terribly sad to know I wouldn’t see them again for a while. The sadness, however, was tempered by the fact that I knew I’d be back someday soon. It was a promise I’d made to myself already. Regardless of whether the photography thing worked out, I’d vowed to begin living my life. And now, a big part of my life was here. I had the feeling I’d only begun to discover it.

  Karina served a panzanella salad of crispy bread chunks, thinly sliced onions, wedges of
sweet tomatoes, and a homemade balsamic herb vinaigrette, followed by a small starter course of creamy risotto with asparagus, zucchini, and mint. The main course was perfectly crisp, thin pieces of chicken parmesan, flavored with rosemary and served on a bed of handmade fettuccine with a light, creamy sauce, sprinkled with toasted pine nuts.

  “This is amazing,” Marco, who was sitting to my right, whispered to me at one point when Karina got up to bring in more freshly baked bread from the kitchen.

  “I told you,” I said with a smile.

  He shook his head and took another bite. “Maybe I could use her at the restaurant… ,” he said, his voice trailing off.

  “I think you should talk to her about it,” I whispered, trying to hide my smile just as Karina returned to the room.

  Gina was sitting on the other side of me, and I kept catching her staring at me when I was looking elsewhere. Each time, she shook her head and looked quickly away. Finally, she softly vocalized what I knew she was thinking. “You look so much like her,” she said.

  I nodded, accepting this. “You do, too,” I said. “Being with you feels a little bit like she’s still here.”

  Gina nodded and squeezed my hand under the table. “She is.”

  Gina and Karina got along wonderfully, and for the first time, I saw Karina’s mother open up and laugh, too. I should have felt a little left out as the three women gossiped in Italian and Nico drilled an amused Marco with a series of intense questions, but instead, I sat back in my chair, watching them all, sipping my coffee and feeling more at home than I ever had in New York. In less than four weeks, these people had become my family, even though we should have had little common ground to start with. And it warmed my heart to see my mother’s sister, a woman I’d just met but whom I was tied to forever, getting along so well with Karina, who I knew would be my friend for years to come.

  After a dessert of the most delicate, delicious flaked almond pastry I’d ever tasted, Nico got up from the table and came around to my side while the adults at the table continued to talk, laugh, and enjoy their espresso.

  “Signorina Cat?” he asked.

  “Yes, Nico?”

  He paused and looked at his feet. “I am really going to miss you.”

  I blinked back tears. “I’m going to miss you, too, Nico. Very, very much. But I will come back and visit.”

  “Do you promise?” he asked, looking up hopefully.

  “I promise,” I said firmly.

  He paused. “Maybe Mamma and I can come to New York, too. I speak very good English.”

  “Yes, you do,” I said with a smile. I remembered Karina saying that she couldn’t afford a trip to New York, so I didn’t want to encourage him. But at least they would have a place to stay now, and I hoped that might be enough to change her mind at some point.

  Nico looked down again and added softly. “My papà lives there.”

  I blinked a few times and recovered quickly. “He does?”

  Nico nodded and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Mamma does not talk about him very often. But she says he lives in New York. I would like to meet him someday.”

  “Maybe you will,” I said after a moment. I wanted to tell Nico that sometimes the people who are supposed to love you will break your heart. I wanted to tell him that his father might not be the man he imagined him to be. I wanted to tell him that holding on to hope might be a mistake. But he was six. He didn’t deserve to have his bubble burst yet. And besides, I was a week away from thirty-five, and I certainly didn’t have it all figured out, either. Maybe Nico was right. Maybe people deserved a second chance, even when they hadn’t earned it.

  Nico hesitated again and looked a little nervous. “Just one thing, Signorina Cat,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “You promised you would take photographs of me and Mamma and Nonna,” he said. He looked down, as if embarrassed to be asking me. “Did you run out of time? Maybe you can take them the next time you are here.”

  I smiled at him. “Well, Nico, I am glad you mentioned that. I actually didn’t forget.” I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “There’s a big, flat bag in the corner of the living room, behind the sofa. Could you go get it for me?”

  Nico grinned and nodded. He disappeared, and a moment later, he came back carrying the bag. As he entered the dining room, the conversations around the table slowed, and everyone looked at it with curiosity.

  I cleared my throat as I stood up and took the bag from Nico.

  “Karina?” I said. I looked around the table. Everyone was smiling at me. I took a deep breath. “I can’t begin to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Four weeks ago, I was a complete mess. If it hadn’t been for you, I might have given up and gone home. And I wouldn’t have met Nico, or your mother, or Marco or Gina. And now you’ve all become my family.”

  Around the table, everyone exchanged looks. Marco and Gina clinked glasses.

  “It’s not much,” I continued, “but I wanted to give you a small gift to say thank you. Of course I’ll be back to visit—if you’ll have me—but in the meantime, I wanted to give you a piece of your family to tell you how much you mean to me. You’ve made me feel like I belong here.”

  “A piece of my family?” Karina repeated, glancing at the bag.

  I nodded. “Yes.” I pulled the first of three matted photos out of the bag and turned it around to show to the table.

  “Sono di me!” Nico cried out. “It’s me!” Karina gasped and smiled as she gazed at the photo, which I’d taken several days ago at the park with Karina, her mother, and Nico. It was a black-and-white photograph of Nico kicking a soccer ball, his face scrunched up in concentration. He looked older, wiser, than his six years, and his eyes glistened as he looked into the unfathomable distance.

  “Oh, Cat!” Karina exclaimed. “It is beautiful. I will treasure it forever.”

  I smiled. “Wait. I’m not done.” I pulled a second photograph from the bag and turned around to show it to the table. It was another black and white, shot the same day. Karina and her mother had been sitting on the park bench, watching Nico. When I’d gotten up to photograph him at one point, I turned around to glance at them and saw them laughing at some joke. I turned the lens quickly their way. In the photo I’d captured, they were both midlaugh, leaning toward each other, looking into each other’s eyes as they giggled like schoolgirls. They looked like best friends as much as mother and daughter, and I’d known from the moment I shot the image that it would be one of those meaningful portraits that captured the subjects’ personalities perfectly.

  “Oh, Cat!” Karina exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest and blinking a few times. “It is wonderful!” Her mother was nodding enthusiastically and smiling.

  “One more,” I said. I pulled the third and final photograph out of the bag and turned it around for them to see.

  Karina’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the portrait. “Oh, Cat,” she said softly.

  I smiled. It was one of my favorite pictures. Black and white like the other two, it was shot from behind with my zoom lens. When Karina, her mother, and Nico had walked away from the park the other day and I’d gone in the other direction, I had glanced back over my shoulder and seen them walking hand in hand. I had turned around immediately to shoot them from a distance. Karina was in the middle, one hand holding her mother’s and the other holding her son’s. Karina’s mother carried a bunch of sunflowers in her free hand, and Nico’s soccer ball was tucked beneath his bony upper arm as he skipped to keep up. In the photo, Karina was saying something to Nico, who was gazing up at her with a huge smile on his face. Karina’s mother had her head turned to the side to look at them, just enough that, even in the shadows, you could see clearly the expression of love and pride on her face as she gazed at her daughter and her grandson. In the background of the photo, in the direction the three of them were walking, lay ancient Rome, its old buildings casting long shadows on the ground as the sun sank toward th
e horizon.

  “Dio mio,” Marco said softly. “Those photographs are amazing, Cat.”

  I beamed. “Thank you.”

  Karina’s mother looked at me with what appeared to be new respect. “Beautiful,” she said simply, the word spiked with her Italian accent. “Grazie.”

  “Prego,” I responded with a smile. “You’re welcome.” I turned to Karina. “Your family has come to mean so much to me.”

  “Well,” she said, glancing back to the photo and then at me again. “You are part of our family now.”

  Nico came over and gave me a big hug. As I glanced around the table, at all the people I’d come to love in such a short time, I knew the words were true.

  After dinner, I walked outside to say good-bye to Gina and to see her safely into a cab.

  “I’m so glad you came to find me,” she said.

  “I am, too.”

  She reached up and brushed her thumb gently across my cheek. She smiled at me sadly. “Your mother, I think, would be very proud.”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I hope so,” I said. A month ago, I would have sworn that my mother’s opinion meant nothing to me. But now, everything was different. I took a deep breath. “Gina,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For not coming sooner,” I said.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said. “Do not apologize. You came when you were ready. And that is all that matters.”

  I looked down. “But I think of all that time I wasted, feeling so angry at her.”

  She reached for my hand. “Cat, that time was not wasted,” she said. “Your mother, even though she meant well, she hurt you. You needed time to come back to her on your own. She was always very sorry for what she did to you. And she never blamed you for being angry.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.

  “I don’t blame you, either,” she added. “You are a very strong young woman. I see the best parts of your mother in you.”

  “You do?”

  “Assolutamente,” she said. She reached out to embrace me tightly. “Come back to Roma soon,” she said into my ear. “You always have family here. This is your home, too.”