by Anna Premoli
“Yeah, well, it’s hard to get the sweat marks out of silk in a normal washing machine,” I point out. Fearing that the time for her to start commenting on my lack of makeup and the fact that I haven’t had my hair done is on its way, I decide to cut to the chase.
“Without wishing to sound rude, why are you in Milan exactly?” I ask. She hates it when I come out with things like that, but she must be prepared today because for once she doesn’t flinch, either literally or figuratively.
“You haven’t been home for weeks. For months, in fact. Your father and I were worried.”
“I told you I didn’t have time to waste what with my thesis and the job.”
“Ah, so you consider visiting your parents a waste of time, then,” she replies.
I decide not to rise to the provocation and remain silent, putting on my best poker face.
“Look, I don’t want to be tactless...” she says, looking strangely uncomfortable, “but some people have mentioned they have seen Filippo. With another girl.”
I blink in amazement. If I’ve understood her properly, the real reason why my mother has deigned to come all the way to Milan is because she thinks that Fil is cheating on me. It is almost nice of her. Almost.
“Fil and I broke up a while ago,” I tell her. “He’s free to do whatever he wants.”
“Oh, well in that case it’s all fine then...”
I expect her to ask me something like ‘why didn’t you tell us’, but no. My mother finds it perfectly normal that I owe her no explanation about my ending such a long relationship. It depresses me much more than I like to admit.
“Filippo really wasn’t the right guy for you,” she says. “I never understood what you saw in him.”
I am this close to confessing that the very fact she hated everything about him was a powerful incentive at the beginning of our relationship. Even today, seeing her acting so condescending and stuck-up, I feel myself being driven by the same temptation to grab hold of the first bad boy I meet on the street and serve him up to her for dinner. I had hoped that with age I would become indifferent to her attitude towards the world – that he she longer made me so angry I wanted to smash everything up – but instead here I am, a few days before my graduation, almost twenty-four years old, feeling just as rebellious as I did back then.
I daren’t think what pleasure it would give her to know I am more or less dating someone like Ariberto. She would probably take the first train for Lourdes and spend the next few days lighting every candle going. I start to feel irritation rising inside me at the mere idea. Unfortunately all my old problems with my parents are far from being solved and Ari is a card I really can’t afford to play. I’d always known it, to be honest, but the way I feel about him meant that every now and then I ended up forgetting.
Right now, though, sitting here in front of my mother, it seems perfectly obvious that wasting time with Ari is a really bad idea. It’s not his fault that I can’t stop judging things through the lens of my parents’ reactions to them, and it’s not his fault if I’m so terrified of falling in love with a guy who might end up being the type of person I don’t like at all. What I’m starting to realise is that my feelings for Ariberto are so strong that I might actually start conforming to the rules of what my mother would call ‘polite society’ - that I might actually end up denying myself for him. Because when I’m around him, I can’t think straight and I can’t prioritise myself. To put it in a nutshell, I’m running a serious risk of turning into my mother, and I can’t think of any prospect more disturbing than that.
“So... are you seeing anyone?” asks the woman I never want to be, while a white-gloved waiter serves us lunch.
I reflect for a long time before answering her with the excuse of dressing my salad. “No, nobody. I’m far too busy with my thesis at the moment.”
My mother gracefully raises a fork and diffidently scrutinizes the perfectly prepared dish as though looking for something to criticise. No, I’m never going to be like her.
“Yes, well, there’s plenty of time to meet someone.”
Fortunately, she’s right – there is plenty of time. And there’s plenty of time to get out of someone else’s life too.
*
Ari quickly notices my black mood when I come back from my lunch, because, despite being angry, the concern he feels for me is clear on his face. For once, I wish he would be an asshole and think of himself before being understanding about my problems. What I’m about to do would be a thousand times easier if he wasn’t the person he is, damn him.
“Ari, I have to talk to you,” I say, summoning up my courage as we are turning off our computers at the end of the day.
“Obviously nothing good, if you’re calling me Ari”, he jokes, but the mood is heavy. He notices my drawn face and grows serious too. “Shall we get an aperitif somewhere?” he proposes.
We need neutral ground so I consent, grateful to be able to talk surrounded by other people. I tend to make reckless decisions when I’m alone with him.
We don’t talk about anything except work until we have sat down at a table in a bar in Brera. The clientele is a strange mix of tourists from all over the world and people who have just hurried out of their offices. Given the warm end-of-June weather, I envy the foreigners their lighter clothes.
“Okay...” says Ariberto, not wasting any time after we have ordered two Spritz. At first glance he might look relaxed and perfectly in control of the situation, but there is a tension in his jaw that doesn’t escape me. Even his eyes aren’t as playful as they usually are.
“So,” I say, ill at ease. “I’m not sure how to start...”
“You’re always boasting about how direct you are. So be direct now,” he encourages in a voice that is only superficially neutral. It’s almost alarming how well he knows me and how much he can read between the lines of what I want to say. It’s as if we really were on some private shared frequency that allows us to communicate – even when we don’t want to.
“Ok, I’ll be direct,” I say, awkwardly. “I don’t think we should be together any more.”
There’s being direct and there’s being direct, and to judge from Ari’s glacial expression, I might have been a little too direct.
For some time, he makes no comment, but just when I’m about to ask myself if he’s ever actually going to speak again, he decides to find his voice.
“Excuse me?” he asks so sharply that I almost jump.
“You said it yourself on Sunday,” I reply, trying to justify my decision, “we can’t go on like this...”
“Yeah, but I meant we can’t go on without deciding what we are!” he says vehemently. “I was trying to make you admit that there is something serious between us! And now you’re dumping me?”
There’s no point denying it, I feel as guilty as hell, but a little pain today is better than losing yourself completely tomorrow.
“I don’t feel ready yet …” I say, but Ari’s anger has taken over, and he has no intention of letting me continue.
“Bullshit! That’s just bullshit and you know it! Let me tell you something: there is no right or wrong time to fall in love with someone. If you feel that it’s not right, that’s because it’s not right, and it’s not the moment that’s wrong...” He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, then lowers his head and completely hides his face. When he looks up, he has the expression of someone who has just been mortally wounded. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “You know, I had really started convincing myself that this thing wasn’t just one-way. I mean, I knew I was starting out with a disadvantage, I’m not stupid, but it seemed to me that over the last few weeks it had grown into a... a balanced relationship. That you’d started to feel for me what I’ve felt for you since the beginning. What an idiot I’ve been...” he murmurs in an incredulous voice.
“Ari ...” I sigh, wanting to reassure him somehow but suddenly not knowing what to say. Me, who is never short of words.
&n
bsp; “Please, don’t say ‘Ari’ like that, I can’t bear it.”
“Ok, no Ari.”
“You do know that you’re throwing a wonderful relationship down the toilet, don’t you? Because if you’ll let me say something very presumptuous, there is nobody better than me out there. Or rather, there are loads of people better than me out there, but none of them who would ever work as well with you. What there is between you and me is the kind of thing some people write books about, the kind of thing that inspires all those mushy songs or those saccharine films that you hate so much.”
I’m on the verge of bursting into tears. I swear, if he doesn’t stop, I’m going to make a total fool of myself.
“Damn it, Giada! I love you! And you’ve known that for quite a while now,” he shouts accusingly.
I swallow with difficulty, trying to control my breathing. Yes, if I have to be honest, I have. And he’s right – I haven’t been able to hide my feelings. There was total reciprocity.
“Look at me, Giada: was this a one-way story or not?” he asks me grimly.
“No,” I finally manage to admit. I owe him that at least.
“So why the hell are you dumping me?”
Ari will never understand my point of view, but I try to explain it to him anyway.
“While I was having lunch with my mother, I realized that you have a power over me... the kind of power that could turn me over time into that kind of person. I could end up betraying all my principles for you...”
“It sounds to me like you’re just looking for an excuse,” he says bitterly.
“No I’m not...”
“As soon as you feel like you’re not in total control, you run away. Like a total coward.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“And I don’t care about her! You aren’t your mother! Stop giving her more importance than she actually has! You can’t keep blaming her for all your actions or reactions. You don’t really think you’re the only misunderstood person in the world, do you? The world is full of people who have far worse relationships with their parents. It’s called growing up: sooner or later we all come into conflict with the rules laid down by the people who brought us into the world, but we usually grit our teeth and find a way to move on, because we know that you have to live your own life and not allow your relationship with your parents to dictate it for you.”
“Ari....”
“Oh give it a rest with ‘Ari’!” he explodes angrily, then stands up and gives me a look so intense that it gives me goose bumps. “Do you know what? I take back what I said earlier. It’s obvious this was just a one-way story after all, because if you loved me like I love you, you would tell your parents to mind their own fucking business and wouldn’t give a shit about all your issues! Because I deserve it! So now it’s not you dumping me, it’s me telling you to piss off!”
And he walks out without looking back.
Chapter 15
I’m so sick of myself and of my gloomy mood that it’s a relief when Lavinia and Alessandra show up at my house without even telling me they’re coming. Sunday is a horrible day if the only thing you’ve got to do is feel sorry for yourself. Even slaving away in the office would be better than this.
I’m to proud to have asked them to help – and anyway, everyone who knows me is aware that I don’t like being seen in public when I’m feeling miserable – but that doesn’t stop me from feeling a powerful sense of relief as soon as my two friends set foot in my flat.
“Ah, so you are alive then...” says Lavinia, pretending to be surprised.
Yes, I know, I should have at least messaged them. I’m a crappy friend, as well as the worst non-girlfriend in the history of non-girlfriends, a category of people for whose member somebody ought to offer psychological support, because I need it desperately.
“Not for long,” I mutter in a heartbroken voice
Vinny and Ale take a look at the piles of papers scattered haphazardly over my table, so thick they almost hide my PC, and decide to sit on the sofa bed.
“Work or thesis?” Asks Alessandra.
I appreciate the attempt to put me at ease before we get down to brass tacks, I really do.
“Thesis.” Or at least, that’s what it’s supposed to be. I need to prepare a PowerPoint presentation and a summary, get several copies of it printed, write a speech... In short, I graduate in nine days and it would be nice if I had at least half a clue about what I want to say to the exam commission...
If nothing else, fate was quite kind to me – at least it made Ari dump me after I had finished writing the actual thesis, otherwise I would never have finished in time. But now, for some strange reason my brain just doesn’t want to co-operate, and my usual determination has totally disappeared. If you happen to find it, please give it back to me!
I also have a sneaking suspicion that my discussion of my thesis won’t be particularly amazing, given the state I’m in, both inside and out. But I’ve got a high average mark so I don’t need many more points to pass, and I want to get out of university for once and for all.
“How’s it going with the presentation?” asks Ale.
“Oh, great...” I reply, in a voice so dripping with sarcasm that she raises her eyebrows in surprise. Well at least I’ve still got that ability, despite this perennial state of gloom I’ve sunk into.
“Giada...” says Lavinia, and I realise immediately that I’m in for a lecture the size of Greenland. “You need to snap out of it!”
She’s totally right, but I just don’t know how to. How the hell do you heal yourself from a broken heart when you didn’t even know you’d fallen for someone?
When Filippo dropped me I was deeply relieved, because deep inside I knew it had been over between us for a long time: we’d travelled our stretch of road together and it was time for us to take different directions.
But Ari and me? In theory, we hadn’t even started. And in practice... well, let’s just say that in practice things turned out to be far more complex than I expected.
What really makes me angry is that there’s no comparison between the amount of time I spent with Fil and the amount of time I spent with Ari, so why do I feel like my heart has been torn out? Why can’t I start feeling okay again? Is it possible that what you feels for someone is less a matter of years or months and more a question of intensity?
“I’m pathetic, I know,” I concede in a distraught murmur as I sit down between them. “You don’t need to tell me...”
“Well, they say that admitting a problem is halfway towards solving it,” says Ari, in an attempt to console me.
“They’re talking bullshit,” I say solemnly.
“Have you two spoken at all?” Lavinia inquires tactfully.
“Nada, nothing, zilch. He pretended he couldn’t see me for a week and now we’re both off work so we can prepare for our graduation. And at this rate, I’ll just clam up in front of the examiners.”
Vinny gives me a doubtful look. “You’re not going to clam up, we’ll be there to help you.”
“But you have your own degrees to think about.”
“Our presentations are ready, unlike yours,” she points out. It’s so sad, I always used to be the first to finish.
Exactly, used to be.
“I thought that not having to see him every single day would help. Well, I was wrong,” I confess after a moment of silence. “After we broke up, having to see him was agony, but this is even worse...”
Alessandra slips an arm over my shoulders and hugs me. “It’ll get better,” she reassures me.
Lavinia doesn’t seem to share her opinion, though. “Bollocks. Or rather, yes, you might attain a state of nirvana sooner or later, but why wait if you can intervene and change things?” She’s become almost as practical as I was before this debacle.
I miss that side of myself, that knowing how to be objective enough to ignore all the sentimental nonsense that pollutes nearly everyone’s thinking – that being able to di
stance yourself from things and people.
“I can’t change anything,” I mutter grimly. “In case you two need reminding, he dumped me...”
This year hasn’t been much of a success: I’ve managed to have two people dump me in the space of a few months, which must be a world record. And one of them wasn’t even my boyfriend.
“Oh, that was only because you were driving him nuts with your dithering,” Ale reassures me. “It was just a moment of anger, I’m pretty sure he already regrets it.”
Maybe. Maybe not. But I still managed to scare off a person who had actually put his body and soul into his relationship with me. Or his non-relationship, as I have insisted on considering it this whole time. I made a saint lose his patience, because he was a saint, there’s no doubt about it: he put up with my bad moods, and with my sending mixed messages, and with my insistence on not wanting to make space for him in my life. It was obvious he would get sick of it sooner or later.
God, I’m such an idiot! I was such a bitch from day one. It was the worst possible kind of emotional blackmail, because deep in my heart I was perfectly aware he was falling in love with me, and that step by step I was following him down that suicidal path. But it annoyed me to think that somebody else – somebody so different from me – could be responsible for my happiness and it terrified me to let myself go, so I ended up ruining everything. Like always. I don’t want to admit that my mother is right, but maybe there actually is something in it when she criticises me for being my own biggest enemy. Exactly the way there might have been something in what Ariberto said when he told me off for giving my parents too much importance in my life.
“Ari reacted like that, but it was my fault. If I really didn’t want to get involved with someone, I should never have allowed him to enter my life. Once I did, I should have taken a good hard look at myself and accepted my responsibilities. It’s not fair to lead people on.”
“You didn’t lead him on,” Lavinia reassures me. “Apart from your obsession with ending up becoming emotionally dependent on him, you actually opened yourself up to Ariberto much more than I would ever have expected. In all these years you’ve always seemed so controlled when it came to feelings, so into your idea of yours of never needing other people... But you let him send you head over heels,” she concludes with a smile.