The next morning, after breakfast, Franco asked Catarina if she’d like to go shopping for a few new dresses.
“There are dresses we can buy that have already been made,” he said. “We can go into a dress shop and you can try them on and then they will alter them to fit you. It’s amazing—not like at home where everything is made by hand. We’ll pick them up tomorrow before we catch the train. Would you like that?”
“I would love it. I’ve never had a dress that wasn’t sewn by either Mama or me. I can’t imagine being able to buy a dress that is already made. How do they do that? They don’t even know me.” Franco laughed. It was interesting to notice how many things he now took for granted: indoor plumbing and ready-made clothes just scratched the surface.
She started to speak and then looked away.
“What is it?” Franco asked her, when he saw her hesitation.
“I was just wondering,” she said. “Are you happy you brought me here? Now that you’ve met me again, I mean. Do you regret choosing me? Because I’m sure you could have someone much more elegant, not a farmer’s daughter you have to buy clothes for.”
He took her hand across the table and looked directly into her eyes. “You’re exactly as I had hoped. And I didn’t mean to make you think that I was offering to buy you new dresses because yours aren’t good enough. I simply thought you’d like it. Now, come on,” he said when they finished up. “Let’s go see the sights.”
They spent the day walking around New York, and Catarina found herself in awe of the vibrancy of the city. The buildings were tall, the streets were wide, and there were more people than she had ever seen in one place. Everyone seemed in a hurry. They walked up to Central Park and strolled along the meandering paths. She found the acres and acres of quiet and beauty a strange contrast to the bustling city, but she liked being surrounded—even temporarily—with green lawns, trees, and flowers.
When they were hungry, they bought sausages from a street vendor who hawked sizzling links from a grill on the sidewalk. The sausages were spicier than those at home, and she enjoyed the heat they left in her mouth.
She told Franco about the money her father had given her when she left, and asked him to help her exchange some of it for dollars to buy his family a gift. She and her mother and sisters had sewn a tablecloth for them, but after seeing the finery of their hotel, Catarina worried that it wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to arrive with something more special.
They found a local bank to do the exchange and Franco explained about the value of the American bills she now had. After poking through store after store, they settled on a small painting of the Italian countryside as a gift for Franco’s family. Catarina fell in love with it immediately because it captured the colors and light on the vine-covered hills beautifully. It captured the essence of Italy and she hoped they would love it, too. Catarina gave Franco her money so he could handle the negotiations with the vendor, but she was unaware that Franco surreptitiously added to her funds. Once the purchase was complete, the vendor wrapped the painting in burlap and secured it with twine so it would be safe on their trip. When they walked out of the little shop, Catarina was pleased with their efforts and was filled with a sense of lightness.
“Do you know what I just realized?” she asked Franco.
“What?”
“I haven’t done any work in two weeks. I haven’t helped Mama with dinner or helped Babbo in the vineyard or orchard. I haven’t scrubbed floors or brought in the well water. I have been dancing and eating and shopping instead.”
“How does that feel?”
“Strange, certamente, ma mi sento bene. It’s been a nice change. I will always remember this time.”
They walked silently for a distance, both lost in their own thoughts. Then she asked, “What will it be like in San Francisco? Will I help in your store?”
“Possibly. My brother Carlo and I work at the store Monday through Saturday with my father. Mama sometimes comes in to help out. Sometimes Carlo’s wife Gabriella comes in to help as well if we’re busy. But usually she’s at home with their children. We have a large apartment above the store, so we are all close by. It’s crowded, though. Gabriella is expecting another baby and I am marrying, which will add two more, so I’ve asked Mama and Papa if we could move to our own apartment nearby.”
“Your letter said that. Would we live alone?”
“Lots of people in San Francisco do that—live in houses separate from their parents, I mean.”
“It would be so strange to live with just us. At home my sisters live with their husbands’ families, and Mateo and I are home with Mama and Babbo. Well . . . now it’s just Mateo I guess, until someday when he gets married.”
“It is different. But I think we would get used to it. If we don’t like it, we can always shove our way back in,” he smiled.
“I’m sure I will like it,” Catarina said, but in truth the thought of only the two of them living together sounded lonely.
The rest of their time in New York sped by, and after another night’s sleep and one last bath, Catarina and Franco were due to board the train that would take them all the way to the other side of the country, where they would catch a ferry for the last part of the journey to San Francisco.
When they got to the platform, Catarina took one fleeting look around her before climbing up the steps to enter the train, just on the off chance that she would see Gregorio. While she had been in New York, she sometimes wondered whether he was in the city on leave before the ship returned to Italy, but now that she was leaving, she knew without hope that she would never see him again.
Franco boarded ahead of her to stow their bags, and as she climbed the steps she kissed the palm of her hand and waved it to an absent Gregorio as a final farewell.
Chapter 16
JULIETTE AND A WALLED CITY DISAPPEARING FROM VIEW
The next three weeks flew by in a whirlwind of weekend traveling, cooking classes, and spending time with Roman, while Catarina’s letters were temporarily abandoned in their ancient shoebox.
Juliette felt the gradual knitting back together of her heart—the gaping wound of her mother’s death growing more bearable even though she knew the wound would never be entirely healed. At least the pain had grown slightly less raw.
Just live and don’t think became her temporary mantra, and she repeated it to herself whenever the accident vividly flashed through her mind, or the turmoil she had over the money her mom left to her seeped into her consciousness. She thought about her mother every day, but tried to take Gina’s advice and visualize her within the confines of a lovely childhood memory.
The only monkey wrench thrown into her newfound gioia di vivere was the fact that Juliette was beginning to get the sinking feeling that she loved Roman more than he loved her. She couldn’t understand what was going on. He still seemed to dote on her, but in a more distracted way than before and he never even hinted that he wanted her to stay. She gave him every opportunity, but he seemed to have mastered the art of subtly changing the topic or ignoring the subject entirely. He steered the conversation so smoothly, often Juliette didn’t notice it had taken a new direction until they were deeply entrenched in a new topic.
“I’m beginning to question myself,” she told Gina when they talked. “I don’t know what to do. I love him. He seemed to love me too, but lately it’s like . . .” she hesitated, trying to think about what was different. She couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Just ask him, Juliette,” she said. “What do you have to lose?”
“Let’s see,” she hesitated, “how about my pride and my fragile happiness? And what if he’s planning some surprise and my American directness ruins it?”
“I don’t know. I wish I had the answer, but I don’t.”
Juliette sighed. “What if I’ve been wrong about his feelings for me and I get my heart broken?”
“That’s the thing about love, isn’t it? There’s always the chance of that.”
> Still, with one week to go before her departure date, she realized he wasn’t going to be the one to bring the subject up. Maybe he didn’t want to be the one to ask her to give up her country and proximity to her family. She didn’t know, but she decided to stop fretting about it and take matters into her own hands.
They were sitting on his couch, sipping homemade hot cocoa they’d concocted with blocks of dark chocolate, while a frigid early-spring rain sheeted against the window. They were situated with mugs in hand, feet on the coffee table, and the newspaper strewn across their laps.
Juliette was suddenly nervous, but she didn’t want to be the type of person who doesn’t get what she wants because she’s too afraid to ask for it. Be brave, she silently reminded herself.
“Roman?” she folded the paper she had been looking at.
“Umm hmmm?” He was deeply entrenched in an article about the speed of wireless internet service in Italy.
“How would you feel if I were to stay here?”
“What?” he asked, making his face neutral, but Juliette caught a glimpse of nervousness she didn’t want to see.
“I can’t stand the thought of leaving you. And Lucca. I love it here. I didn’t expect to have this happen when I came, but it did, and now I don’t want to go home.”
“Juliette, the reason you’re here is to heal and to learn Italian cooking to take back home. That’s what you’ve always said.”
“I know, but I didn’t realize I was going to fall for you.”
Roman looked away, a pained expression in his eyes, and suddenly she knew.
“You don’t feel the same, though,” Juliette shook her head. Trying not to choke up.
“It’s not that Juliette. I am crazy about you. You know that. You’re incredible and I’ve never known anyone like you.” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands over his face.
“But?”
Roman paused.
“There is a ‘but’ right?” Juliette prodded.
Roman nodded. He looked out the window, away from Juliette’s face.
“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You’ve been through so much.” He tried to take Juliette’s hand, but she gently pulled it away. “I didn’t think I would have to tell you this, but it’s Maddelena. She’s coming back.”
“What does that mean? Who’s Maddelena?”
“We were together for years. We were talking about getting married but then she got an opportunity to work for a while in the Middle East. She’s a journalist. I didn’t want her to go. I thought it was too dangerous. She accused me of being controlling. She insisted we take a break, and left. She’s been covering the unrest there but now she’s coming back.”
“And you’ve talked to her?”
“Si, the first time was the night you had Odessa, Antonello, and me over for dinner.”
“The night you said you had to go home because your “mother” needed to talk to you?” Juliette motioned with her fingers to indicate quotations marks around the word mother.
Roman looked away, giving her the answer she already knew. “We had spoken earlier in the day, but I had to talk to her again to resolve things between us. Please understand. Her family and mine have been connected. You understand? I’ve known her since we were this high,” indicating that they’d known each other since childhood.
“But what about us? What was this, then?” Juliette asked, gesturing between them.
“I fell for you, too, Juliette. Don’t think I didn’t. But I knew you were leaving. We’ve had such a good time.”
Juliette nodded and fought for composure, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish.
“I’m sorry,” Roman told her. “I didn’t mean for you to fall in love with me. I adore you. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I’m such an idiot.”
She felt an actual acute pain in her chest. She always thought it was a metaphor until this year. Now it seemed to happen to her repeatedly.
“You’re not an idiot. You mean a lot to me, but I have a history with Maddelena. Our families have a history. I’ve always known I would end up with her someday.”
He looked confused and maybe for the first time she’d seen, at a loss for words.
Juliette wiped at her cheeks with the back of her trembling hand.
“I don’t think you should stay, Juliette.”
“Yeah, I guess not. I didn’t realize the situation,” she paused, trying to keep her emotions under wraps, because she didn’t want to start to sob while she was still with him. She fought with all her strength to maintain her emotions. Juliette looked around for something to focus on besides his face. Finally her eyes fixed on her coat, so she grabbed it, quickly slipped her bare feet into boots, and started for the door.
Roman stood beside her, his face betraying how badly he felt about hurting her.
“I’m so sorry,” he reached out to give her a hug, but she stepped closer to the door.
“Can you bring anything I’ve left to class tomorrow? I’ve got to go. I can’t get my stuff right now.”
“Si, I’ll bring it.”
She fleetingly looked around the room while she stepped backwards towards the door. She searched his face one last time. How could this have happened? She couldn’t believe he had been in the process of getting back together with his girlfriend while spending time with her. She loved him. She put her hand on her chest to collect herself, then moved it to the doorknob when a realization struck her and she turned back.
“That’s why your mom was strange about me being there, wasn’t it? It wasn’t me. It was the fact that you showed up with another woman. I thought she was a bit chilly at the time, but now I have to hand it to her. She was extremely gracious under the circumstances.”
“Yes, she would be. Which I was counting on.”
“But why would you do that?”
“I enjoy your company, Juliette. I just wanted to show you the restaurant.”
“Was it that? Or was it that you knew it would get back to Maddelena? Maybe make her jealous? Get her to come home?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Maybe both,” he looked introspective and remorseful. “But please, don’t doubt my feelings for you Juliette.”
“At this moment, I have no idea what your feelings are for me. I . . . I guess I thought you were someone else.”
“I didn’t mean to mislead you,” he said, and ran his fingers through his hair.
She wanted to throw herself in his arms and have it be a bad dream but instead he was telling her he didn’t love her and letting her walk away. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, trudging the short distance back to her flat in the rain, with silent tears streaming down her face. When she finally had her apartment door closed behind her she couldn’t hold it in any more. She sat on the couch, her face in her hands. She was back to feeling wretched and desperately wanted to just go home. In that moment she would have given just about anything to miraculously be back at her little in-law studio with her friends sitting next to her. She couldn’t believe he’d been amusing himself with her to pass the time.
She squeezed her fingers together to feel the pressure of Catarina’s ring, and through it, to feel the strength of her grandmother and mother. Juliette wasn’t sure she could take any more heartbreak. She looked down at the ring, remembering something her nonna had told her when she was little. She had said the ring symbolized the choice to be happy, no matter what circumstance she found herself in, but at that moment, even the idea of happiness seemed like a foreign concept.
She splashed cool water on her face, then leaned on the sink and inhaled three shaky, deep breaths to try to regain her equilibrium, and then crawled under the covers in a fetal position and pulled the blankets over her head.
She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she was jarred awake by the sound of a car door closing beneath her window. She looked around, groggy and confused, and then she remembered what had happened, and before she knew it, tears w
ere sliding down her cheeks again. She wiped them away as she walked to the window to peek out.
The unexpected sight of Roman standing behind the open trunk of his car stopped her in her tracks. Her first sense was elation. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he realized the moment she left that he couldn’t live without her after all.
Then he pulled an open box of things out of his trunk and looked up at the window. When he saw her, he crushed out his cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
He waved, but the wretched expression on his face told her he wasn’t there to tell her he’d made a mistake.
She went down to unlock the door for him.
“I couldn’t stand how that ended.” He walked past her into her apartment and set the box on the table. He put his hands on her shoulders.
“Please forgive me, Juliette,” he said. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you. Here,” he gestured to the box, “I brought your things. I didn’t think it would be right to bring them to class.”
She looked at him and then did allow herself to be wrapped in his arms to get the comfort he was offering.
“Shhh,” he whispered when he heard her crying.
“I guess this is goodbye,” she said.
“I’ll see you in class, though, right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can stand to go.”
He tilted her chin up so she was looking in his eyes.
“Of course you can, you’re tough as nails. Isn’t that what you Americans say?”
She sighed and tucked her face back to his chest. She didn’t feel tough and couldn’t imagine facing him in class and pretending he was something less than he had been to her.
The weekend passed in a painful haze. It seemed ridiculous to do ordinary tasks in the midst of heartbreak. She’d had the same feeling after the accident. How could everything continue on as if nothing had changed? Standing in line at the post office seemed almost ridiculous. Choosing ripe fruit, absurd. The only thing that felt good was reading Catarina’s letters and running along the wall that surrounded Lucca. Just running. Not thinking, not dreaming about the future. She let herself be held up by the centuries-old stone. She wondered how many other people throughout the thousand-year history of the hewn rock had passed along the same path feeling a similar sorrow and she took comfort in thinking that she was just one in a sea of humanity who had loved and lost.
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