But her dad was blood.
She sighed and emailed Professor McClain. For a few minutes, she sat rereading the email again and again. Finally, she squeezed her eyes shut and hit send. She couldn’t bear to look at her dreams disappearing. After sending the email, she slammed her laptop, threw herself across her bed, and sobbed.
*
“Armani’s taking us to some local spots tomorrow,” Kristina said. “You in?”
“You’re killing me,” Cynthia said.
“What? Why?”
Cynthia didn’t know how to tell them she was going home. That she wasn’t going to be there for anything. She’d never see the Trevi Fountain or the Vatican. She’d miss the visit to Tuscany and the ferry across to Venice, where they planned to spend a whole day, maybe even a weekend, wandering the city on foot and taking gondola rides through the canals.
They were all looking at her now, waiting to go into class, and she couldn’t tell them. She shook her head and said, “Never mind. I’m in.”
Nick was already there, and she slipped into her seat beside him as usual, because it would be more awkward to not sit with him than it would be to get it over with and sit there.
“Hey,” she said.
He smiled, his dimple sinking into his cheek.
She shifted and pulled out her planner. Nick didn’t say anything, and she didn’t, either. For the entire class, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, achingly aware of his nearness, of his solid presence beside her. She didn’t look at him, because then she’d have to think up something to say, and she didn’t know what to say. That she’d gotten drunk and acted like an idiot? That she had snuck out and left him sleeping? That he’d said he liked her and she hadn’t said anything? He knew those things. If he was mad at her, she didn’t know how she’d apologize. As awkward as it had been waking up with him the first time, and having him apologize for some unknown offense, this was worse. She’d wanted to spare herself the weirdness, not give herself an extra dose of it.
After class, she stood quickly and slipped to the front of the room to talk to Professor McClain, waving her friends to go on when they lingered. She walked back to her flat alone. Even the cats perched in the sun along the low wall didn’t lift her spirits. She stepped closer and reached out to pet one, but it hissed at her, and then they all slipped fluidly from the ledge, casting baleful glances at her as they slunk away. Back at the flat, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. Sunlight streamed through the window in the kitchen onto the empty island. She stood in the brightness, feeling the emptiness around her. Maybe she would even miss this.
In her room, she slowly packed her bag, folding each item of clothing she hadn’t gotten a chance to wear. A sundress she’d bought just for the trip, a bathing suit for a hot day when they’d go to the beach, a slinky dress she’d only worn once at home but that she’d been certain she’d wear every time she went out in Italy. She hadn’t had a chance to do laundry, so she refolded the clothes she’d worn and packed those, too—the shorts and flowy blouse she’d worn on their trip to Milan, the sparkly top and lace cardigan she’d worn out to the club, when she’d danced with Armani’s friends all night, the jeans she’d worn the night before at Nick’s. The last thing she did was wrap the long chain around her shiny globe and tuck the necklace her mom had given her into the small pocket inside her purse.
When her bags were packed, she sat on the edge of her bed for a while, staring at the wall. Then she lay down, folded her hands over her chest, looked up at the crucifix, and prayed until she fell asleep. She woke up an hour later, sent a group email to her friends, and called a taxi. She couldn’t bear to hear what any of her friends would say, so she turned off her phone while she waited. “Goodbye, empty flat,” she called as she pulled the door closed behind her. All she had to do was leave a short note before ducking out, since she’d already told her host parents about her dad.
When she climbed into the taxi this time, no one climbed in with her to help her navigate. No one sat beside her, bursting with excitement for the adventure ahead. Her friends had all the adventures in front of them, and she was going home, alone. She closed her eyes and trusted the cabbie to get her to the airport, which he did. Inside, she explained her situation at the counter and they said they’d get her on the next flight with an empty seat.
She took her stand-by ticket, went through customs, and sat down at the gate. And she kept sitting there when people started boarding. The woman at the counter called her name over the intercom, but she didn’t move.
“Cynthia Arevalo, please report to the ticket counter.”
She clutched her ticket so tightly it began to wrinkle and cave in on itself. If only she could stand up and make her way to the counter. Outside, a plane taxied down the runway. In the distance, she could see the dome of some magnificent cathedral. St. Peter’s? St. Paul’s?
The lady at the ticket counter was paging her again, telling her to report to her gate for immediate boarding. A man looked at her strangely as he hurried past, rushing to slide his boarding pass into the hands of the woman at the counter. Cynthia heard his heavy footfalls and the wheels of his carryon bag echoing down the gangplank. Outside, the plane taxiing down the runway picked up speed and lifted into the air.
That could be me, she thought. That will be me in a minute. Leaving without seeing anything. Leaving an adventure and going home to death. This was supposed to be her trip of a lifetime, something spectacular that she’d never forget. And here she was at the beginning, already ending it. Her chance to see the world was ending, and she’d go home to more endings, more bitter goodbyes.
She hadn’t even said goodbye to her friends. She hadn’t had the nerve to tell them she was leaving. Of course they’d understand. But a part of her was ashamed. No matter how hard it seemed, she was doing the easy thing, taking the coward’s way out. She was running home to her mom again, the way she’d done every time bad things happened to her. Her whole life, that’s what she’d done. When her father yelled at her, she ran to her mother to hide. When her first hookup turned out to be a jerk who broke her heart, she ran to her mother, who let her stay home from school and hide for a whole week.
“This is the final boarding call for flight…”
Cynthia stood and watched an airport employee close the door leading to the gangplank and bar it. She watched the gangplank fold closed like an accordion. The plane slowly circled towards the runway. If she ran over to the counter now, would they stop the plane? Would they walk her out and drop a ladder for her to climb into the plane? She could still run home to her mother and hide her face in her mom’s lap and cry for days. Her mom would let her stay in her room for the rest of the summer, crying that she’d missed out on the one chance she’d gotten in life to do something without having to worry about the money, on her own, without her mother to fall back on.
The plane moved into a line behind another plane, waiting to take its place on the runway.
She’d told Nick about the last time she’d fought with her dad. She hadn’t told him that the last half dozen times they talked, they’d fought. But that didn’t matter now, because no one was right or wrong anymore. She’d won by default. Now she’d always have the last word.
The plane moved forward in line as the one in front began gathering speed. She wanted to run outside, waving a flag and crying, “Wait! I made a mistake!”
She couldn’t just stay in Rome. Her dad was dead. He was going to have a funeral, and she’d never see him again. This was her last chance.
But it wasn’t him. She’d had her last chance, the last time she’d seen him. Now, all that was left was a body. If only she’d known that would be her last chance, her last time, her last conversation. She would have said something better. Maybe not that she understood, but that she forgave him.
The plane that she was supposed to be on, the plane with an empty seat, began to creep down the runway.
Maybe the real question, the reason she wanted to go
home, was that she didn’t know if he’d forgive her. And now he’d never get the chance. If he’d been a less-than-ideal father, she hadn’t been much better as a daughter.
The plane with the empty seat whined, its engines at full throttle now, gathering speed as it went, until its wheels were nothing more than a blur.
Cynthia blinked away her tears, hoping the plane would come back into focus. That it would stop, suspended in time, and begin moving backwards, bringing her back across the ocean to the night before she’d left. She’d sat in her mother’s tiny apartment with her mom, watching reruns of some silly sitcom, their fingers greasy with butter from the bag of microwave popcorn they shared. Her phone had buzzed as a call came in, but she had switched it off instead of answering. After the last time they’d talked, she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say.
The plane hurtled forward and lifted into the air, thrusting forwards instead of back, ripping away her dream of changing what had already happened, all she’d done and not done. Had her father thought about that kind of thing while he lay dying under his car? Or had he only thought of his own life, his own escape. Suddenly, the thought of escape flooded her mind, and she wanted nothing more than to continue her own life, to do something glorious and unforgettable, as far from thoughts of death as she could get.
She watched the plane disappear over the city, and then she turned and ran.
*
Back at the flat, she called her mom.
“I couldn’t do it,” she said, her voice catching.
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s okay,” her mother said. “I’m so glad you said that. I’ve been feeling just terrible since I talked to you last night.”
“I feel awful. I still don’t know. I keep going back and forth. I went to change my flight, and I got on standby for a flight to London, but then…I couldn’t do it.”
“It’s okay,” her mother said again. “No one expects you to cut your trip short. I’m so sorry about your father, sweetheart. But you’re doing the right thing.”
“Then how come it feels so bad?” Cynthia asked, swiping a tear from under her eye.
“Because he’s your father,” her mother said. “Whatever your relationship, he’s still your father.”
“Was,” Cynthia said. “He was my father.”
“Oh…Cynthia, honey. He’s still your father. He will always be your father. Just like I’m always your mother. But now, you have to be an adult and experience the world on your own. That’s what you went to Italy for.”
The tears came faster, and Cynthia had to keep wiping her face. “But I don’t want to be here on my own,” she choked out. “I want to be with you. I miss you, Mom. Especially now.”
“I know, it’s terrible,” her mother said, wiping at her own tears. “I miss you, too. So much. But I want you to go and have fun, and see everything. Do it for me, okay? And for your father. Take us there in spirit. Maybe he can see it, too. He’s watching over you now.”
“You really think he wouldn’t hate me for staying? Or think I’m a selfish, horrible person?”
“I know he wouldn’t.”
They talked a few minutes more, blubbering through their tears. But it was her mom, so she didn’t have to hold back or worry about ugly-crying in front of her. When she finally closed the computer, she lay on her bed, feeling emptied out and scrubbed clean by all the tears. Half of her still wanted to open up the website and order her ticket home without letting another moment go by. But another part wanted to stay more than anything. Everyone said she should stay—her mother, her friends, Nick. Professor McClain had told her she was making a mistake if she didn’t come back.
But what if they were wrong? Just when she thought she was out of tears, they started flowing again. A part of her kept thinking how selfish it was to stay. But then, that same selfish part wanted to go running home to her mom, who always saved her. This time, her mom couldn’t protect her. She couldn’t make things right. And as much as Cynthia wanted her mom to comfort her and tell her it was all okay, she had to get out and see the world while she could.
Standing in front of her mirror, she fastened the globe necklace back around her neck and began brushing her multicolored hair. If she went home now, she might never leave again. Dying her hair might be the most exciting thing she’d ever done. It was so easy to run home, to tell herself she couldn’t do it, that she couldn’t afford it, that she didn’t speak the language or have anyone to go with her. Her dream had finally come true. If she gave it up now, she’d end up like her dad. Hating herself for being stuck in the same situation in the same little town, until one day she found herself sweating under a rusty engine while she was suffocated to death by the weight of her life.
*
The next day after class, they all gathered outside, waiting for Kristina’s hot Italian guy to come pick her up. Cynthia stood with Maggie and Kristina, telling them about her dad, forcing her eyes not to stray over to where Nick was leaning against the wall of the building talking to Rory. They hadn’t said two words to each other since she’d left him sleeping. At this point, she couldn’t tell if the weirdness was coming from her or him. Instead of trying to fix it, she’d let it go on too long, and the awkwardness just kept multiplying until here they were. Just like it been in high school, the last time she’d hooked up with a friend. This is why she never let things cross that line. Friendships were ruined over the most innocent missteps.
“Here he is,” Kristina squealed when Armani sauntered up.
After they’d driven away on his Vespa, Maggie turned to Cynthia with sympathy just oozing from her. “How are you doing?” she asked. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I will be,” Cynthia said.
“Are you and Nick fighting?” Maggie asked, casting a furtive glance at Nick and Rory.
“What? Oh, no, we’re fine,” Cynthia said, waving the idea away.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you tonight,” Maggie said. “Email if you need anything.” When she walked away, Cynthia was left standing alone for a few awkward seconds.
She debated butting in on Nick and Rory, but she didn’t want to drag Rory into anything uncomfortable, so she started for her flat on her own. After a second, Nick called out, “Hey, wait up. I’ll walk with you.”
A wave of relief washed over her, so intense she could have cried. All the tension and weirdness dissipated like a puff of smoke as Nick chatted about the cats and the class and their upcoming trip to the Colosseum. She told him about the outing that night, and it was like the other night had never happened. It was silly to think one innocent little sleepover could have ruined two years of friendship—nothing had even happened. Judging from the way Nick acted, she’d created the whole thing in her head.
They stopped in front of her building, and for a second, there was one extra beat of silence. “Everything okay?” Nick asked, and she wasn’t sure if he meant between them, or with her dad. She opted for the safer response.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s awful, you know, but we weren’t really close. I can’t explain it. I’m sadder about all the things we’ll never get to do than I am about missing anything we did together. If that makes sense.”
“It does.”
Cynthia sighed and rubbed her toe back and forth along a crack in the walkway. “I’m starting to feel like I’m really selfish. But I never really knew him. So it’s hard to miss him. Mostly I’m missing the fact that now I’ll never have the chance to know him.”
“That’s not selfish,” Nick said.
“There’s a lot more,” she said. “If you’d been around yesterday, you really would have seen my selfish side. I was freaking out all day.”
“You should have come down to the café,” he said. “I would have cheered you up.”
“Pretty sure of ourselves today, aren’t we?”
He laughed and nudged her with his elbow. “We going to stand out here all day or are you going to kick me to the curb?”
“Hmm. I t
hink the second option. Sorry. I have some studying to do.”
“I suppose I can tear myself away from you for a few hours,” he said. “And by the way. I’m glad you decided to stay. So there’s my selfishness showing.”
She gave his shoulder a little push and said, “Go on, get out of here. I’ll see you tonight.” Then she turned and went inside, still smiling.
Chapter Six
That night, they all met up and walked along a narrow, old street, similar to a lot of other narrow old streets in Rome. Kristina was glowing and smiling up at Armani the whole time, while Maggie talked to his friend Enzo. He hadn’t brought either of the guys from the club. Rory and her friend Ned walked close together, his arm slung around her waist. To an observer, the group would have looked like four couples. The others all had crushes. Even Maggie, who was practically married, was flirting. That’s probably why Kristina had asked Armani to bring Enzo—so Maggie wouldn’t feel left out.
Cynthia crossed her arms as she walked, hugging herself against the cool breeze that sent goosebumps up her arms. She was the one who was left out. It wasn’t fair. Just because she had a guy friend, everyone assumed that she didn’t want to meet anyone new. But Nick didn’t count. He wasn’t a substitute for an exciting date. She’d never look at Nick the way Kristina was looking at Armani, with that new shine in her eyes, attraction tinged with a little distrust for someone she didn’t really know but already wanted.
When she saw a little shop that sold wine, she told Nick to keep going and stepped inside to get a bottle of beer. But when she stepped back out, she found Nick outside the door.
“I told you to keep going.”
“I wanted to make sure I saw where they were going, in case they turned down a side street,” Nick said, falling into step as they hurried to catch up. “I didn’t want you to get lost. You’d probably end up in Switzerland by the time we found you.”
When In Rome...Lose Control: Cynthia's Story Page 5