“Shut up,” she said. “I can’t help it that I’m directionally challenged. Don’t make fun of my handicap.”
“Never.”
A minute after they fell in behind the group, Armani stopped them in front of a little gelato shop on the street. Again, they all lined up in couples. Kristina and Armani got their paper cups of gelato and stepped aside. Maggie protested while Enzo kept insisting he’d pay for hers. They looked at each other like they’d forgotten the others existed. Nick would never look at Cynthia that way. If she said she’d pay for her own ice cream, he’d let her. He wouldn’t insist on paying and make a big spectacle of it.
“Coffee?” Nick asked, raising his eyebrows at Cynthia.
“Of course,” she snapped. Even his knowing her favorite flavor annoyed her.
He got out his wallet without a word, but he was giving her that look.
“I’ll pay,” she said, bumping him out of the way with her hip.
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
“You got it last time,” she reminded him. “In Milan.”
He shrugged and slid his wallet back into his pocket. “I’ll get the next one.”
And she knew he would. He never forgot to pay for the next round, or to pay for the first one if they didn’t remember whose turn it was. It was the always knowing that bothered her.
The guy behind the counter handed the two cups of gelato over the glass to them, and they stepped aside to let Rory and Ned order. Maggie was laughing and swiping at Enzo’s hand as he held her ice cream out of reach. Cynthia frowned into her cup. The excitement and exhilaration of not knowing let Maggie be bolder. She didn’t know if she’d ever see this guy again. She could laugh and slap at him playfully, flattered that he’d paid for her like a gentleman though he’d get nothing in return. She’d already told him she had a boyfriend, that nothing could happen. But that tiny sliver of possibility kept the excitement alive.
Cynthia slid over next to Kristina and nudged her. “How come you didn’t bring a date for me?”
“You have Nick,” Kristina said, looking a little guilty.
“Nick’s my friend,” Cynthia said. “That’s like saying Maggie has you. Armani still brought a guy for her.”
“Okay,” Kristina said. “I’ll ask him to bring more friends next time. I just didn’t know if Nick would be okay with me setting you up with someone.”
“It’s not up to him,” Cynthia said. “We’re not together.”
Kristina snuck a peek over Cynthia’s shoulder, and she had a feeling Nick was close enough to hear her. “Okay, okay,” Kristina said. “Don’t get all pissy. I didn’t know.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times.”
“Okay, fine.” She turned to Armani. “Can you bring one of your friends for Cynthia next time?”
Cynthia glared at Kristina, but it was too late to tell her not to be so obvious. Now she looked desperate.
“Is that not your man?” Armani asked, nodding to where Nick had turned away to talk to Ned and Rory.
“No,” Cynthia said. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not really looking. I just thought your friends were pretty cool the other day. I’d like to hang out with some real Italians while I’m here.”
“I will invite them the next time.” He put his arm around Kristina and said to her, “Let’s walk more. We are almost there.”
Cynthia tried to get a grip on her annoyance. She didn’t know why she was being so awful to Nick. Just that he was always there, and without even trying, he was scaring off guys. It wasn’t his fault. He was just being her friend, like always. And that was the problem. She wanted more than a friend to see Europe with. She wanted a guy, someone special. Nick was great, but she wanted love, too. She wanted the fairytale that Kristina seemed to have found without any effort, just by being the skinny blonde American fantasy of an Italian guy.
They came around the corner of a building and there, in front of them, lay the Trevi Fountain in all its glory. Statues and green water rushing everywhere, lit from behind and below. Cynthia forgot all about her bad mood. She screamed and ran past Armani and Kristina, down the paved walkway that circled the outside of the fountain. She stood at the railing, the cool spray of the water brushing over her arms when a breeze came up. Closing her eyes and clutching her globe necklace, she took a deep breath and thought of her mom, and then her dad, conjuring them into her mind so they could be there in spirit.
The hairs along her arm prickled with heat, and she knew Nick had come to stand beside her. She’d wanted him to come with her to Italy, had convinced him to come. He was the closest thing she could get to her mother, the safest person she knew. And she wanted that in a friend. A nice guy, the kind who wouldn’t kiss her when she was drunk, even if she asked him to. But she wanted the thrill of the unknown, too, the thrill of discovery that all of her friends had and she didn’t. She wanted to be swept off her feet. But that wasn’t Nick’s job.
“Sorry I was rude to you earlier,” she said, turning sideways and leaning her hip against the railing while she ate her gelato.
“You weren’t,” Nick said with a shrug.
“I just kind of got jealous of all that,” she said, nodding to where Ned had picked up Rory, who let out a little yelp. He set her on the railing and stepped back to take a picture.
“I can take your picture,” Nick said.
Cynthia laughed. “Not that, silly. They all met guys. I want to meet a guy.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“So you are gay,” she said, swinging her hair back away from her food. “I think Kristina and Maggie were taking bets.”
Nick just shook his head and took a bite of his gelato. The summer before, her friends back home had convinced her that he had to be gay or he’d have made a move. So one night, after a couple beers at a barbecue, she’d come right out and asked him. He said he wasn’t gay, but she still wondered sometimes. He was great at flirting but never made a move, he never went out with anyone for more than a couple dates, and he made vaguely telling statements on occasion.
“You did tell them I wasn’t gay, though, right?” he asked, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No,” she said lightly. “I never confirm or deny rumors.”
“You certainly have no problem clearing up the one about us dating.”
“I said I was sorry.”
He shrugged and turned back to the water. “It’s okay. I don’t care if they think I’m gay.”
Cynthia finished her gelato and dropped the cup into the bag with her beer. “I don’t think any of them care if you are.”
“Good.”
Instead of trying to figure that one out, Cynthia pulled her beer out and opened it. After the smooth, creamy gelato, the bitterness almost brought tears to her eyes. She took another long swallow, relishing the sting.
“Can you believe this has been here for four hundred years?” Maggie marveled, leaning over the railing, her long brown hair blowing back from her face. Of course Maggie knew all about the history of the fountain, and she pointed out aspects by all the designers from Bernini to Pannini. They hung around the fountain for the next half hour, taking pictures with the group and looking at the water trickling over the beautiful marble statues.
Finally, Armani said they had somewhere else to go, so they all walked back along the street, past the gelato shop and the liquor store. Kristina wanted to get some wine, and Cynthia got another beer, though she was already feeling a little unsteady. “Help me with this?” she asked Nick, and he nodded in agreement. As they continued down the street, Cynthia linked her arm through Nick’s.
“Where do you think Armani is taking us this time?” she asked. “We’re not really dressed for clubbing. Although you could probably pass. You’re always dressed up.”
“You look good, too,” Nick said. “You always look good.”
“Hardly,” Cynthia said, gesturing to her white shorts and grey t-shirt. Nick, who always wore pre
ppy hipster clothes, was wearing a skinny tie over an olive green shirt and black pants. Even in a fancy Italian club, he would probably do alright.
They came out into a huge courtyard with a small fountain. Beyond that, three short, wide sets of steps ascended to a majestic building.
“Oh my God,” Cynthia said, grabbing Nick’s hand. “The Spanish Steps.”
They ran up the first flight of short steps together, passing a few random people sitting and talking, and then the second, and then the third. At the top, Nick pulled her into his arms, catching her by surprise. She was laughing and out of breath, but for one awkward second, their eyes met and she thought he was going to kiss her. When she pressed on his chest, he released her and she stepped back, trying to laugh again to cover the uncomfortable moment. The beer was buzzing through her, and she felt unsteady suddenly.
“Come on, let’s go sit with the others,” she said. The group was walking up the steps, Maggie and Kristina and their guys in front, Rory and Ned hanging back some. They all settled on a spot halfway up the steps and sat looking at the fountain below, this one not nearly as grand as the Trevi. A couple was taking selfies in front of it, the warm, bright lights of the courtyard illuminating their silhouettes. Cynthia sat next to Nick and sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. She wondered if her mom was at the viewing right then. But no, that would be in the evening back in America, which was hours away from night in Italy.
“I should have gone home,” she blurted out.
Nick gave her knee a little squeeze. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “I know it.”
“What if I’m not?” she asked. “I don’t even know where to start getting over this.”
“I don’t know that,” Nick said. “But you’re one of the strongest people I know. And I know you’ll figure it out, and you’ll be okay.”
“You’re crazy,” she said. “I’ve never even been away from my mom for more than a couple weeks, and I already miss her, and I’m drunk again. How is that being strong?”
“You don’t have to be strong every minute of every day,” he said. “And loving your mom is sweet. It doesn’t have anything to do with being strong.”
“I don’t feel strong,” she said. “But thanks.”
He squeezed her knee again, and she realized how long his hand had been on her leg. At the same moment, he seemed to realize, but he didn’t pull back. Their eyes met, and she thought she saw a question there. But after a second, he took his hand off her knee and reached for the beer. If he liked her, he’d have made a move, like her friends back home said. He’d kiss her like Armani was kissing Kristina. Maybe he’d even lay her down and pull down her shorts and make love to her right there, on the Spanish Steps, for all the world to see.
“I think I drank too much again,” she said, waving off the beer when he handed it back. “Keep it.”
He didn’t coax her to drink more, like Enzo, who was trying to get Maggie to take a shot of some kind of liquor he’d bought. He didn’t make a suggestive comment about taking advantage of her later, so she could be outraged and swat at him like Maggie was doing. He didn’t even put his hand on her leg again, though she started wishing he would after a while. It was just the beer talking. She didn’t really want Nick. But still. She wanted someone, and he was the closest she had right then.
“How come you never date?” she asked.
Nick took a sip of the beer before answering. “How come you don’t?”
“I date,” she said. “I try, at least. But most guys are jerks.”
“Maybe you’re looking at the wrong guys.”
“Yeah, probably,” she said. “Nice guys are boring.”
“Good to know.”
“What about you? Your ex treated you too bad, and now you’re jaded?”
“Maybe I’m waiting for the right person, at the right time.”
“When’s that?” she asked, an edge of challenge in her voice. She leaned in, resting her weight on her palm, and smiled up at him from under her lashes. His olive shirt amplified the green of his eyes, intense behind his glasses.
But when he started to lean in, she pulled back, suddenly too scared to go through with it. She was drunk and acting stupid. She knew that. If she’d been sober, she’d never have wanted to kiss him. Just earlier that night, she’d asked Kristina to set her up with one of Armani’s friends. Being drunk and lonely in Italy was messing with her head. And she didn’t want to mess with Nick’s head, make him think she wanted to be more than friends. Just sleeping next to him had made things weird for two whole days. That was something that friends could do, though not very often. But friends didn’t kiss.
She shook her head to clear it, hugging herself and shivering when a cold breeze wrapped around her. “I definitely need to cut back on the Italian beer,” she said. “That stuff is way too strong for me. I actually thought you were about to kiss me.”
“How traumatizing.”
She forced a laugh and slugged his shoulder when she saw the frown creasing his forehead. “I know, right?”
Nick took a swallow of beer and rested his elbows on his knees, frowning at the bottle he let swing from one hand.
“I’m just messing with you,” she said. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he said. “And I promise I’ll never kiss you, now that I know the thought of it literally makes you shudder.”
“The thought of what?” Kristina asked, scooting back a step to sit next to Cynthia.
“Kissing Nick,” Cynthia said, laughing. She was so relieved for the interruption she could have kissed Kristina right then.
“That’s so mean.” Kristina turned to Nick. “I’d kiss you, if I didn’t have Armani to make out with. And if Cynthia didn’t care, obviously.”
“Why would I care?” Cynthia asked. “Go for it. He’s all yours.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, for a later date,” Kristina said, giving Nick an exaggerated wink. “You know, for when I’m back home and missing Armani. You’re like, Italy Lite.”
“Little Italy,” Cynthia said, grinning.
Later, as they walked to the bus stop to ride home, Nick and Ned fell into step, debating pizza once again. Cynthia found her mind wandering back to that moment on the steps. She thought she knew Nick so well, but she couldn’t tell if he was mad at her or not. Maybe he had been about to kiss her. Or maybe she’d imagined the whole thing in her fuzzy-brained state after the beer.
The best thing would be for her to date someone else, even if they just hung out for a few weeks like Kristina and Armani. Maybe he could meet a cute Italian girl, and they could all hang out together. Then she wouldn’t have to keep wondering if her best friend really was hitting on her and risking not only the trip but the last two years of their friendship. That was something too precious for Cynthia to risk.
Chapter Seven
When Nick showed up at her flat the next morning, right on time as usual, Cynthia wasn’t sure if she should answer the door. But she did, because it was Nick.
“What’s up?” he asked, giving her a once-over, which was excusable this time, since she was still in a pair of pink boxer shorts and a tank top.
“I’m not going to class today.”
“Guess I should have guessed that one. Want to get breakfast?”
“You can’t skip class for me.”
“Sure I can.”
She put a hand on her hip and smirked at him. “You’ve never skipped class in your life.”
“You haven’t known me my whole life,” he said. “I was total bad-boy in high school.”
“You were not.”
“Fine, I wasn’t,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “What can I say, you’re a bad influence.”
“Is that what your mom would say if she knew I was Mexican-American?” She never felt quite right saying she was Mexican—after all, she’d been born in America and stumbled over Spanish words. But she couldn’t leave that part off and just call herself an
American, either. She was both and neither at the same time.
“No, but that’s what she’d say if she saw you wearing that in front of me.”
Cynthia crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Stop looking at my boobs, you perv.”
“Sorry,” he said, but his dopey smile said he was anything but.
“Quit,” she said, slapping his arm. “Go wait in the kitchen while I get dressed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted as he slipped past her into the kitchen, still smiling.
She went to her room to put on a bra, along with a skirt and a loose, flowery top. “Wow,” Nick said, standing when she came into the kitchen.
“Stop looking at me like that, you’re freaking me out.”
“Right. Sorry. So, you ready to go to breakfast?”
“Yep.”
“And you want to tell me why we’re skipping class?”
“Nope.”
“Okay then.” He followed her out the front door, stopping while she locked up before turning towards the café.
“So really,” she said. “Does your mom know about me?”
“What about you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “That we hang out, I guess.”
He paused for a second. “No,” he said at last. “I don’t talk to her about that kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing? Your friends?”
“Anything, really,” he said. “We’re not like you and your mom.”
“Well, my mom’s met you, so it’s hard to hide you.”
“I’m not hiding you,” he said. “We just don’t talk much.”
“So you didn’t tell her I was your girlfriend to get her off your back about being gay?” she teased, smiling up at him.
He smiled back and pulled open the door of the café for her. “No.”
“Would she care that I’m not white?”
“I don’t care. It’s who you are.”
They took their usual seat next to the window and ordered their usual coffees. In all the time she’d known him, she’d only known about the crazy ex-girlfriend, who was white. Since then, he hadn’t been with anyone long enough to call it dating. She didn’t know if he’d dated before that. “So…have you ever dated someone who wasn’t white?” she asked after the waiter had left the table.
When In Rome...Lose Control: Cynthia's Story Page 6