“I’m from Houston.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
She poked his hand lightly with her fork. “What was she? Hispanic, black, Asian…?”
He accepted his coffee and smiled into it as he added sugar. “Mexican,” he said. “What about you?”
“Oh, I’ve dated a little of everything,” she said, sipping her own coffee. “Except an Italian. And Kristina’s going to remedy that.”
“You going to tell me why we’re skipping class yet?”
She sighed and slumped forward, resting her elbow on the table. “Today’s the viewing and the wake.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I really mean this. I’m here if you need anything. Ever. All you have to do is ask.”
“It’s okay,” she said, straightening up. “I told my mom I wouldn’t think about it while I was here, and I’d see everything for her. And for him. So. Are you ready to tour the city?”
“After we eat, maybe.”
“We need to get more done if we’re going to see all of Europe before we leave.”
“Ambitious.”
She shrugged. “I’m never going to have this chance again. I’m going to get in everything humanly possible while I’m here.”
“But you’re forgetting my long-lost relatives,” he said, setting down his spoon. “When they bequeath me their house, you’ll be able to go all over Europe any time you want.”
“But until then…”
“Fair enough,” he said. “What’s first on the list?”
After breakfast, they went to the Pantheon. Inside the dark room, a cylinder of light fell from the circular opening in the ceiling to the stone floor. They stood under it and peered up into the bright sky overhead. Cynthia took pictures on her phone to email to her mom, and Nick took one for his sister in New York. Nick, who was more interested in architecture than Cynthia, seemed to find it really interesting. Though she’d never admit it to him, Cynthia was a little disappointed. She marked it off her checklist, but she’d expected something more breathtaking. Maybe she wasn’t as cool and cultured as everyone else marveling at it. Or maybe she didn’t like the hollowness of the big, dark room. She was glad to walk outside into the sunlight afterwards.
*
On Friday night, Cynthia thought they’d probably go out dancing again, so she lay out her outfit on the bed—the same little black dress she’d brought just for the occasion, the one she always felt silly wearing at home, like she was trying too hard. Here, it looked like it was meant to be worn every day. She emailed Kristina and Maggie and pulled out her shoes. Her phone buzzed and she picked it up and accepted the video chat with Maggie.
“Hey,” Maggie said. “Kris is going out with Armani. What do you want to do?”
“Sweet,” Cynthia said. “That’s exactly what I was wanting to do.”
“Oh,” Maggie said, her face blurring as she turned to glance over her shoulder and then back to the screen. “I meant, she’s going out with him. I’m not going. Want me to ask her if you can go, too?”
“I don’t want to crash their date,” Cynthia said, but she was hoping Kristina would overhear and tell her to come along.
“I thought maybe we could go somewhere with Rory. She was wanting to walk to that bridge with the locks. Want to come?”
“Yeah, for sure,” Cynthia said, eyeing the heels she’s chosen. Maggie’s boyfriend texted, and she said she’d come over soon, and they got off the phone. Cynthia squiggled into the black dress but chose a pair of gold gladiator sandals instead of heels and threw on a cardigan over the dress so it wouldn’t look too fancy.
An hour later, they piled onto the tram and rumbled north. Cynthia had expected Rory to bring Ned, since it was the “Love Locks Bridge,” after all, but she sat with Maggie while Cynthia and Nick sat together across the aisle. Once they piled off the tram at their stop, Maggie had to check on her phone for the location of Ponte Milvio, and then they walked out and along the cobbled street. The old fashioned lamp posts made Cynthia feel like she was walking through a romantic movie.
But in a romantic movie, she’d have a dashing Italian boyfriend with her instead of her best friend from home. Not that Nick wasn’t great, but she wanted adventure. That’s why she’d come—to see the world, to experience things she wouldn’t do at home. And here she was, still clinging to Nick everywhere she went, like the security blanket she’d dragged around when she was a kid, even taking it to school in her backpack until third grade, when it had been nothing more than a rag, threadbare and silk-soft from her years of petting it whenever anxiety gnawed at her.
That’s exactly what Nick was like, she realized as they walked and he made casual conversation with Rory. He put everyone at ease, not just her. He was always there for her, so that if she felt awkward at a social gathering where she didn’t know anyone, she could talk to him. And he’d laugh at all her jokes, and flirt when she flirted, and not ask for more. He was pretty much the perfect friend and safety net. But she’d taken this trip to explore new possibilities, to break out of her comfort zone and spread her wings, as her mom had said. And without even meaning to, she’d taken her nest with her. Only now, her nest wasn’t her mom but her best friend, so it was easy to think she was being independent.
Just as all these realizations were falling into place, they turned onto a bridge whose columns and cables were hung with hundreds—maybe thousands—of locks.
“Oh my God,” Maggie said, her hand going to her throat. “It’s so romantic.”
“They’re locks,” Cynthia said.
Rory walked along the bridge, running her fingertips over the locks which swayed and made quiet clinking sounds, like strange bells, as she passed. They all stopped in the middle of the bridge and peered down at the Tevere below without speaking.
“I’m going to put one on,” Maggie said, pulling a lock out of the pocket of the light jacket she wore.
“Aren’t you supposed to do it with your true love?” Rory asked, fingering one of the locks.
“I can’t,” Maggie said, her voice high and tremulous. “He’s not here.”
“Oh, don’t cry,” Cynthia said, putting a hand on Maggie’s trembling back. “It’s okay. You’ll see him in a month. It’s not that long.” She continued trying to comfort Maggie, whose shoulders shook with silent tears as she clipped her lock onto a cable and snapped it closed.
“I’m okay,” Maggie said, wiping her eyes with a little laugh. “It’s so silly, I know. It’s just, talking to him tonight…I really miss him.” She swiped at a fresh batch of tears.
“And he misses you, too,” Cynthia said, putting her arm around Maggie and squeezing her shoulders. “You know that. You’re his whole life.”
“I know,” Maggie said. “It’s just, this is the most romantic place in the world, and all I can do is think about him. You all have someone here, you know?”
“I don’t,” Cynthia said, forcing her eyes not to move to Nick, who was leaning his palms on the railing and looking out over the water. Rory wasn’t being quite as tactful, and just stood back, staring at Maggie with her solemn eyes magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses.
“I know. It’s silly,” Maggie said with a forced laugh. “I’m not trying to be a jealous hag, I promise.”
“You’re not,” Cynthia said, giving Maggie’s shoulders a little squeeze. “You’re missing your boyfriend of what? Like, seven years? How could you not miss him while you’re here, especially here? Look at this place.”
“I know.” Maggie’s laugh was more genuine, if incredulous, this time. “This was probably the worst idea ever. I was just thinking, after we talked, that I’d come here and feel…I don’t know. Closer to him, I guess. Not like this.” She pulled two keys on a tiny ring from the pocket of her navy jacket and stepped over to the railing beside Nick.
They all lined up along the railing while Maggie pulled back and h
urled the keys into the river below. They disappeared without so much as a splash, like the night itself had swallowed them instead of the water. Nick’s hand snuck into Cynthia’s and squeezed, and he gave her that side smile, with the dimple in his cheek. She knew right then that she had to tell him, to spell it out. Just in case. Maybe he didn’t like her, and she was being silly. But maybe he did, and she was being unfair. So she pulled him away from the others a few steps before she released his hand, took a deep breath, and turned to him.
“Look, you’re like my best friend in the whole entire world,” she said. “And, you know, maybe someday…”
When she trailed off, he raised his eyebrows but didn’t speak. He’d turned sideways to face her, leaning his elbow on the railing and resting his hip against it. She couldn’t read him at all, and their separateness felt huge suddenly, like she’d never fully thought of him as his own person before, separate from herself. He wasn’t just what he meant to her, or what she meant to him. Yes, he made her feel good. But he had his own stuff, too, that had nothing to do with her.
“While we’re here, I want to meet a guy and go out and have fun,” she said. “To have a fling, like Kristina.”
“I know. You told me.”
“But then I thought, I’m the one who wanted to do this, and I wanted you to come with me, and maybe you got the wrong idea.”
He pushed up his glasses and gave her that easy smile, like awkwardness couldn’t touch him. “No ideas here.”
She forced a laugh. “It’s silly, right? I just didn’t want you to be mad if I was hanging out with them and I didn’t ask you to come.”
“You can hang out with whoever you want,” Nick said. “I never told you not to.”
“I know,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“I’m a big boy,” he said. “I’m sure I can entertain myself while you’re busy.”
“Exactly,” she said with a little laugh. “I told you it was silly. We’re friends. That doesn’t mean we have to do every single thing together.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean, it’s not like I’m ditching you. We’ll still hang out with the group.”
“I know.”
“And hey, maybe you’ll meet a girl and have a fling, too. Get over your psycho ex. Then we can double date.”
“Anything’s possible.”
“Thanks for being so cool,” she said, reaching out to slug his shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”
“That’s me.”
“Okay. If you’re sure you’re not mad.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, again with that easy smile. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”
“Just the way I want to be,” she said.
Chapter Eight
The next day, they had a group outing with Professor McClain and the whole study abroad class to see the Colosseum. Afterwards, they had the option of going back with the group or staying to walk around the area outside.
“Maybe we can call Armani, see if him and his friends want to do something,” Cynthia suggested.
“I’ll text him now,” Kristina said, whipping out her phone.
“Wow, you were just waiting for one of us to ask that, weren’t you?” Maggie said.
“Don’t worry,” Kristina said with a knowing smile. “I’ll tell him you asked for Enzo.”
“Don’t you dare,” Maggie said. “He’s not my type, anyway.”
They walked down the street, away from the ruins and the rest of their group. Rory trailed along with them, silently, until they went into a Chinese place for lunch.
“I don’t know about this,” Rory whispered, wrinkling her nose. “It smells fishy in here.”
“I think Italian would be safer,” Maggie said.
“Chill, we’re not going to get food poisoning,” Kristina said. “It’s Italy, not South America.”
“It’s going to be gross,” Maggie said. “I can tell if a restaurant is good by the smell when you walk in.”
“Whatever,” Kristina said. “I love Chinese food, and I haven’t had it in over a week. I’m surprised I’ve survived this long.”
The place did not have a big buffet like American restaurants, so they all studied their menus. The first time they hung out back home, Cynthia had gone out for lunch at a Chinese place with Kristina and Maggie to plan what they’d do in Rome. She’d been shocked by the amount of food such a skinny, lanky girl could consume. Even when Cynthia tried to watch her weight, she was always a little thick. Kristina was thin, bordering on skinny, loose-limbed and klutzy. But guys seemed to flock to her without her putting out any effort whatsoever.
“Armani’s not coming,” she said, making a pout. “He said he’s busy.”
A waitress came then to take their order. After the meal—awful, as Maggie predicted—the other girls went back to Kristina and Maggie’s house. Cynthia had her period and didn’t feel very good, so she went home. Nick didn’t say much on the way, and once she got back to the flat, she didn’t know what to do with herself. He hadn’t said anything, but she thought he was mad about the night before, even though he’d said he was fine with everything she’d said.
Still, she checked her phone one more time before going to bed. He hadn’t emailed.
Sunday dawned rainy and grey. Cynthia pulled the covers over her head and went back to sleep. She dreamed that she went home, and her mother took her to the cemetery to see her dad’s grave, but when they got there, the headstone said Nick’s name instead of her father’s. When she woke, she couldn’t go back to sleep. Finally she scolded herself for being silly and emailed Nick. They were still best friends, after all. In the two years they’d been hanging out, she’d called and texted him hundreds of times. It wasn’t like he was a guy and she had to wait around for his call.
When he answered her email, he said he was catching up on homework and he’d see her at class the next day. Disappointed, she flopped back on her bed and tried to sleep, but she couldn’t. After a while, she got her planner and penciled in a few places she hoped to see in the coming week. On Monday, she sat in class with the rest of the group. “What’d you do this weekend?” Cynthia asked Nick.
“Not much,” Nick said. “Just saw the most amazing set of ancient ruins known to man.”
“Besides that,” Cynthia said, smiling.
“Not much. You?”
“Not much.”
When Professor McClain came into the room and set her stuff down, Cynthia was actually relieved. She didn’t know if all the awkwardness was coming from her again, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Maybe Nick thought everything was fine, and he was perfectly relaxed. Or maybe not.
After class, she walked with Rory to their usual gathering spot beside the doors of the university building. “What’s the plan now?” Cynthia asked Kristina.
“Let’s go to lunch,” Ned said. “I’m starving. There’s a little pub around the corner that serves food.” They fell into their usual procession as they walked—Ned and Rory, Maggie and Kristina, and Cynthia and Nick. Cynthia wracked her list of conversational topics for something to say to fill the silence between them, but she came up empty. They stopped at a pub with tall brass handles on the door, which Nick held open for her, like usual.
But something was definitely off. When they sat down, Nick sat next to Ned and started chatting about beer. Ned, it seemed, was an aficionado and couldn’t believe Nick didn’t drink at home. After some ribbing, Nick relented and ordered a beer.
“It’s Monday,” Cynthia said. “And it’s only two o’clock.”
“What can I say, you gave me a taste and now I’m hooked,” Nick said with his unwavering smile. “I told you that you were a bad influence.”
“I didn’t get a beer,” Cynthia pointed out.
“Five o’clock somewhere,” Ned said, raising his glass to bump Nick’s.
“Let him be a guy,” Kristina said. “Jeez, you’re not his mom.�
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Cynthia cut her a glare, but Kristina didn’t seem to notice. She clinked her own wine glass with the guys’ beer mugs before opening her menu. Her bouncy, high ponytail hung in a perfect blonde swoop down the back of her arched neck as she studied the sandwich selections. She missed the extra second Nick’s eyes stayed on her, but Cynthia didn’t.
For the rest of the week, they went to classes, and in the evenings, she tried to get together with her friends for dinner if she could. Professor McClain took them on a tour of the Roman Forum, but the whole time, Cynthia thought about her dad. She should have been home, saying goodbye and mourning his death, not traipsing around Rome. Even from the grave, he seemed to be haunting her with guilt.
On the ride back, Cynthia sat with the girls, so Nick went further back in the bus and sat with some guys from class that they didn’t know. She felt bad for a minute, but like he said, he was a big boy and could take care of himself. She’d told him she wanted some space, and now he was giving it to her. Of course. He always did what she wanted. It was kind of annoying.
Kristina and Rory spent the ride back talking about their boys, and Maggie joined in with a recount of her latest Skype date with Weston. But Cynthia couldn’t seem to muster her usual enthusiasm. She had nothing to add to a conversation about guys, anyway. Her relationships usually lasted a couple months before she got bored, and she didn’t have a new guy in her life like they all did. While they pondered the mysterious behavior of their male companions, Cynthia pulled out her planner.
On the title page, she’d written in huge, bright pink letters, “THE YEAR I GO TO ROME,” followed by a whole row of exclamation points. But as she ticked the Forum off her list of places to see, she couldn’t help but think that maybe her dad had been right. The places she’d seen had been spectacular, but in the end, people were still people. Maybe they were talking about different guys, but she could have heard the same conversation on any bus in any country. No matter how hard she’d worked to cover the costs that her grant didn’t, no matter how much she spent on the trip, she couldn’t turn it into a practical skill. It was a just an excuse for people to do things they wouldn’t do at home.
When In Rome...Lose Control: Cynthia's Story Page 7