When In Rome...Find Yourself: A Sweet New Adult Romance

by Lena Mae Hill

  So why had he been such a jerk in the morning?

  At the house, she stood on the front step for a good two minutes, turning to go in, then turning back to the street, then turning back to the door. She had nowhere else to go. She had to go inside. But maybe not just yet. She needed time to think, to clear her mind. To decide.

  With one more glance back at the house, she hurried up the street. Walking always cleared her mind, especially if she had her camera with her and could take pictures. She stopped to take a picture of the houses on the street, crowded so close that someone could sit on the windowsill and pass a joint back and forth with the person in the next house. Thinking about that made her think about Ned again.

  Did she really want to invest in a relationship that would have to be long distance after three more weeks? Sure, it would be fun to have a boyfriend for a few weeks, and to say she had a boyfriend after that. But if she never got to see him, what was the point?

  She stepped off to the side to take a picture of a bank of red mailboxes, then framed them and took a shot straight on before continuing.

  Really, Kentucky wasn’t that far from Arkansas. They could visit during holidays. And she only had one more year of school. If it worked out, and they wanted to keep it going, a year wasn’t so long to wait for him. She’d already been waiting for two years for someone she could love. Not that she loved Ned. Not yet. But she knew that she could. If she let herself fall in love with him, it would be quick and deep, like it had been with Jack. But what if it ended like Jack?

  She couldn’t afford to retake any classes her senior year. And her parents sure as hell weren’t going to pay for more classes because she couldn’t get herself out of bed. They’d been more than sympathetic the first time, for longer than she deserved, really. But they’d been right to make her go back to school sophomore year, against her will, without her scholarship. They’d been right to make her get a job. They hadn’t come right out and said it was to teach her the value of their hard-earned money, which was now paying for her school since she’d lost her scholarship, but they’d implied it. And they were right.

  When Rory spotted a little café, she stopped to take pictures of the people eating, zooming in on them from afar so they wouldn’t know she was doing it. Her stomach was all twisted up in knots from nerves, so she made a quick stop in the café and asked to use the bathroom. The guy at the counter didn’t speak English, and for a second, she wished Ned was there to help her out. But in the end, her faulty Spanish proved effective enough, and she used the bathroom and dashed out, too embarrassed to look at the people in the café.

  Back outside, she took a deep breath and clenched and unclenched her fists. She could do this. She didn’t need Ned with her to navigate the city. She’d gone to the store before. And now, she wasn’t even looking for anything, so it didn’t matter if she didn’t make it to her destination. She had no destination.

  She’d been debating calling Maggie to see if she wanted to get dinner with her, but she decided against it. Her phone was almost dead again, having only had time for a little charge that morning, and she needed to be alone to really think. The girls had already given their opinions, and asking for more would be rehashing the same details over and over, which she’d done after Jack until Patty told her she was unbearably annoying. At least she’d been honest about it.

  Rory didn’t want to annoy her new friends. She wanted to figure out what to do. Should she talk to Ned? Apologize again? See if he had an apology for her?

  After all, she’d already apologized. And she wasn’t even sure what she had to be sorry for. If she didn’t want to sleep with him, he should respect that. He had no right to be mad at her. So what if she hadn’t wanted to stay and make out afterwards? That was her choice. But then why was she feeling so guilty about it?

  She knew why. Because if he’d rejected her, she would have been just as hurt. The thing was, she hadn’t really rejected him. Or she hadn’t meant to. She really liked him. She just didn’t want to sleep with him…yet. In the moment, she had. But he hadn’t given her time to explain that. He’d just decided to blast boyband music at an obscene hour, as Quinn was so fond of calling the morning hours.

  Anger and guilt swirled through her mind as she walked. Why should she apologize for saying no? And why should she feel guilty for it, like she’d hurt him?

  She had hurt him, that was why. She’d seen it on his face.

  But why was it that girls always had to apologize, even when the guy was being a jerk, like she’d somehow denied him his right to her body?

  By the time she realized her stomach was growling from hunger and not nerves, there was not a café in sight. In fact, she’d lost track of her surroundings a bit as she walked, taking pictures and mulling over her frustration with herself and with Ned. For a second, she froze, her heart hammering and adrenaline squirting through her veins. She squeezed her hands into fists.

  Control the anxiety or it controls you.

  Okay. She had this. She had her phone, which had enough juice left to tell her where she was, and where the nearest restaurant could be found.

  God bless the smartphone.

  Her legs were rubbery as she started off again, watching her location point on the screen move. She could do this. Yes, she’d had a moment of panic, but she was okay. She didn’t have panic attacks like Theresa. She wasn’t going to break down in the middle of Rome. She could do this. She could go out by herself, find a restaurant, and eat dinner.

  But then she saw the tiny line inside the battery icon on her screen. She’d never make it back to Theresa’s with that. If she was lucky, she’d make it to the restaurant. Of course she always came prepared, so she’d brought her emergency charger to Rome with her. But she hadn’t taken it to the Vatican that day. Why would she?

  What if her phone died, and she couldn’t find her way back, and she spent what little money she had with her on food and then she had to beg food on the street, and then she had to sell off her camera and her phone to eat, and sleep on the street? What if she had to resort to prostitution just to feed herself, and then she got pregnant, and then she had to take care of a baby while living under a bridge?

  When she saw the restaurant, she was so relieved she actually started running. She arrived out of breath and probably looked completely nuts when she burst through the door, her phone clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white, sweat rings under her arms, face red as a fire hydrant. But she couldn’t muster the embarrassment the situation warranted. She let the host lead her to a tiny table in the back corner. At least no one could see her there, which may have been the reason the host hid her back there. She was too grateful to be offended.

  She dug through her purse, but of course she didn’t have a pen. She had a half dozen crumpled napkins, receipts, and a linty mint or two, a handful of toothpicks and pennies at the bottom. But no pen. She waited for a waiter to come for her order, wondering what was taking so long. Maybe the host had forgotten her, tucked away in her little corner near a water heater and the restroom. Or he was so disgusted, he was telling all the waiters about her and laughing about the obviously lost American tourist.

  Finally, what seemed like an hour later, a short girl with close-cropped platinum blonde hair above a face black as ink sidled up to the table with a pad of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. “Can I get your order?” she asked in a thick English accent.

  “Um, sure,” said Rory, who had been so busy searching for a pen she hadn’t even looked at the menu. “Margherita pizza? And…can I, um, borrow your pen?”

  “My pen?”

  “Um, yeah, I mean, if that’s okay. You’re not going to get in trouble for letting me use your pen, are you?”

  The girl gave her a funny look. “Course not.”

  “Right. Yeah. Of course not.”

  The girl, whose name tag read Mea, scribbled on her notepad. “What would you like to drink, love?”

  “Oh, right. I fo
rgot. Um, a Coke is fine. Thanks.”

  “Coke it is,” Mea said. She set her pen on the table, smiled at Rory, and loped back to the kitchen with her particular mincing gait.

  Rory turned on her phone to map her route back to Theresa’s house. She’d just scribbled down the address on a napkin when her phone died. She bit down on the scream of frustration that wanted to explode from her. It was lucky she’d gotten the address, she knew that. But now she had no map back. No route back.

  CHAPTER Eighteen

  When Mea returned with her food, Rory ate without tasting her pizza. Her mind was churning. She knew the address, and she knew the area immediately surrounding Theresa’s house. If she started back, she thought she could maybe find her way. This wasn’t going to the grocery store alone. This was navigating Rome. She had come for that very purpose, hadn’t she?

  She left the restaurant and started back the way she’d come. She knew the first street, and all the way back to the spot she’d stopped to look up the restaurant. After she looked around and got her bearings, she started back the way she’d come. When she was sure she’d found her starting place, she stopped to scroll through her pictures. This was sort of fun, like a detective quest. If she could find the next building she’d photographed, and then the next, her pictures would lead her home. So maybe she wasn’t good enough to work at a travel magazine, but her pictures wouldn’t be a total loss.

  Half an hour later, it was getting dark, and she was still on the same street, sure she’d passed her turn. She knew she’d been on the same street for a long time on the way there, but surely not that long. She stuffed her camera in her purse and strained to zip it, not wanting someone to see her as a tourist with an expensive piece on display. Turning back, she hurried for ten minutes in the other direction, but none of the streets sounded or looked familiar.

  What would her mother do now? What would she tell Rory to do? She leaned against a building to catch her breath. It wasn’t so bad. She was in Italy, where lots of people spoke English and no one ever heard about tourists being kidnapped or killed or even robbed. She could do this. She opened her eyes in time to see a taxi speeding past. That was it. If she could find a taxi, she could give the driver her address. But where were the taxis?

  She turned back the way of the restaurant, figuring there would be more taxis in the busier parts of town. Around the time when she should have seen the restaurant, she realized she must have taken a wrong turn, because there was not a restaurant in sight. Instead, she saw some ugly industrial buildings. And a taxi. She saw a taxi coming her way. Weak with relief, she stepped into the edge of the street and waved her hand like she’d seen people in movies do. The taxi honked loudly and swerved around her as it sped past.

  Rory stood in the street staring after it until a car honked behind her, and she turned in time to see a pair of headlights bearing down on her. She leapt for the sidewalk as someone in the car cursed out the window at her. Her foot landed squarely on the edge of the sidewalk, and she had to pinwheel her arms to keep from falling on her butt in the street. She dove forward and ended up on her face instead of her butt. A flame of pain flared in her knee as she scrambled to her feet and looked around to see if anyone had seen her.

  A car passed without slowing. No one on the sidewalk. She examined her scraped knee, which was bleeding and caked with dust. Her skirt was streaked with dirt and dust, too, though she managed to shake most of that out. The heel of one hand was also scraped badly enough that blood was seeping through her skin. Her whole body was shaking as she sat against the wall of the nearest building.

  She was lost. She was hurt. And she didn’t have a phone to call anyone. For a minute, she closed her eyes and breathed, trying not to cry or scream. All she wanted was to call her mom to come and get her, take her home, so she could burrow into her nest of pillows and disappear into her favorite book of all time, Emma.

  But she wasn’t at home, and her mother wasn’t here to rescue her. She was on her own, and it wasn’t fun and glamorous and exciting. It was terrifying and painful and lonely. Why had she ever wanted to be independent from her family? She didn’t need fake friends and inscrutable guys. She needed her family. That’s all she needed.

  But she’d never get back to them if she didn’t find her way back, so she opened her eyes and sat up. Taking a few deep breaths, she wiped away a few tears and tried to calm down.. She would make it back for Quinn, so she didn’t have to shoulder all the parental worry and expectation. She would make it back for her clueless, bird-watching father, so he would be proud of her. And she would make it back for her mother, so she didn’t have to worry anymore.

  Moving as if through water, she opened her purse and pulled out a wad of tissues and a travel sized bottle of hand sanitizer. She squirted it on her knee, wincing at the sting, and then on her hand, and carefully wiped it as clean as possible with the tissues.

  When she’d finished cleaning up, she stood, her legs shaking, and looked up and down the empty street. Again, a pang of longing overcame her. She just wanted to be home, to be safe. But her family was in America, across half a continent and an ocean. This time, she couldn’t call her mommy to come and rescue her.

  Suddenly, she stopped walking. That was it. She should call her mom. If she could find a pay phone, she could call her mother, or sister, or anyone, really, and have them direct her home. She had the phone card her mother had insisted she bring in case of emergency. This was an emergency. But she needed a pay phone. Did they even make those anymore? She couldn’t remember seeing one outside of a movie in her whole life. But they existed, she was sure of it.

  For what felt like the hundredth time, she started back the way she’d come. She must have wandered this part of the city for two or three hours by now. Somehow, it still didn’t look familiar, or rather, every street looked familiar, like it must have been the one that would take her home. A bus rumbled past, and she stopped and turned, watching it disappear around a corner. If she found a bus stop, she could surely take it to the station and from there, figure out which bus would take her home. But she couldn’t keep up with a bus. If she kept going, eventually, she’d have to come across a bus stop or a pay phone.

  She stumbled onwards, her knee throbbing with each step. Every now and then, she bent to blot it so blood wouldn’t run down her leg, and she wouldn’t look like a complete derelict. What if she couldn’t find her way home that night? Where would she sleep? If she kept walking all night, maybe she wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground, exposed to anyone who might want to rob her, or worse.

  It was completely dark now, except for the many lights of the city. She wasn’t in a particularly picturesque area, though. It just looked like a dirty city. Suddenly, a group of men across the street spotted her and called out. She didn’t have to understand Italian to know they were catcalling. They all laughed, and she held her purse in front of her and hurried by, her head down. One of them grabbed his crotch and called out again, making a rude gesture. Another one stepped out of the group towards her.

  She ran. Blisters burned on her feet, and she was sure they had popped and were bleeding by now, but she didn’t stop to check. Her little toe ached like it might fall off with every step, and her heels screamed out as her shoes rubbed against them over and over. But she didn’t stop running until a stitch pulled tight in her side, and then tighter, and tighter, until she couldn’t breathe. She leaned on her knees, gasping for breath, the knife in between her ribs twisting so hard she had to curl to one side to nurse the pain.

  Finally, she straightened and, still hugging her left side, limped towards what could only be a café. Music drifted out, and a figure stood outside with the blessed glow of a phone in one hand and cigarette smoke drifting from the other. Clutching her ribs, Rory hurried to catch her before she went in. When she was half a block away, the bright white hair came into view. It was Mea. She’d come in a circle.

  “Hey, hi,” she panted, limping faster.

  Mea lo
oked up, tapped her cigarette on the corner of the building, and smiled. “Hello,” she said. “It’s the pen girl, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Rory said with a breathy laugh. “Yeah, only I should have asked to use your phone instead. I’m kind of lost.”

  “Lost?” Mea asked, like it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “How are you lost? You’re right where you started.”

  “Well. Not exactly.”

  Mea smiled, her teeth flashing white in the dim light from the street. She had a gap between her canine and incisor on the right side. “Right. Guess not.”

  “So can I maybe use a phone here? I mean, I can just use a phone inside, if you have a pay phone or something. I can call my mom and she can direct me home.”

  “I got a phone,” Mea said, waving it. “And you want this?” She held out her cigarette, which Rory took automatically, though it was the last thing she wanted just then. Her mouth was hot and parched already.

  “Thanks,” Rory said, taking a drag off the stinky thing.

  “I don’t smoke, see,” Mea said. “I just like to take a break. I wouldn’t light it, but then if someone came out and I’d been out here a while, they’d wonder what was up. I hate to waste them, though. So expensive.”

  Rory coughed and put out the cigarette with a few drags left on it.

  “But my break’s over,” Mea said. “I better get back. Come inside and I’ll get you a beer or something. You look warm.”

  “Thank you,” Rory said, so relieved she thought her knees would buckle as she followed Mea inside. While Mea got her a beer from the tap, Rory used the restroom, splashed water on her face, and washed her hands and knee with soap. Back in the restaurant, she drank the beer so fast it gave her hiccups, then glanced around at the other tables, wondering what they thought of this bedraggled, dirty tourist Mea had dragged in.