Beautiful Things Never Last

by Steph Campbell

  I would have stayed if it meant being able to protect youfrom that. The thought runs through my mind, but it shouldn’t ever exist, no matter what the situation with Linney is.

  “What happened to him? Nick, I mean?” I ask.

  “He was arrested, which is great, but his dad got him out. Small town politics at its best, right? I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, but the second he was released Mom and Dad had me on the first flight out of Kentucky. And, that’s it. That’s why I’m crashing your family Christmas.”

  “You aren’t. I’m glad you’re with them. I’m glad you’re safe.”

  I push my chair out and walk around the table just as Linney does the same. She clings to my side and crushes into me, her small arms wrapping around me. I pull her in and hold her close.

  “This feels safe,” she says.

  And I know that I can’t let her go.

  Twelve

  Quinn

  I stare outthe kitchen window, watching the children of this quiet, medieval town run up and down the steep hill, dressed in red tights and green hats and looking every bit like something out of a fairytale. I hope it’s real. I hope those kids are as happy as the smiles on their faces portray.

  I know it sounds strange to even be bothered by this, because, for the most part, my family is a bunch of dillholes, but I can’t help but miss them on Christmas Eve. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little jealous that Carter gets to hang out with our brother, Mason, today. Mason may be spoiled, but I love him and hope he grows up okay in that house alone. It’s even more hurtful that my parents cared so little that I wasn’t going to make it home. When I called and told them about this trip, Mom barely gave a reaction at all. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt that it was because she was doped up on whatever holiday concoction she took to deal with Dad, but come on, it’s Italy. She could have at least pretended to be excited for me, right? Instead, she changed the subject to tell me about how Mason was selected for a new Winter Ball team and was the new pitcher. I’m proud of my brother, but why didn’t I ever get to exist?

  The laneways of Spello are decorated with garlands and bows and bits of fake snow, but not in a gaudy way like we Americans do it up. I smile every time I walk outside and see the dainty Christmas bulbs hanging from the potted plants outside of each home, and, even though I’m not religious, the Nativity-crib displays always choke me up with their simplistic beauty and the fact that they mean so much to the people here. I want to believe in something like they believe.

  I thought for sure my day would get better by talking to Ben, but I haven’t been able to get him on the phone in days. Maybe he’s at home sulking that he’s alone. Maybe he’s out taking pictures of the dudes on the surfboards wearing Santa hats. Or maybe he’s avoiding me because he’s angry that I came here after all. I don’t think that’s it. But it could be. My paranoia kicks into high gear after the sixth ring.

  I listen to the familiar robotic voice tell me to leave a message after the tone and hang up, slamming my phone onto the table top.

  “I don’t understand why he won’t just answer the phone!” I yell. “He’s seriously making me crazy.”

  Amalea looks up from the bag that she’s carefully packing snacks and wine in and smiles that knowing smile that tells me she’s about to dole out one of her chips of wisdom.

  “If you’ve never gone mad, you’ve never really been in love,” she says.

  “Helpful.” I smirk. “What are you doing anyway? Can I help?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. We’re going to Città di Castello to see the boats.”

  “Boats?”

  “The boats on the Tiber River.” She frequently does this. She says things in a way like I should obviously understand them or know exactly what she’s talking about, when in reality, I only do about two-percent of the time. She sighs.“The canoeists decorate their boats with lights, and dress as Father Christmas and float down the river. Put on something warmer, too. You’re going to freeze, silly girl.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. I can’t fight the smile. I want to stay here and mope that Ben won’t answer my calls for whatever reason and that Carter is home with Mason and my parents, but I’m in Italy and I am going to embrace it and go enjoy the hell out of these canoes.

  I race upstairs to grab my coat. When I come back down, Chef Davide is standing in the doorway. I back up, quietly, hoping that he and Amalea don’t hear me, but it’s too late. I have the worst luck.

  “Quinn, Buon Natale!” Davide calls from the door. Amalea turns and sees me, and then politely backs up to let Davide in.

  “Merry Christmas,” I reply.

  I’ve never seen him wearing anything but his chef’s coat, but tonight, Davide is dressed in dark gray pants and a wool blazer and looks pretty damn dapper. For a teacher.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt your evening. I didn’t know if you two had plans, and I’m going to Città di Castello. Would you both be interested in joining me?”

  “We were headed there ourselves,” Amalea says. She taps her hand absently on the doorframe. Her nervousness is adorable.

  “Perfetto!” Chef says.

  “Actually,” I say, backing up two steps. “I was just coming down to tell you that I didn’t feel up to going anywhere tonight.”

  Amalea narrows her eyes at me and purses her lips, silently scolding me for my obvious lie.

  “That gelato I ate earlier…You told me it wasn’t a good idea in this weather, but I don’t ever listen, right?” I laugh.

  In reality, the salted caramel gelato was delicious and I don’t regret a solitary bite of it.

  “I know you were so looking forward to it and I hate that I’ll miss it, but I really ought to lie down for a while. I think you should go, though,” I say. “With Davide.”

  A blush ignites under Amalea’s olive cheeks. “Chef Baldassare does not want to spend his evening with just me.”

  “I doubt he minds,” I say, pushing Amalea, and the vein in her forehead, to near stroke level.

  “I would love to accompany you,” Davide says.

  “See there,” I smirk outwardly, but inside, I’m honestly not looking forward to spending the holiday alone. And even though the idea of missing out on an Italian tradition, when this may be my only Christmas that I ever spend here, has me feeling pretty freaking low, I guess the reality is that it’s only fair, since Ben is missing out on a festive Christmas, too. I just hope he’s not eating Ramen. Please don’t let him be eating Ramen. “You guys go! Enjoy! And please take pictures, I want to show Ben when I get home!”

  Amalea’s eyes trail across the room to Davide and then back to me, weighing her options.Or plotting to kill me. She must decide I’m too much trouble to dispose of, because she grabs her coat off of the hook and steps out into the night air. I’m about to head back up the small staircase when Davide turns to me.

  “Grazie,” he says with a polite nod. And I know that at least one of our Christmas wishes has come true.For me and Ben, Christmas last year was a fresh start, and I really hope that somehow, Amalea and Davide can have their own slates wiped clean tonight.

  I lie back on my bed and dial Ben’s cell phone again.

  “Just answer the phone,” I say. It comes out sounding more like a beg than a request.

  Just kiss me. I remembersilently pleading last Christmas.

  “Hi, it’s me again,” I say to Ben’s voicemail.“I know, I know, I’m pretty much stalking you at this point. But, I wanted to catch you to say Merry Christmas. I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m just sort of hanging out, so call me back. It doesn’t matter what time it is. I just really want to talk to you. I miss your voice. I miss you.” ‘ I love you, too,’ I whispered in his ear, saying the words to him for the first time that night that we made love for the first time. “I love you, Ben.”

  I hang up the phone and I’m not sure what to do. I could eat— again. I could drink a bottle of the Lambrusco that Amalea
introduced me to, but drinking alone on Christmas Eve just sounds sad. Instead, I call Carter, who unlike my boyfriend, answers on the first ring.

  “Merry Christmas, Quinnlette!” Carter says. I can’t help but smile, hearing a familiar voice.

  “Back atcha. How are you? How’s Mason?” I ask. Part of the reason I stayed at home for so long was because the idea of leaving Mason behind with my parents and their drama had guilt eating at me daily. At least if I was there, they could take their craziness out on me. But leaving Mason alone… He’s different than Carter and me. More sensitive. More sheltered. I know he’s seen more than he’s let on, but I also know that I liked being the one to help shield him from some of the insanity. The fights. The broken dishes. Mom MIA for weeks at a time. As far as Mason knew, Mom went on solo mini-vacay’s. He didn’t know she was gone for things like extended hospital stays for threatening to harm herself, near overdoses, and stints in rehab. What about now? Now that Carter and I are both gone? It keeps me up some nights. I feel selfish for choosing a life with Ben far away from the madness. But before I left, things had gotten bad. Really, really bad. What choice did I have but to leave?

  “Mason’s good. From the looks of the pile of loot under the tree, he’s about to make out like a damn sheik,”he says as he laughs. “He’s bummed you’re not here, though.”

  “I wish I was. I wish all of us were together.”

  “Maybe next year. I’ll tell you what, I miss your baking and cooking for sure right now.”

  I smile, feeling proud of myself that I at least have something good to offer.

  “You’re having a good time, though?” Carter asks.

  “I’m having a great time. I’m just maybe ready to come home,” I say. I flip onto my side and wish I could teleport myself back to my apartment. Even though I know I’m going to miss Italy something fierce, I think it’s time to go home. “I miss you guys. I miss Ben—hell, I miss just talking to Ben. I miss a bed that is big enough for me to stretch out in, and—”

  Carter’s voice dips a little lower. “Wait, you haven’t talked to Ben?”

  “A couple of times. I guess he’s busy. Probably spending a lot of time in the darkroom since Ron is out of town until after the New Year, you know? He has this thing about never bringing his phone in with him when he’s working.” A chill runs through me, thinking of the last time I was in the darkroom with Ben.

  “Right,” Carter says, cautiously. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”

  His cautious voice scrapes at me because Carter loves Ben. I know it’s my paranoia ringing in again, and I won’t let it ruin whatever kind of holiday loneliness I’ve dug myself into.

  “Anyway, how’s Shayna doing? Her family is glad to have her home, right?”

  “Yeah, they sort of hold a monopoly over her. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. I’m going to go and have dinner at her folks’ house later, but it’s weird not having her around, you know? Guess I’ve kind of gotten used to having her with me all the time. It’s…nice.”

  “I know,” I say. I can empathize with Carter better than anyone right now.

  “Of course you do. Hey, Mom is just about done making breakfast, you want to talk to her?”

  “Our mom is actually cooking?” Wow, maybe things do change.

  “I didn’t say it was a good thing, I just said there was about to be food. That we can try to eat,” he says with a laugh.

  “Actually, I’m pretty beat. I think I’ll just give her a call tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure thing, Quinnlette. Hey, have a safe trip home.”

  “I will, thanks. You guys, too. I’ve got the perfect idea for a souvenir for Shayna, and it’s not jewelry so don’t get her hopes up.”

  “Do you need Shay and me to pick you up from the airport?”

  I slide the nail of my index finger under the Christmas-red polish on my thumb and slice it off in a single layer. “No, Ben should be there. He has my flight info.”

  “Okay…” Carter pauses. “If you’re sure. But give me a call if something comes up.”

  “Thanks, bro. Tell everyone that I said Merry Christmas,” I say.

  When I hang up, I suddenly know just what to do with my evening.

  I pad lightly down the stairs, and back into the small kitchen.

  I rummage through Amalea’s cabinets, digging for plain ingredients to make something simple and comforting. I pull out flour, sugar, butter and other basicsand arrange them neatly on the counter top, and then get to work. I work at a frantic pace at first, creaming the butter and adding the dry ingredients in a frenzy. But once I pluck an orange from the fruit bowl on the table and zest it into the bowl, the fresh, citrusy aroma invades my nostrils and calms me like a baby being rocked to sleep with a familiar lullaby.

  Once the dough is rolled out, I pinch off small pieces and tie them into loose knots before baking them. While the sugar cookies bake, I make a bowl of icing and find some colorful sprinkles buried deep in the cabinet.

  When the cookies are baked, iced, and covered in a generous dousing of sugared confetti, I sit back to enjoy a small glass of Lambrusco and bite into one of masterpieces. They aren’t anything fancy, but they are exactly what I needed. They remind me of baking at home while Mason watched, perched on top of a barstool with his knobby knees tucked under him. I lethim decorate the cookies, even though the control freak in me physically hurt watching him pipe uneven coats of icing on the tops and not decorating them the way I’d envisioned.

  I find a small cardboard box in the pantry and fill it with the remaining cookies, and tie a piece of red yarn around it. Amalea will be able to enjoythe rest of the cookies with her cappuccino on Christmas morning.

  It may not be much, but it’s a small token of how thankful I am for Amalea welcoming me into her home, for teaching me how to make amazing dishes, and opening up her past to me as well. I know first-hand how hard it is to admit you’ve fucked up. I know how hard it is to let people in. She was willing to let me, of all people, in. And that feels incredible.

  I’m grateful for my time here in Italy. And right now, grateful is the best place to be.

  Thirteen

  BEN

  I wake up Christmas morning with Linney’s head on my shoulder, her blond hair fuzzy and tickling my nose. We’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the basement together after a long night with a marathon of holiday movies,and store-bought cookies—that were a little disappointing after getting so used to Quinn’s baking. But on the upside, I got Caroline to drink some spiked eggnog with me.

  Caroline and I haven’t talked much about what had gone on with Nick since we left Fellini’s that afternoon. I want her to know that she’s safe here, and that she can leave all of that behind. I just don’t know how I can be there for her like I want to. My life is back in California. My job, school, my apartment. And Quinn will be back in a matter of days. I need to call Quinn, but once I talk to her, I don’t know how to hide where I am. And I really don’t want to tell her while she’s still across the world. Not only because I don’t want to ruin her trip like Carter warned me about. I don’t want her to hurt when I’m not there to explain. I know if I could just explain things, what happened with Caroline and Nick, so that even if she’s angry, she’d understand. She has to.

  I slip a pillow under her head at the same time that I pull my arm out from under her and walk quietly up the stairs and into the living room. My mom is sitting by the tree, coffee cup in hand, like she’s done every Christmas morning since I was a kid. She’ll sit there, waiting for me to open presents, so she can watch my reactions—and where I put the wrapping paper when I’m done.

  “Morning,” I say, rubbing my hair into an even bigger mess than it probably already was.

  “Good morning, Ben. Were you down there with Caroline?”

  I know she already knows the answer to this, and I know her rules.

  “Yeah, Ma, we fell asleep. No big deal.”

  She pulls her lips into a
tight line, but doesn’t argue. Because it’s Caroline. Because my relationship with my mom would be worlds different if I were in love with Caroline instead of Quinn.

  I stare at the neatly stacked presents under the tree, hoping she didn’t get me anything. After lunch with Caroline the other day, we skipped shopping altogether and I didn’t get my parents a thing. Dick.

  Mom plucks a perfectly wrapped package from the stack and hands it to me.

  “I didn’t know what to get you, we never talk anymore.” She can’t resist getting a dig in.“You can return it if you like.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m your mother, of course I did.”

  I stand there awkwardly holding the gift until she nudges my hands.

  “Oh, open it, Benny. That’s what gifts are made for,” Mom says.

  I obediently slide the twine off of the box and carefully peel back the layer of green wrapping paper, knowing that she’s watching me, scrutinizing how I unwrap the gift.

  Inside is what at first, looks like a wallet, but after I pull it out, I realize that it’s foldable solar panels.

  “You can charge your camera batteries on that, if you’re ever in a jam,” Mom says. She tightens her robe and looks down at her coffee cup. This is the first time she’s ever acknowledged what I love to do without ridiculing it in some way. For years she’s told me what a useless hobby photography is. How my time would be better suited pursuing a worthwhile career. But this catches me off guard in the best way. Because it’s a door opening. One that will allow me to do what I love and not have to hide it. And maybe, it’s leaving a little room to allow who I love into the picture, too.

  “This is incredible. Thank you.”

  I pull her in for a quick hug. I may be grown, but hugging my mom on Christmas still feels pretty damn good.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a gift for you. I didn’t expect to be here, and…we haven’t talked much…” I feel like a world-class asshole right now, being here on Christmas morning and not having a single thing for my parents.