by Kristin Rae
What comes out instead is, “I finish high school and you start college.”
“Right … right.” He nods and exhales, sinking into the water up to his neck and running a dripping hand through his still-dry hair.
Follow your heart, not your head. Regret nothing.
“Darren,” I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to keep eye contact. I need answers. I can’t go back home without knowing exactly what there was or is between us. “Why did you come back here?”
No response.
“Why did you ask me to go to Pompeii with you guys? Why did you get so upset you couldn’t even talk to me when you saw Bruno kiss me good-bye? Why did you completely freak when Nina took our picture together? Why did you come back here? I need—” I groan and ball my hands into fists at my sides. “I need you to tell me what you want me to think, Darren. What am I supposed to take away from all this?”
“I don’t know, Pippa, okay?” He yanks at his hair. “I … needed to see you again. When I’m not with you, all I think about is you and your shy little smile and the two freckles on your right cheek. Your terrifying green eyes.”
He stands again and my eyes dart to the ribbons of water streaming down his chest. He takes a step toward me and raises a hand to my cheek, stroking it with his thumb. My eyelids drop involuntarily and I melt into his touch.
“I just—” He stops himself.
His lips gently press against mine and I pull in a sharp breath before I lean my face into his palm even more. Just as I fear my legs might not hold me up any longer, his other hand snakes around to the small of my back, supporting and pulling me against him.
After a moment he drifts a few inches away, keeping his hands in place, nervously meeting my eyes to gauge a reaction. Everything around me except for his face is a blue blur as I stare back at him.
Darren just kissed me.
As many times as I’ve imagined him kissing me, the shock of it as a reality sends a quake through my entire body.
“I don’t believe it.” I straighten and stare at his chin, his cheeks, his sharp jawline.
He almost gets knocked over by a wave that slams him in the chest. “What?”
“You shaved! How did I not see that earlier?”
“Finally she notices!” He laughs. “I went through great pains to smooth out this face for you. Even cut myself.” He juts out his chin and points to a spot so small I can hardly see it.
“Aww, poor baby,” I tease and give it a swift peck, still in shock that I’m suddenly allowed to get this close to him. To touch him with my lips. “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you?”
He smirks, resting his hands on my waist. “Hoped.”
My cheeks ache from smiling, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but Darren and him kissing me again. I trace the smooth skin around his mouth.
“You better be careful,” he says, kissing the tip of my finger with each word. “I’ve been known to bite.”
We laugh and he tightens his hold at my waist and pulls me against him, pressing our lips together. I rake my fingers through his hair and grab a fistful, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss. Electricity courses through me from my chest to hips and back again. His warm, wet hands explore my bare back, setting every inch of my skin on fire. His shoulder muscles tense and release in synchronization with his hands all over me.
He takes my face in his palms and slows the kiss down, our breathing still heavy. I’ve never been so dizzy in my whole life. My head, my body, are part of the sea, ebbing and flowing with the tides.
I get it now. This is what kissing is really supposed to be. Any others before were merely run-throughs with understudies. Darren is a leading man.
Our foreheads rest together and the pads of his fingers slowly trail up and down my arms.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
I inhale deeply, trying to clear my mind, to be struck with a brilliant solution. “I have no idea.”
He plays with the wet ends of my hair. “I think we just made saying good-bye the next time exponentially more difficult.”
“Infinitely more difficult.”
But I’ll worry about that tomorrow.
We lace our fingers together as we trudge through the shallow water to our spot on the beach to dry off.
“The sun’s starting to go down,” I point out, brushing the tiny rocks off the bottoms of my feet and sliding into my flip-flops. “I should probably head back for Luca’s birthday dinner. They want me to lead the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to him in English for some reason.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, it’s getting late.” He lets go of my hand and reaches for his T-shirt.
I watch his abs disappear, then pull my tank top over my head. “I’m sure you could come if you want.”
He frowns. “Won’t Bruno be there?”
“It’s his brother, he’d better be.”
“Uh, I’ll pass.”
I grab his shirt near the hem and tug him toward me. “Even though I’ll be there?” I bat my eyelashes intentionally fast.
“Tempting.” He leans in for a kiss, letting it linger. “But I can’t crash a birthday party for a kid I’ve never met. And I don’t feel much like getting into a fight with a ripped-up Italian tonight. You go ahead, have fun. I’ll see you in the morning, right? Before I leave?”
“That,” I say, pecking his lips again, “is a necessity.”
We catch the train that makes stops in every village, sitting as close to each other as possible, freely kissing whenever we feel like it. I’m torn between wishing we hadn’t waited so long to get to this point and almost wishing it never had happened at all. Now I really know what I’m going to be missing.
The motion of the train conflicts with all the crap in my head and I panic. I lay my head against Darren’s chest and wrap my arms around his middle. He puts both of his arms around me, hugging me tight. I can feel him sigh. Is he thinking through everything like I am?
“We’ll figure it out,” he says in my ear before he kisses the top of my head. “I promise.”
I squeeze him tighter and memorize the rhythm of his heartbeat.
We decide to meet at the trattoria for breakfast first thing tomorrow and spend the whole morning together before he has to leave. I already can’t wait to kiss him again, but I don’t look forward to figuring out the logistics of a long-distance relationship, if that’s what he even wants. If it’s what I want.
Our lips touch until the last possible moment when the doors of the train threaten to close at his stop in Manarola.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, a smile stretching ear to ear.
“Tomorrow,” I reply, beaming back at him. “Good night.”
“Good night, Pippa.”
He hops down onto the platform and the doors slap together. I look at him through the grimy window, reminded of the time I saw him across the metro station in Rome, when I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. Now I know I will for sure.
And I also know there will be kissing.
Chapter Forty
Find random souvenir for Morgan
The sky is a fading orange-pink by the time I emerge from the tunnel and begin the trek up Via Columbo to the trattoria. As I approach the outdoor section, I hear Luca’s rowdy friends swarming around one of the tables piled high with food. The savory aroma makes my mouth water and my legs move faster.
Chiara speaks to a man whose back is to me, his arms waving madly. Her face is scrunched in concern and for a moment I wonder if this has anything to do with Bruno’s gambling problem—he swears he’s done with all that—but then I recognize the man’s stance. His posture. His hand gestures.
Chiara spots me coming up behind him and points at me. The man turns around, and I might throw up. My feet refuse to take me any farther.
“Dad? Wha—”
“Pippa!” Dad closes the distance between us in three hurried steps and wraps me in his arms, murmurin
g into my hair, “Oh, thank God.”
There’s so much swimming through my head, I don’t even know where to start. How did you find me? What are you doing here? Am I grounded until I’m thirty?
After what feels like a lifetime of making up for lost affection, he releases me, keeping a hand on my shoulder, and looks me over.
“Dad,” I say slowly, still in shock. “How are you here? What—?” I stop myself and study the bags under his eyes, the frown lines. The troubled, glassy eyes. “What happened?”
He takes his time inhaling the longest breath in the history of breathing. “Can we sit somewhere and talk?”
“Just tell me.”
Dad’s broad shoulders slump and his hand slips down to mine, squeezing it tight. “It’s Gram.”
My heart plummets and my knees start to shake. “What about her?”
“She fell a few days ago. We thought everything was fine, but—”
“She fell? She’s going to be okay, right?”
“I don’t know, Pippa.”
Chiara rushes to my side to put her arm around my waist and I lean on her, suddenly unable to support my own weight.
“We should go inside and sit,” she says, leading us inside the restaurant where it’s quiet. I see Bruno sneak in with us, but he stands off to the side.
“Look at me,” Dad says once we’re seated at a table. My hand is numb from his grasp. “She’s still alive. I just talked to your mother. But we need to go home right away.”
My eyes spill over with tears, thankful to hear she’s alive but terrified that he used the word “still.” Still alive. It sounds so … temporary.
“What do you mean by ‘she fell’ exactly?” I ask. “Like, down the stairs or …?”
“When she got out of bed one morning, her leg was still asleep but she didn’t realize it. She fell and hit her head against the wall.”
I release the breath I was holding. “That doesn’t sound so awful.”
“She made a dent in the sheetrock.”
I rub my temples, closing my eyes so tight, a fresh stream of tears makes its way down my cheek.
“She seemed fine at first, just a bit bruised. More embarrassed than anything. But after the first twenty-four hours she stopped talking and … she’s in a coma now.”
“A coma?” My insides disintegrate, my mind a jumble of confusion, hurt. Anger. “And you just left? You spent all this time coming out here to get me when I could be there already?”
“Pippa,” he says, somehow staying calm despite my near hysteria. “This isn’t exactly news for you to hear over the phone. And do you really think you’d even be able to think clearly enough to get yourself to an airport and on a plane?”
“You don’t think I could have handled it? I’ve done a lot more—”
“I couldn’t just sit at the hospital and worry about you too.” His voice cracks and he wipes beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “When I finally got the whole story that you weren’t at school, I just reacted. I had to do something. Find you. Make sure you were okay.”
If I weren’t so shocked by this whole situation, I’d be a lot more irritated by the uncharacteristic babying. But the truth is, I’m glad to see him. I don’t resist when he pulls me close again. There’s really no one else I could stand to hear this news from. Dad’s always been on my side.
I break away and swipe my eyes before I completely lose it. “So even when we do get home, we can’t talk to her?”
“I just want you to be prepared for the worst.” Dad rests his hand on mine. “We need to go. Let’s get your stuff packed.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and Bruno helps me up.
“This way, signore,” he says to my father as he leads me to the door. “She stays with my family.”
Eyes wide and unfocused, I take the flights of stairs so slowly that I’m not even winded once we get inside. Luca and Matilde beat us there, Matilde already having collected my things scattered throughout the apartment.
Luca stands in the corner with a few of his friends, their celebration interrupted by my drama.
“Luca, I’m so sorry,” I say, bottom lip quivering so much, it’s hard to form the words. “You should go back to your party.”
“Do not worry for me,” he says, offering a hesitant smile.
“I almost forgot.” I dash into my room and come back with a roll of twenty euros tied with a green ribbon. “For you. Happy birthday.”
I don’t wait for a reaction or a thank-you, but instead jump right into packing. I hastily throw everything into my suitcase and backpack, suddenly frantic to get back to Chicago. I can hear the murmur of voices from the other room, Dad’s standing out the most. It’s so bizarre to have him here, like he’s trespassing in a part of my life he was never meant to see.
“You are really leaving tonight,” Chiara says behind me. “I am not ready. I thought we had more time.”
I zip up my suitcase and turn to hug her. “I can’t tell you how much I’m going to miss you. Thank you for everything, Chiara. This summer has been—I’ll never forget it,” I whisper.
“Nor will I,” she says, squeezing me tight.
“I’m sorry I have to go so quick like this. But it’s important. It’s Gram.” I choke on my words and pull in a few shaky breaths. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I am so very sorry, Pippa. Please let me know how she gets on.”
She reaches into one of her bags and pulls out a little pad of paper and a pen, scribbling her e-mail address and phone number for me. I write down every available way for her to contact me, even giving her Morgan’s e-mail address if for some reason she can’t reach me.
“We will stay in touch, do not worry,” Chiara says.
We hug one more time and I realize Bruno’s leaning in the doorway. Chiara excuses herself to give us a moment.
“Pippas,” he says, “I am sorry. Per tua nonna. And for the money I took.”
I shake my head. “If stealing my money helped keep you from getting beat up beyond recognition or worse, I’m glad you found it.”
He laughs, hesitantly. “I do not think it would have come to that. But Pippas,” he says, taking both of my hands in his, forcing me to look at him. “You helped keep my family from more heartache. I now see that I have been …” His voice trails off and he shakes his head. “Mamma does not need that. I am trying.”
I so want to believe him. But he’s got such a long way to go. All I can do is nod and return the squeeze of his hands. He pulls me into a quick hug and I take one last scan of the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, and to commit it to memory. It was a short while, but this was my home.
Nestled among cliffs,
my temporary home lies.
Time pulls me away.
Matilde wraps me in her soft arms, muttering something in Italian about loving me and for death to stay away. She gives my dad a bagful of food for us to eat on the way to the airport, though I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to eat again.
“Wait,” I say, digging into my camera bag. “I want a picture with all of you. Us. Together.”
Dad takes the camera from me and I stand in the middle of everyone. Nestled under Chiara’s and Matilde’s arms, I find it easier to smile than I expect. I’m surrounded by people who care for me, and who I care for, all because I wanted a chocolate pastry for breakfast in Rome.
The shutter clicks and I pry myself from their embrace. At the door I turn and look at each face once more, knowing that this will likely be the last time I’ll see most of them. Matilde, who welcomed me, an American stranger, into her home, even kicking her own children out of their room. Luca, a quiet boy with a good heart. I have confidence he’ll be ten times the man his brother’s been. Bruno, the gorgeous smooth talker. If my dad had a clue about what’s gone on between us this summer, he’d have him beat up all over again.
Chiara. One of my very best friends who I didn’t even
know existed a few months ago. All-knowing, beautiful Chiara.
Throat tight, eyes blurred with tears, I wave to them all one last time and turn to Dad, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m ready. Let’s go home.”
On the plane, I keep internally repeating that Gram’s going to be okay, miraculously maintaining composure. That is, until I see Darren’s face in my mind.
I bolt upright and snatch Dad’s hand from his armrest, checking the time on his watch. I count out the time difference. It’s seven-thirty in the morning in Italy. The exact time I was supposed to meet Darren.
Darren.
My chest constricts and my face flushes. I recline in my seat and tap a rhythm on my thighs to a made-up song in my head, flirting with a full-on meltdown.
“We still have a long way to go,” Dad says. “Try to relax.”
I shake my head, not about to tell him what’s really on my mind. Right this very second I’d have my arms tight around Darren, unwilling to let go. He’d lean in for a kiss and we wouldn’t stop until he had to catch his train. We’d figure out when we’d see each other again. We’d have a plan. But now we have nothing.
How trivial, how selfish. How dare I be upset about missing Darren when Gram is on her deathbed? I’m a horrible person. A horrible daughter for lying to my parents. A horrible granddaughter for thinking about a boy I kissed and regretting that I can’t be with him right now.
I deserve the worst kind of punishment my parents could ever dream up.
“So,” I muster the courage to say, eyes still closed, “how much trouble am I in?”
“Oh, good. You want to talk about that,” he says, abandoning his book and stowing it in the bag near his feet. “It might take us a while to come up with just the right punishment for this situation. I never expected you to completely lose your mind.”
“When did you find out I didn’t go to the program?” I ask.
“Yesterday, I think. It’s all turning into a big, ugly blur.” He looks at his watch. “Gram’s consciousness was sort of slipping and she kept saying something about you not going to school, and that she needed to call some woman named Matilde.”