IhuggedIsabellaagainandkissedheronthelips.
Inthedistance,IhearAmy'shystericallaugh.Andthenan"Ohhhh",whichsticksmedeep inside.AlessandroandAmyarewhisperingandIknowtheyoungmaniscryingjustlikehis mother.Amyfinallystopstalking.Thescenemusthaveleftherdumbfounded.
CHAPTER7
MARK
"Ilostmyselfinhereyes,thethingisthatIlovedthatcolour;Theywereneitherbluenorgreen.Theywerebrown,thecolourof sleep-deprivedcoffee,
Coffeethatproducessleeplessness"
Amy goes in circles in the kitchen. She opens cupboards and drawers to find the perfect ingredients for mozzarella pancakes that she has insisted on preparing at eight o'clock in the afternoon, after she had seen the recipe in an Instagram video. I can´t even be aware of her complaints,afterconfirmingherbreakupwithMatt,whowasbotheredtoseeherphotographs withAlessandro.
"Lethimstew.Hecheatedonme,whatdidhethink?ThatIcouldn´tfindanotherone?"
IknowshetalksaboutittoavoidmentioningIsabellaandherillness.Sittingonthestool,I lookatherwithoutactuallyseeingher.
"Chef,don´tfret,okay?Thisislife."
"Stronggirl."
"Butforhowlongyouhaven´tseenher?"Sheasks,foldingherarms.
"Ameretwenty-eightyears.
"Andyou'restillinlovewithherafterallthistime?"
Ishakemyheadandshrug.I'mamess,I'machaos.Italkaboutlovewithacrazyteenager.
Whowasgoingtotellmeafewdaysago?Howcanlifechangelikethis,sosuddenly?
"So...AlessandrowilllivewithyouinNewYorkif..."
"Yes,hewillcomewithme.Andweren´ttalkingaboutifIsabellaislikelytodie.Weare talkingaboutareality."
"Wealldie,Mark,"Amysayscoldly.
"And you don´t care? I mean, if your mother told you she would die tomorrow, wouldn´t youmind?"
"Yes,ofcourseIwouldmind,it'sjust...
Shestopsandstaresatme.Then,sheapproachesmealittleandsurroundsmewithherthin arm.
"Chef,I'msosorry.Forreal.AndIwouldlikeyoutotellmethingsaboutthatsummerwith Isabella."
IsmileandIcanonlyimagineyearsyoungerwithher.Thereareimagesthatcomeandgo inflashbackmode;Inwhichweplayintheswimmingpool,wesitundertheweepingwillow tocontemplatethestarsorwewalkintheeveninginthefield,stoppingateverysteptokiss.
Wetalkedaboutlife,whatwewantedtobe"whenwewereolder"ouraspirationsandeven whatourweddingwouldbelikeandhowmanychildrenwewouldhave.Inthedepthsofthe forest, a few minutes from Montepulciano; "our tree" must still be there somewhere. One afternoon,Isabellatookaknifefromherfatherandcarvedwithallherstrengthourinitials."I andM.Itlooksnice,right?Thatwaywe'llalwaysbetogether,andifsomedaywearenot,we justhavetocomehereandwe'llmeet"saidayoungandenthusiasticIsabella.Itwasverynice.
MemoriesIthoughtIdidnothaveandthatpileuptomakemeevenmoreshipwreckandprove itwithoutfearorembarrassmenttothecrazyteenagerofAmy.
"Itwasaspecialsummer.Possiblythebestofmylife"Ibegantoexplain.AssoonasIsaw Isabella,Iknewthatshewouldchangemylifeforever.IhadbeenhereinsummersinceIwasa child,butIdidnotmeetheruntilthesummerof1987.ShewasthirteenandIwasfifteen.She wentwithherfriendsandmewithmine.Theguysalwaysseparatedfromthegirls.Butitwas anagewhenwewantedtofindoutwhatwasthataboutlove,sex,kissing...youknow.They weredifferenttimes.Itwastwointensemonthsfullofinnocentwords.Believeitornot,Iwas aninexperiencedguyatthetime,butIwasagoodboy.Sensitive,generous...itwaswhatshe likedaboutme.Andalthoughittookmeawhiletoconquerher,wefellmadlyinlove...atleast Ithink."Ipauseandlookupattheceiling."Yes,forsure,Icansaythatwefellmadlyinlove.
Wedancedveryclosetoeachotheranywhere,evenifthemusicdidnotplay.Ourfavoritetime ofdaywasthenight,timeinwhichwecouldseethestarsandagiganticmoonfromthehills.
Wetalkedjustlookingateachotherandifthedayistwenty-fourhours,wemadesureweslept justabitsowedidnotwastetimeandsotakeadvantageofeverysecondofthatsummertobe together. Then I went to New York and wrote many letters to each other. But after a few months, her parents sold the house from Montepulciano and moved to Florence. She did not writetomeagain,andInevergothernewaddress.Wedidnotmeetagainuntilfivedaysago
...IsupposeIneverforgotherandthatchapterofmylifehurtsomuch,thatIpreferrednotto fallinloveagainwithanyotherwoman.Andsoithasgone.Ihaven´tgotmarried,Ihaven´t had children ... I haven´t opened my heart to anyone for fear of suffering again. I focused on workandnothingelse."
"Chef,Ididnotknowyouweresosensitive.Whatastory!"
Ismile.Ididnotexpectaclevercommentfromher,noranyconsolation.Itisenoughfor metoseeherentertainedwithhernewmozzarellapancakes,notcaringatallthatit’snotme whoiscooking.
Atnine,Alicearrives.Happyandradiant,withrosycheeks,thereisaspecialglowinher gaze.
"Hello!Howwasyourday?"Sheasks,impossibletoerasethesmilefromherface.
Webothlookedatherwithoutknowingexactlywhattosaytoher.Sosheshrugsandclimbs upstairstospendtherestoftheday,lockedinherbedroomsurelycontinuingwritinghernext romanticnovel.
"ShefuckedtheItalianguy"Amywhispers.
Instinctively,IglancebrieflyatthestairsonwhichAlicehasclimbedamomentago,and withoutknowingwhy,IsuppressmydesiretogotoAngelo'shouseandbeatthehelloutofup.
I know how this will end. I know my tenant will return to New York with a broken heart.
Maybe it's what she wants, maybe it's what she needs. But I'm fond of her daughter and I wouldn´twanthertosuffertheconsequencesofabroken-heartedmotherbecauseof"love."
ALICE
"Whenyoufindsomething
Thatmakesyouhappy,don´tbother
Aboutwhatpeoplesay.
It’sprettyhardtofindit"
Morethanayearwithoutmakinglove,morethanayearwithoutfeelingtheheatofotherarms; Thepassionatecaressesofsomemanlyandexperiencedhands.Morethanayearandfinally...
It happened! I have made love with Angelo and it has been incredibly inspiring for the followingpagesofmynovel.Anyway,Ihaven´tdoneitjusttolookforinspiration,buttohave fun.Ifeelmorealivethanever,attractiveattheendofmyforties,aftermydaughtermademe feelinsecurebecauseofanagethatcanbewonderfulifwewantittobe.
Icanbarelyhideit.AsIenteredthroughthedoor,IsawAmyveryfocusedonthedishshe waspreparing(I'mafraidpancakesagain),whileMark’sfaceseemedupset.Theyhaven´teven greetedme,soI'vedecidedto"hide"inmybedroom;TheonlyplaceinthehousewhereIfind alittleintimacyandpeace.Iturnonthecomputerandsetouttobeginchaptertwenty-threeof mynovel.AstoryinwhichanAngelsomewhatmoreperfectthanhereallyis,istheuniqueand undisputedprotagonist,whostealstheheartofanAmericanwomanattheterraceofabarina cornerofthebeautifulTuscany.
I've talked to Cindy. She is enthusiastic about the new novel, to which she herself has titled:"AloveinTuscany".Ioptedforsomethinglesscheesylike"InacornerofTuscany"or somethingsimilar,butshehasinsistedonmentioningtheword"Love"inthetitle.Ican´tdeny theordersanddecisionsofmyliteraryagent.Afterall,sheisthemarketingexpertandIama simple worker. Of course, she also said: "See? I told you! I told you that you would find inspiration in Italy. How happy I am that you listened to me! "And after a brief sile
nce, she asked:" Does my brother have anything to do with all this? "I told her that no, and when I explainedaboutAngelo,silencehadinvadedthephoneline.Shedidnottellme"Donotfallin lovewithhim"though,asMarkdidthefirstnighthesawustogether;Buthersilencecameto saythesame.Iknow,Iknow...mybehavioristhatofateenagerandIamawarethatAngelois anItalianflirtwhodoesn´tcareifhe’swithoneoffortyoroneoftwenty;AnAmericanora Frenchwoman.Butit'smylife,right?IcandowhateverIwantwithit,I'mfree.Finallyfree.
But deep down, I wanted the reality to be quite different and that Angelo finally decided to settledown.Withme.Onlywithme.Howmanywillhavethoughtthatbeforemeandwereleft brokenheart?Howmany?Damnthismaniaoffoolingourselveswithmattersoftheheart.
Twodullthudsonthebedroomdoordeconcentrateme.
"Comein"Isay,nottakingmyeyesoffthecomputerscreen.
"Hello."
IamsurprisedtoseethatitisMarkandnotAmy,asexpected.Ofcourse,ontheotherhand, Amywouldneverhaveknockedonthedoorbeforeentering.Sheismoredirect,lesselegant, andmorebrutal.
"Doyourememberwestillhavependingawinetasting?"Heasksamiably.
"Sincewhenareyousokind,Mark?"
It surprises me and confuses me. When we arrived five days ago, I thought that his behaviourwouldbethesameforaslongaswedecidedtostayinTuscany.Gruff,curt,stupid
andofcourse,veryunfriendly.CockyasthefirsttimeIsawhiminhisownrestaurantwhenhe thought that his date was the young brunette who was sitting next to me. I am sorry, but I am spiteful and I can´t forget something that unfortunately marked me; Although I will never recognizeit.
"Yourdaughterisacharm."
He starts to laugh and sits on the edge of the bed. I look at him with arched eyebrows, waitingforhimtosaysomethingandstoplookingatwhatIamwriting.
"You'reamaniacwithyourkitchenandIamwithmycomputer.Please,don´tread"Isay, loweringthelaptopscreenabitsothathewouldstoplooking.
"OhI'msorry."
"Sowinetasting?Tomorrowifyouwant.Angelohasacoupleofroutesonhorsebackand hewillnotbeabletomeetme."
"Angelo..."Hesighs."Haveyoubeenwithhim?
"Yes."
"Isee..."
"I'mnotgoingtotellyouanythingaboutmymeetingswithAngelo"Iinterrupt.
"Ididnotwantyoutodoit."
Helowershisgazeandgetsupfromthebed.Thereissomethingdifferentabouthim,heis nolongerthejerkIknew,inrecordtime.
"Issomethingwrong?"Iask.
Markseemstotrytosuppressthetears.Hebiteshislowerlipandshakeshishead;IthinkI see a tremor in his chin that puzzles me. He looks like a weak and helpless child, but I suppressmydesiretohughimandtellhimthateverythingwillbeallright.
"Areyousure?"
"Itwillbeallright"hesays.
Hewinksatmeandleaves,leavingmewithathousandquestionsinmyheadandtheidea of a new character in my story, inspired by the bipolarity of a popular chef, to whom a bad criticismseemstohaveupsethim.
Changeofplans
It'seleveno'clockatnightwhenIhearmydaughter'senergeticstepsupthestairs.She opensthedoortoherbedroomandslamsthedoorasusual.Idecidetogoandseeher,evenif thereisthepossibilityoftellingmetogotohell.
"CanI?"Iask.
"Sure."
Isitontheedgeofthebedandremoveaspeckofdustfromthebedsidetable.
"Howareyou?YouspendalotoftimewithMark."
"He'sagreatguy."
"Youdon’tcallhimold?"Ilaugh.
"YesIdo,everymoment.Buthedoesn´ttakeitasbadlyasyou."
"What'swrongwithhim?"
Amydoesn´ttellmeherstuff,butshelovestellingmeaboutothers.
"Whatdoyouthink?"Shedissimulates.
Thisisreallyweird.
"Something'swrong,tellme."
"No,Mother.Donotbeannoying."
"DoIhavetobribeyouwithsomething?"
"No.I'magrownup,youknow?"
WhatIneedednow!Howinopportunesheisforeverything!
"IfIaskhim,doyouthinkhe'lltellme?"
"It'sveryseriouswhathappenedtohim,Mom.Veryserious,youcan´timaginehowmuch.
"Isitaboutwork?"
"Ithinkthathasalreadybeenforgotten.
"Then?"
Ibegintogetdesperate,butAmymakesthegestureofsealingherlipsandthrowingthekey tothebottomofthesea.She'snotgoingtotellmeanythingaboutwhathappenedtoMarkand I'mcurious.Verycurious.Oddlytoomuch.
"I'llgoandaskhim."
"Ithinkhe'sontheporchwithaglassofwhiskey."
BeforeIcangetup,Amygrabsmebythearmandstopsme.
"Iloveyou,Mom"shesayswarmly.
I'mabouttocry.Inodandasifinthebestofmydreams,Isay:
"Iloveyoutoo,sweetie.Alot."
"By the way, tomorrow you'll try my new mozzarella pancakes, okay? Mark loves them, whatadiscovery.Theyshouldn’tsaythatsocialnetworksareuseless!"
"You'vemadehimgetindigestion,haven´tyou?Isthatwhathappenstohim?"
"Dobekiddingwiththat,Mom...seriously.Donotdoit.Hejustneedssomeonetolisten tohimandlethimbe.Donotlabelitasajerk."
Ican´tbelievethesewordscameoutofthemouthofmycruelteenagedaughter.Shemaybe maturing.MaybetheairofTuscanyandthetimenotspentinfrontofthescreenofhermobile
phone,havemadeherbecomeabetterperson.Thebeginningofthewomanwhowillsomeday beandthatitwillbeworthmeeting.
I go down the stairs and I see the big wooden door of the half-open doorway. The front porchofthehouse,litbyafaintlantern,showsmeamiserableMarkwithaglassofwhiskeyin hishand.Hehasn´tevennoticedmypresence.Withhergazefixedonthesky,herlipsaretight, tense. His fingers run down the back of the wooden chair, padded with white cushions. His hair is in turmoil and the beard trimmed a few days ago, seems to have been neglected completely.IamfacedwithabrokenMark,verydifferentfromtheoneIrememberjustafew days ago and I think about how much he attracted me when I saw him enter the door of his restaurant just a few weeks ago. When we had our non-date, when I thought my forty years wereafailureandmytightreddresswasabadchoice.
"Hello"Igreethim.
"Areyougoingout?"Heasksme."WithAngelo?"
IfeelacertainsuspicionwhenImentionAngelo.Ishakemyheadwithasmileandsiton therockingchairnexttohim.Iplayalittlewithmyhairbeforehiswatchfuleyeandlikehedid before, I contemplate the sky. An impressive starry sky that gives us the idyllic corner of Tuscany.
"Amydidnotwanttotellmeanything,butIknowsomething'swrong"Isayatlast.
"WhyshouldItellyou?You'reneverhomeandyoudon´tseemtowanttospendtimewith meoryourdaughter.Youdon’twanttogettoknowmeorhavethatdatewithmeatlast"he explainssmiling.
"Thatdate?Doyouthinkthatafterignoringmethatnight,I'mgoingtogiveyouasecond chance?"Ilaugh.
"Justkidding."
Timehastaughtmethatthesekindsofjokesconcealalittlebitoftruth.
"Areyougoingtotellme?Doyouneedtotalk?"
Hestaresintomyeyesandshrugs.
"With one condition. I tell you, if tomorrow we are going to taste those wines and you forgetaboutAngeloatleastforafewhours."
"WhythemaniawithAngelo?God!I'mnotalittlegirl,IknowwhatI'mdoing.Ikno
whe's a heartbreaker, the typical Italian who is with me today and who knows ... I don´t take it as serious,believeme."
HesighsrelievedandknowsperfectlywellthatIlie.Ilietomyselfunscrupulously.Buthe just smiles again, in that way he knows that he can conquer an entire army of women if he wantsso.
"Didyouhaveasummerlove,Alice?"
"Yes,likemostofpeople."
"No,notlikemost.Noteveryoneisluckyenoughtohaveasummerlove,youknow?"
"AlmosteveryoneIknowhaslivedasummerlove."
"Whatwasyours?"Hewantstoknow.
"HisnamewasThomas.Ourthinglastedaweek,itwasataColoradocampground"Isay, withasmile.Markis,curiously,thefirstpersontoknowtheexistenceofmysummerlove.
"Mine was Isabella, and after twenty-eight years I've seen her again. Only that she has cancerandisgoingtopassaway.Shedoesn´tknowwhoisthefatherofherseventeen-year-old sonandhasmademepromisethatwhenshedies,hersonwillcomewithmetoNewYork,and becomehistutor.
I remained paralysed with an idiotic look on my face. I don´t know what to say, I don´t knowhowtoreact.Idon´tevenknowwhattothinkorhowtoassimilatesomuchinformation atonce.Icanunderstandwhymydaughterhastoldmeforthefirsttimeinalongtime,thatshe lovesme.BecauseofthesituationthatAlessandrolives,whichhealreadyknows.Becauseshe wouldn´twanttobetheonetolosehermotherinthisway.
"Alittlebittoomuch,isn´tit?"Hesays,takingasipofhiswhiskey.
"My God, poor woman" I say, trying to find appropriate words to mitigate Mark's pain rightnow."But...butistheresomethinggoingonbetweenyoutwo?"
Heshakeshishead.
"WhenIsawher,Ithoughttheremightbesomething.Thatthefeelingshadreturned,andI hadnotreallybeeninaseriousrelationshiptoanyone,becauseIhadbeenwaitingforherall mylife.IhadalwaysbelievedthatIsabellawastheonlywomanIhadeverreallybeeninlove with, but ... you know what I noticed? That love is a very confusing word, non-existent sometimes. We believe that physical attraction or appreciation towards a person is love, because we have the need to be accompanied, to feel loved. I'm not in love with her, I’m in love with the memory of the best summer of my life. Have you ever fallen in love with a memory?"
Happened in Tuscany Page 7