“What can’t you wrap your head around? That I brought this hot guy here with me, or that I said I wanted to be like you?”
“Obviously the latter. But it’s gotta be your usual trick. You pretend to compliment me, but you’re really trying to hurt me.”
“Of course! I’m not just an illiterate slut, I’m also a total bitch. Erika Lieti, the brainless beauty,” she snaps. “Did you ever think that maybe you were actually the wicked sister? Did you ever think that maybe I’ve always hated you because Dad likes you better? That maybe always having Mom and the aunts around might have been torture for me?”
“But—”
“You’ve always been too occupied with yourself, your books, Dad, and your fucking sarcasm to realize that the reason I left home when I was twenty was so I could get out from under your shadow! I needed to stop feeling so inferior to you. Your college degree, your feigned shyness, even your aversion to sex! I wish Dad would pay me half the attention he pays to you, even just for a second. I wanted to come get your advice before I lost my virginity all those years ago, but you looked at me like I was some bimbo . . . And now you have the nerve to criticize me for being with Luca? You really can’t stand the idea that he could have feelings for me? Why is that? Do you just not think I deserve to be happy?”
What. The. Fuck.
Of all the strange things to happen today, I never saw this one coming. Erika’s claim to envy me, the ugly sister with no boyfriend and no money, isn’t just a surprise. It’s an ambush. Is she serious? Or is this just her twisted way of getting me to stop hating her so she can feel better about taking Luca from me? I don’t understand what’s going on. Seeing her rage fueled by passion, sorrow, memories, and revenge . . . it hurts. And it angers me. At the same time that I want to just get out of here, I want to stay and work it out. The words catch in my throat. For a split second, I see her as she was when we were little, wearing Mom’s clothes, lipstick smeared on her face. The same little girl tagging along wherever I went, unable to pronounce my name correctly.
Her disdainful laughter brings me back to reality; she’s misinterpreted my silence. “Are you fresh out of your derisive little comments?”
I want to cry. All of the emotions of today, of yesterday, of the last thirty years crash together and surge up inside me. Instinctively, I take a step in her direction. I don’t know if I want to make peace, continue the war, or make a run for it. Erika steps back as if I’ve slapped her. A hungry tiger would look more sympathetic right now.
“Don’t you dare put on some pathetic little charade,” she whispers. “And don’t kid yourself. This isn’t over.”
And with that, she leaves the theater. My mouth hangs wide open. I sigh and shrug. This day has gone perfectly. I just found out my sister hates me even more than I thought she did, and for reasons that I’d never imagined.
I don’t want to think about the one problem left to deal with—Luca and Erika staying together. I want to go home and shove Pringles in my face. But apparently the bell signaling the second round has already rung, because Luca’s standing right where Erika just was.
“If you’re looking for your woman, she just left,” I tell him, shouldering my strawberry purse and trying to squeeze out the door.
“I’m looking for you,” he says, his voice flat and emotionless. He blocks me from leaving.
“I don’t know what you want, but I’m older now, and I need my rest. So I’m going to go home and try to forget about this awful birthday.”
He grabs my arm. “We need to talk first.”
“About what? Haven’t you already said everything? What other wonderful things could you possibly tell the person who was the worst sex you’ve ever had?” I struggle against his grip, but Luca doesn’t want to let me go. His eyes are burning with anger.
“What the hell is this, a sermon? Because you’re so perfect? Maybe you’ve forgotten that you were the one who threw me out of that seedy motel. And you didn’t exactly give my performance a rave review either! You’re the one who wanted to forget that it ever happened. I would have liked to talk to you about what happened between us, but you just shut me up and turned me away. You made me feel like shit.”
“You felt like shit?” I laugh. “I’ve got to be the hundredth girl you’ve slept with this year, at least.”
“You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met!” Luca fumes. “Just when I thought I knew you, it turns out I really didn’t.”
I escape him without replying and make it out the door. I’m drenched within three seconds of walking outside. But I don’t care. I’d rather celebrate my birthday by being a murdered hitchhiker than stay in there a minute longer. Something is holding me back, however. I wince when I see it’s Luca, also drenched from the rain. He’s holding my hand.
“I haven’t gotten laid in two months,” he says grimly.
“Please apologize to your penis for me,” I yell. “Will you let me go?”
“Go where? You’re not walking in this. I don’t have a car—I came here with your sister and she left. And we’re not going to find a taxi anytime soon.”
“I’m going to hitchhike, even if it kills me.”
What is he doing? Is he . . . smiling? There’s nothing to smile about. We’re out here soaked to our underwear.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
“I’m laughing at you, silly.”
“Has your impotence taken away your sanity?”
“That’s entirely likely. I haven’t felt sane in quite some time.”
I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that, like I’m some delicate feather. I wish he’d stop rubbing his thumb on my wrist. I wish he’d stop acting like it wasn’t a big deal to show up here with my sister. He drags me under the shelter of a balcony, where the rain drips instead of pours.
“Luca . . . I don’t understand what you want. You don’t need my permission to be in love with my sister.”
“I’m not in love with Erika.”
“Don’t lie. You’re always out together. And the flowers? You’ve never given flowers to anyone. I knew right away they had to be for her.”
“God, you’re incredibly obtuse,” Luca says. “First of all, Erika has been a pain in the ass. She’s always coming into the bar where I work, and she follows me around constantly. I tried to be nice to her just because she’s your sister. Secondly, I don’t want Erika. I don’t want her to be my girlfriend. I don’t even want to sleep with her. She’s too cold, always concerned with herself. She doesn’t think about other people. She’s like a statue. A beautiful one, yeah, but I only slept with her once. And third, the flowers weren’t for her. They were . . . not important.”
“Not important? It seems to me they were pretty important!”
“Shut up and listen. Let me get to the fourth point. I tried to call you to see if we could see each other, even if you were pissed at me, but you were never home. I always got your fucking voice mail. I’d rather smash my phone than talk to a recording. So then I came to your show, but I couldn’t talk to you then. And believe it or not, Erika and I did not come together. We just happened to sit next to each other. So now I’m here. I just want to talk to you uninterrupted. Erika’s the one who told me about the surprise party. And she asked you those questions about Franz for me, to see if you guys were together.”
Words escape me. My sister’s behavior shocks me. Everything I knew about Erika is upside down. She came to the theater—without knowing Luca was going to be there—to see me? She asked about Franz the other night at the restaurant for Luca?
“I wanted to talk to you in person, you know? Without that square getting in the way,” he adds after a moment of silence.
“Who?”
“The blond guy. You’re always together. Have you slept together?” he asks. His eyes are dark as iron coins. He stares at me with alarming intensit
y. I just don’t understand. My stomach flip-flops.
“That’s none of your business,” I say without much conviction. My voice trembles a little, and I tremble a lot.
“But it is! I need you to tell me. Are you really together? Are you in love with him? If you are, just tell me to my face. If you love him, then . . . then . . . then I’ll leave you in peace.”
I stand there, completely dumbfounded. I don’t know what to say. My heart pounds so hard it threatens to shatter my ribcage. Tears spring to Luca’s eyes as he waits for my answer as if his life depended on my response.
“I haven’t gotten laid in two months, not since that night at the motel,” he says. “But you . . . That clearly hasn’t been the case for you.”
“You have a really short memory. Don’t forget about the naked woman you brought into our home.”
“I didn’t do anything with her! I tried, of course; I’m a man. But nothing happened. I was confused, I felt desperate. You may as well have just cut my balls off, Carlotta.”
I stare at him, shocked. I can’t even breathe.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he continues. “For two months I tried to get laid but kept thinking about you instead. For two months I tried to see you, and when I finally did, I was faced with that creepy painting you did that told me exactly what you think of me!”
“Wh—what?” I stammer.
“Are you happy that you’ve reduced me to this? I’ve turned into someone who can’t stop thinking about what you sound like when you’re making love. I’m a fucking stalker, following you at the mall, pretending to buy flowers when you see me. I don’t even know who I sent them to—I made up an address! So tell me, are you enjoying this?”
“No, I don’t—”
“Carlotta, I don’t know how much longer I can take this—this not knowing.”
He brings me closer to him, hugging me.
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s not clear to you? That I’m in love with you? That it was easy for me to believe that we were just friends until I saw you with another guy, and jealousy wreaked havoc on my insides? That I was so caught up at the motel that I forgot to use protection? I’ve never been that into someone before. I was afraid of you, of what I did, of how I feel, and of how I could have hurt you because I behaved like a foolish little boy. It’s not true that you were the worst sex I ever had. I only said that to hurt you. Carlotta, could you please say something?”
It is not easy to formulate a response that resembles an actual word when all I want to do is let out a bestial scream of joy. I think my happiness is coming across as terror.
“Are you in love with Franz?” he asks.
I can’t respond. I’m tongue-tied. He hugs me, and I’m afraid that it’s good-bye. I need to tell him.
“Carlotta, you’re the only person on this planet who couldn’t see how I felt. I only slept with Erika because I was upset. I thought you were sleeping with Tony. I didn’t do it to be with her, I did it to spite you. I was jealous, and I know it was wrong. I tried to write you a letter of apology, but I scrapped it. I couldn’t find the right words. But if you give me a chance . . . If you let me show you . . .”
I’m sorry, what? Me? The girl with a face like a strawberry? The girl with the flat chest and porcupine hair? I should give him a chance? How did I end up with the power here?
I get up on the balls of my feet and trace a finger on his wet cheek. “Franz and I are just friends,” I whisper. “Nothing has ever happened between us. I love you, you fool. I love you so much. I’ve loved you longer than you realize.”
He smiles, and his expression jumps from astonishment to joy. He responds with a passionate kiss. His mouth tastes like rainwater, his tongue like dark chocolate. When we come up for air a moment or a century later, I note that it’s still raining.
“I have an idea, my little butterfly. How about we go home and make love for three days straight?”
“That’s not a terrible idea,” I whisper. “But we’re going to have to hitch a ride because neither of us has a car.”
We laugh and kiss once more. I hear a noise behind us. There, under a bright pink umbrella, wearing a megawatt grin, is my mother. She holds a set of keys in her hand. I’m sure she’s been standing there for a while, eavesdropping on every word of our conversation. Behind her, everyone from the theater is pressed against the glass, watching the spectacle that is my life. Rose gives me a thumbs-up. Iriza beams at me. Romina dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Lara glares at Luca, letting him know that she’ll skin him alive if he makes one wrong move. Rocky looks like he’s about to puke.
“Do you need a ride, my darlings?” my mother chirps. “Why don’t you use Oreste’s car? It’s right over there.” She points to an enormous blue Mercedes shining like a sapphire, parked at the curb. Luca takes the keys, but my mother isn’t satisfied. Unexpectedly, she pulls something out of her pocket that I don’t recognize right away.
“You forgot Oreste’s present, honey. I’m sure it’ll come in handy!”
My cheeks turn beet red with embarrassment. I’m about to say something, but Luca quickly grabs it and shoves it in his pocket.
“That’s very thoughtful,” he says. “It will certainly come in handy. I can’t wait to tear it off of her.”
I feel feverish. Even my mother, who has never heard the word shame, looks surprised. Then Luca leans forward and lowers his voice.
“I’ll let it go this time, because he’s letting us use his car. But if Oreste ever gives Carlotta a present like that again, I’ll kick his ass.”
No one has ever silenced my mother like that. Luca takes my hand and guides me to the car. We are so soaked that it’s no longer worth trying to protect ourselves from the rain. We get into the car, laughing.
My mother’s senses returned, she shouts after me, waving her umbrella. “Don’t be dull, my darling Carlotta. Remember what I told you! Bad boys are always better in bed!”
EPILOGUE
My official initiation into my thirties has been nothing short of busy, considering what happened last night (twice) and then again this morning at dawn. Fireworks, with brief intervals to catch our breath. Now, as he sleeps, Luca seems so helpless. He’s lying on his back with the sheets tangled around his waist. If I didn’t know he was asleep, I’d say he looks posed. One arm is behind his head, the other at his side. His chest is bare, his hair in artistic disarray. But I know he’s sleeping by his breathing, his soft features, and his relaxed muscles.
I get up to go to the bathroom, quickly throwing on a pair of his boxers with Kermit the Frog on the back. Luca stirs in his sleep. A little rest is in order after all that exercise.
In the mirror, I see a different person. I hate to admit it, but my mother was right. My skin is smooth, fresh, and radiant. I look ten years younger. The sex is good, but I think being in love makes it all the better. I love Luca, and Luca loves me, in all my weird glory. I feel stronger than I did yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll feel stronger than I do today. The passage of time is nothing but a front for the timid and cowardly. Age is just a number. What counts is how you fill your years.
I’ve learned a lot from everyone over these past few months. Even my mother, in her own special way, taught me something: to not give up. I’ve developed a thick skin. In a sink-or-swim situation, I’ve learned to stay afloat. I think about Erika and all the things she said. She was so furious, but her eyes gave away her sadness. I stare into my own eyes in the mirror, thinking that I want to try to see her. I always assumed that our tattered relationship was her fault, but maybe I was to blame, too. I did to her what I did to Luca when he tried to open up to me: I assumed she was trying to insult me, and so I shut her down before she could hurt me. Of course, sarcasm can be a great defense mechanism, but sometimes you have to let yourself be vulnerable. I would give anything if it meant we could find our w
ay back to being those two little girls who dreamed of being princesses someday. Maybe there’s hope.
I smile at myself in the mirror, but then I remember something that makes me feel uneasy. I find myself in Luca’s old room, standing on the mattress with a roller and a can of white paint. I’m not even dressed, but it has to be done. Judith and Holofernes gradually disappear under layers of white paint, their accusing, desperate eyes dissolving under the brushstrokes. The room feels lighter when I’m finished, and I’m pleased. There’s a time for everything. I dealt with pain, and now I just want to be happy. I’ll paint something new, perhaps a field of sunflowers.
I head into the kitchen, paint in my hair and on my hands, feeling ravenous. I open the fridge, only to discover the usual desolation. Apart from a jar of mayonnaise and an old banana, there’s nothing to eat.
“I think we need to go grocery shopping,” whispers a voice behind me. Luca hugs me from behind as his lips brush my ear, slide down my neck, and nip at my shoulder. His hands slip into Kermit the Frog’s territory, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter their wings. A moan escapes me.
“I read your novel, you know,” I whisper as he kisses me.
“I left it behind on purpose. Did you like it?”
“I like everything you do.”
“Then let’s go back to bed. I’ll do you one more time.”
He picks me up and brings me back to bed. There’s nothing but love in his eyes.
I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. All I know is that right now, I have everything I want in this bed, in these arms. Carlotta and Luca. The best of friends, ready for whatever the future holds.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I met many wonderful people along this adventure, without whom I would be a sunflower deprived of sunlight. Thank you to Laura Ceccacci—you are so much more than an agent. You’re a guardian angel and a wonderful friend. My gratitude comes from the heart and lands in your curls. I love you so much! Thank you to Cristina Caboni—I will never forget your encouragement and the confidence you’ve always had in me. You were the first to show me around in the middle of the storm. Thank you to Giulia Ichino for accepting this little wayfaring author. As soon as I heard your voice, I knew we were in for a beautiful journey together. Thank you to Laura Cerutti—you’ve been my rock in recent months. Thanks for your advice, your gentle wisdom, your crystalline laughter. Thanks to my family and close friends. Above all, a special thanks to Patrisha Mar—you’re the reason that the Barbie dolls came into Carlotta’s life. Because of you, I never felt alone, even in the darkest moments. Thanks to everyone who read the first version of this story—without your enthusiasm, affection, and support, I wouldn’t be here. Finally, thank you to all the Carlottas in the world. I hope that this story is just crazy and romantic enough for you to dream and hope that the next toad you kiss may turn into a charming prince.
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