Love & Gelato (28 page)

MAY 9

The semester is wrapping up. Simone and Alessio finished early. They managed to get jobs working together at a museum in Naples, and we're all just relieved they won't have to split up. Who would they fight with? Adrienne finished early too, but she left without saying good-bye.

Now that our group has dwindled to just the three of us, Francesca, Howard, and I spend so much time together that we joke that Howard should just save money and move in with us. Classes are done, but we technically have a couple of weeks before we have to turn in our final projects, and I've already started assisting Petrucione.

I feel like I've come to the end of an era. The past year has held some of my best moments but also some of my worst. I haven't heard a single word from X since that day in the train station, and now that the sharp edges of that day have dulled, I keep asking myself the same question: How could our relationship have meant so much to me and so little to him?

May 12

For the past few weekends Howard and I have been renting a car and dragging Francesca on outings to Tuscan hill towns. We have very specific roles: Howard drives and DJs, I read aloud from a travel book, and Francesca sits in the back and complains. We have so much fun, and I'm so glad to have them for a distraction. Sometimes I even forget about X for a while.

MAY 13

Francesca was just offered a position as an assistant to a prominent fashion photographer in Rome. If she takes it (and she will) she'll start in less than a month. Howard has been interviewing for jobs too. He told me he'll do whatever it takes to stay in Italy. Janitor with a PhD in art history, anyone? We've always been kindred spirits about Florence. While the rest of our friends sat around complaining about the city's tourists and how expensive everything is, we were the ones pointing out stained glass windows and trying every strange flavor of gelato we came across.

I hate to admit it, but even though I still love Florence with my whole heart, it has become a sad place to me as well. Everywhere I go I see places I went with X, and it's like I can hear echoes of our conversations. I spend hours wondering why our breakup was so sudden. Did the school find out? Did he meet someone else? But it's useless to think about. I could wonder forever.

MAY 14

Only about a week left on my project. Petrucione has recommended a few art schools for portrait photography, and he said that if I can round out my portfolio I'll have my pick of any program I want. Trying to feel as enthusiastic as I should about it. Part of me is ready for the next phase, and part of me wishes I could just stay in this city forever.

MAY 15

Howard must be sick of me blowing him off to work on my portfolio, because he blindsided me on my way out of the studio and told me he was taking me to see the Florence American Cemetery and Memorial. He's been working there as a volunteer for the past few months (add WWII history to his long list of interests) and was recently approached about applying for the position of live-in superintendent. The current superintendent had a stroke earlier this month, and they're scrambling to find someone to replace him. I can't imagine a more perfect person for the job—or a more perfect place for Howard. He said it's a long shot and tried to act nonchalant about it, but I could tell how badly he wants the job.

MAY 18

What is wrong with me?? One day I feel like I'm moving along just fine, and other days I'm so weepy and emotional I may as well be standing in that train station in Rome. I stay up late working most nights, but even if I don't I still can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I just think about X. I know I should be getting over him by now, but I just wish we could have one more conversation. In a moment of weakness I tried his phone number, but it had been disconnected. I know it was for the better, but I was still so disappointed.

MAY 20

Howard was offered the job! Francesca and I took him out to his favorite pizza place to celebrate, and when we got back to our apartment, Francesca scurried up the stairs, leaving Howard and me standing outside. I was about to say good night, but he started hemming and hawing and then out of nowhere invited me to stay with him at the cemetery for the rest of the summer. He made it sound so easy: Finish up your grad school applications. Stay in my spare bedroom. Spend a little more time in Florence. What an offer! I said yes before he even finished asking.

MAY 22

Today was my last official day as a student at FAAF. I'm planning to take the weekend off. Then I'll start assisting Petrucione on Monday. Francesca and I spent the afternoon packing up our apartment. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm going to miss my cardboard mattress and all those noisy bakery customers. So many good things happened to me here!

Francesca left an hour ago. Her internship starts in two weeks, and she's going to visit her parents first. I helped drag all nine of her bags down to the street, and then we just hugged. She claims she never cries, but when she pulled back her eyeliner was a tiny bit smudged. Hopefully she makes good on her promise to visit Howard and me soon.

MAY 24

Well, it's official. I am now a resident of the Florence American Cemetery and Memorial. All the stress of ending the school year must have hit me, because yesterday I was so exhausted that I could barely even get out of bed. The previous superintendent left the place fully furnished, so Howard's been able to jump right into the job. The spare bedroom is perfect for me, and Howard said he doesn't mind if I cover the walls with photographs.

MAY 26

The cemetery is gorgeous, and even though I should be spending all my free time working on my grad school applications, I keep taking breaks to wander through the headstones. The Wall of the Missing is especially interesting. How is it that they were living, breathing people and all of a sudden they were just gone? This morning I was photographing it and the assistant superintendent, Sonia, joined me and we had a nice long talk. She's a lovely woman. Smart, like Howard, and so dedicated to working here.

MAY 30

This has been such a great week. After we're done working for the day, Howard and I cook, watch old movies, and go for long walks, and it just feels so
perfect
. Sometimes Sonia joins us, and we sit around playing cards or watching movies or just talking. I don't know how to explain it exactly, but for years I've felt like I was looking for something—like I wasn't quite in the right place. But here with Howard, that feeling has evaporated. I don't know if it's the city, or the peacefulness of the cemetery, or having so much time to work on my photography, but I've never felt more at ease. There's something very healing about this place.

May 31

This morning I showed Petrucione some of the photos I've taken at the cemetery. There's one spot in the northwest corner that gives a perfect view of the grounds, and I've been taking pictures there at different times of day. It's amazing to see the change in light and color as the day progresses.

I guess it makes sense, but living in a cemetery has me thinking often about death. There's an order here that doesn't exist in real life, and I find it strangely comforting. Maybe that's the beauty of death. Nothing is messy anymore. Everything is sealed up and final.

Sealed up and final.

“Ugh,” I said aloud. She was so
wrong
about that. How could anything be final when you left people behind and didn't even tell them your secrets?

“What's up?” Ren asked. “Anything new?”

“She moved in with Howard at the cemetery. But they're just friends. She had to have been pregnant by then.” I shook my head. “Matteo has to be the one.”

“Can I catch up?”

I handed him the journal, then leaned back, watching the scenery fly past our window. We were driving through a postcard of green countryside and rolling hills, and it was so pretty and picturesque I wanted to scream.

Why had she told me this way?

BY THE TIME THE TRAIN
came to a stop I had enough adrenaline running through me to power a small island. Not that any of the other passengers cared. They were taking their sweet time gathering up their magazines and laptops, and I stood blocked in the aisle, jiggling nervously.

Ren nudged me with his shoulder. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I have to.”

He nodded. “When we get out let's head straight for the curb. If we beat the rush we can get a cab and be there in like ten minutes.”

Ten minutes.

Finally the line started moving and Ren and I hurried off the train. The station had a high ceiling and was even more crowded than the one in Florence.

“Which way?” I asked.

He turned around in a circle. “I think . . . that way. Yeah.”

“You up for running again?”

“Let's do it.”

He grabbed my hand and we sprinted toward the exit, dodging people like they were pitfalls in a video game.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes.
My life was about to change.
Again
. What happened to normal, boring days?

There were a bunch of cabs waiting out on the street next to the taxi stand, and Ren and I jumped into the first one available. Our cabdriver had a thick mustache and a cologne problem.

Ren read him the address.

“
Dieci minuti
,” the cabdriver answered.

“Ten minutes,” Ren translated.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
He was still holding my hand.

Word to the wise. Unless you have no choice—like maybe you're being chased by a pack of rabid spider monkeys, or you've run away to a foreign city to track down your mysterious father—never, ever get into a cab in Rome. Ever.

“Ren, I think this guy is going to kill us,” I whispered.

“Why? Because we almost just got into our second head-on collision? Or because he keeps trying to pick fights with other drivers?”

“
Dove hai imparato a guidare?”
our driver yelled at another driver. He leaned out the window and made a gesture that I'd never seen but definitely got the gist of.