Wish You Were Italian (23 page)

If that’s true, will she still love me when she finds out what I’ve done? How I’ve lied to her? Our relationship is already screwed up enough as it is. What sort of irreparable damage am I causing now?

“
It’s better to have loved and lost,” she said, “than to never have loved at all. Give Darren a chance
.”

What? No. She didn’t say that.

Hot wax drips onto my finger, sending a shock up my arm and pulling me out of my daydream. A frustrated sigh whooshes through my lips. I ache for Gram’s ability to calm me down and rationalize my situation. Maybe she’d say I need to be guarded because I’m still very young, prone to googly eyes and lust. That if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. That she doesn’t want to see me get hurt.

But then she might also point out that you never know what could happen unless you try. That each of our choices, no matter how small, has the potential to change the course of the rest of our life. And that trying and failing is better than not trying at all. Which … is basically saying it’s better to have loved and lost.

I just don’t know if I can believe that. It sounds like unnecessary suffering. Suffering that can be prevented if you’re strong enough to thwart attachment in the first place.

I stare back into the flame, wishing for my heart’s sake that I had the strength to change my mind about going tomorrow. But I don’t. Not even close.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Since I’ll only be gone a couple of days, Chiara lets me borrow her big backpack and helps me pick which outfits to bring along. I count out my money and set aside a few hundred euros to bring with me, tucking the rest away deep inside my bag. Determined to worry about only one expensive gadget on this little excursion, I secure my computer between the layers of clothing in my rolling bag and stow everything I’m leaving behind out of the way in the boys’ closet.

With the backpack crammed full and my camera bag slung over my shoulder, Chiara and I head to the trattoria to meet up with her family and say our good-byes.

Matilde swallows me in her pudgy arms. Then Luca offers a quick, awkward side hug, and disappears inside after his mother.

Chiara places a hand on each of my shoulders. “You,” she says sternly, “must let yourself have a good time.”

“Of course I’ll have a good time. I’m going to Pompeii!”

She releases me and rolls her eyes. “That is not what I mean and you know it.”

“Chiara—”

“You might not allow yourself to see clearly, but I do.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “And you will soon enough.”

“Whatever you say.” I dismiss her words with a wave of my hand, trying to ignore the fact that Chiara’s been right about everything before. I look back at the door as Luca emerges with a tray of juices and coffee cups, and the smile on my face fades. For a second I thought he was Bruno.

“He did not come home last night,” Chiara says, guessing my thoughts.

“What?” I’d assumed he came and went while I was sleeping. “Where is he? I mean, should we be worried?”

“No,” she answers sharply before forcing a smile. “It is not uncommon for him. Do not think on it anymore. He will be here when you get back.”

I thought he’d at least come say good-bye. I scan the surrounding area one more time, then straighten my posture, determined not to take offense at his absence. It doesn’t matter.

“
Ciao
, Pippa.” Chiara gives me one more hug.

I reposition my camera bag onto the other shoulder when I reach our meeting place a few minutes early. My stomach is in knots with that twisty, sick feeling you get when you know something’s about to change.

While I’m observing the faces of people exiting the tunnel,
running footsteps and heavy breathing rush up behind me. I turn, prepared to step aside, but a hand clutches my elbow.

“Bruno!” I say as I notice his skin has been ripped open just below his left eye. His eyelid is deep purple and twice its normal size, and there’s a bruise on his chin that seems to be spreading. I take a step closer.

“What happened?” My pulse quickens and my hand hovers near his face, but I’m too afraid to touch anything. I settle for smoothing back his ruffled hair.

“I wanted to see you before it was too late,” he manages between pants. “Pippas—”

“Tell me what happened,” I demand. A thought occurs to me and I whisper, “Does this have to do with that Mauro guy?” I take a cautious look around us as if Mauro might pop out from a hiding place and start beating me up too.

He studies me as he catches his breath. “Why would you think that?” he asks, then ignores his own question. “Pippas, I am sorry for what I say to you. You come here and make my mind, ah … you make me go—” He waves his hands close to his face and widens his eyes.

“I make you turn into a crazy person?”

“Yes!” he nearly shouts, pointing at me. Then his face falls and he grunts. “No.
Sono confuso
.” He tugs at his hair, messing up what little order I’d just brought to it.

“You’re confused?” I quickly glance at the people near us—still no sign of Darren—and speak low. “Bruno, what—”

“You make me want better things. To
be
better. But I do not know how. I want you to stay but I want you to go. Too much but not enough.
Capisce?
”

“No, I don’t understand you. You’re ranting, like … well, like a crazy person.” Unable to stop myself, I reach up to the cut near his eye again. The blood that’s stained the skin around it is dry. “What happened?”

He pushes my concern away and grabs both of my hands, eyes cast down to our feet. “I do not want you to leave.”

My stomach clenches even more and I take a step back. I need to get out of here. I should just meet them at the train.

“I’m coming back,” I say to appease him so I can make my escape. I twist my upper body to show him the backpack. “Look, I’m not even bringing all my stuff. It’s just a few days.”

“Why do you like this Darren so? He is not
Italiano
. It is what you wanted.”

My eyes narrow. “I never said that …”
out loud
. “You
did
read my journal!” There might as well be flames coming out my nose. “You told me you didn’t!”

His expression is stern. “You told me to say—”

“Why would you—you know what? It doesn’t matter.” I rub at my temples.

“It does.” He places my hand on his chest and holds it there. “
Io sono un Italiano
. Not him.”

Bruno looks past me, over my shoulder, and grins. Before I can turn around his hands are on my face, directing my lips to his. I push at his chest but he’s stronger. I clench my teeth together and keep my lips from moving. He finally gets the idea and releases me, but not before tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear and stroking my cheek with his thumb.

“Bruno, you can’t just do that.” I shake my head and take two steps backward, wiping my mouth. “This isn’t right. You
don’t really mean any …” I trail off when I realize he’s looking over my shoulder again, the corner of his mouth hitched up.

Paralyzed, I shut my eyes tight. I know who’s behind me and exactly what he just saw.

I swallow more than once though the dryness nearly chokes me, and muster enough courage to open my eyes. Bruno’s gone, of course. I should have punched him.

I slowly rotate on my toes and want to disappear when I see it’s not Darren staring me down.

It’s Darren, Tate,
and
Nina, framed overhead by the arched opening to the tunnel. It would have been the first picture to document our trip. But I’ve ruined it, forcing a silence that makes me want to run back to the apartment, lock myself on the balcony, and eat a lot of pasta.

Darren’s face is blank, completely unreadable. Tate’s eyebrows are in the middle of his forehead, and Nina’s fanning herself with a train schedule and studying my feet so intently, I look down to make sure my shoes match.

Someone needs to say something before I make a break for the carb therapy.

“Are you coming or staying?” Darren asks, voice tight.

“Coming,” I say quickly, hooking my thumbs in my backpack straps. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He narrows his eyes. “You tell me.”

Nothing. I’ve got nothing. I’m staring into his honey eyes and I’m frozen.

Tate clears his throat and speaks with forced pep. “We don’t want to miss our train!”

Darren’s the first to turn his back to me, and we all follow
into the tunnel, me a few steps behind. A child’s laughter and the whir of the wheels from Nina’s rolling bag echo against the mosaics and bounce above our heads. I look up as if the sounds are visible, but all that’s there is the curved plastic ceiling, a blindingly bright blue. The sea, all around me, on top of me. Echoes morph into the rush of roaring waves, crashing down. I’m drowning, I must be. The icy blues leech into my skin and I shudder.

We make it out of the tunnel and up to the platform. I lift my chin and shut my eyes, willing the sun’s rays to revive me. No one says anything to me. Do they not want me to go now? Just because of that? That wasn’t even my fault. What could I say right now that wouldn’t make things more pathetic?

The train arrives, the doors slide open, and we cram inside the already crowded car. Nina and I squeeze together in an open space, and the boys stand closer to the door. I catch eyes with Darren, but he looks out the window in a hurry, leaving me to stare at his profile. His stubble still has control of half of his face. He’s opted against the headband, though a part of it sticks out of his pocket and I can’t help but smile.

If only I could go back to last night, when he held my hand for the briefest moment. I’d hold on to it longer and not flinch when the drums bang around us. I’d start today all over again, saying a simple good-bye to Bruno and leaving before he had a chance to ruin everything.

My smile disappears and my heart races as I get what could be my stupidest idea ever. What if Bruno didn’t actually ruin anything? There’s not a good ending written for me and Darren, so this could be exactly what needs to happen. A nudge, some sort of kick to force detachment into action.

Bruno’s kick was swift and unexpected. I guess I should be thankful. I should be relieved.

So why do I feel like I just broke something?

In La Spezia, we settle into our seats on the train that will bring us all the way to Naples. Nina and I take the window seats facing each other across a tiny table. Tate, of course, sits next to Nina, which puts Darren next to me. Before the train even leaves the station, the three of them pull out their iPods and press the ear-buds into their ears.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

When both Nina’s and Tate’s eyes are closed, I yank on the cord to Darren’s earbud. He startles and his eyes fly open as if I’ve woken him.

“Are you really not going to talk to me?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

He rubs his ear like I hurt him. “Of course I’m going to talk to you. I just … don’t know what to say this exact minute.”

I cross my arms over my chest. My head feels marshmallowy just thinking about taking this conversation further, but I don’t have anything to lose at this point. I can’t go the whole trip with him ignoring me.

“Just come out with it,” I say, bracing myself for who knows what.

His eyebrows pull together and his nostrils flare as he inhales. “I don’t like him.”

“Don’t like who?”

He shifts in his seat to face me head-on. “That Italian kid who just mauled you. He’s Chiara’s cousin, right?”

“Bruno.”

“Bruno? That’s his name? Seriously?” he snorts.

“I don’t remember any of us naming ourselves,” I defend.

“Sorry. I just figured someone like him would be named Fabio or something.”

I want to be angry, I really do, but I can’t resist laughing. “That’s what I thought the first time I met him,” I admit.

Darren actually cracks a smile, and hope blooms inside my chest for an instant before it fizzles. I’m itching to tell Darren that he’s the one I want. But I don’t know how, or if I should. Keeping Darren at an emotionally safe distance might be the only way I make it through this summer unscathed. If that’s even possible at this point.

“Well, whatever his name is. I still don’t like him.” His voice is rough and his bright brown eyes pierce straight through me.

Tell me why you don’t like him. Tell me it’s because you’re jealous he kissed me and you haven’t. Tell me you want to. Want me
.

“Gag,” Nina says with a groan. “Would you two just kiss and be done with it already?”

Darren and I gape at her. Fire creeps up my neck, and I press my body against the window, as far from Darren as possible.

“I thought you were asleep,” Darren says to her.

“With the both of you whining like children? Please,” she huffs. “I’m going to the little girl’s room.” She stands and her long legs step over Tate’s without waking him. “Fix this or we’re all going to be miserable,” she whispers to Darren loud enough for me to hear.

I face the window, but my eyes focus on Darren’s reflection. He scratches the top of his head through his curls, then slides
his hand down, pressing his thumb and fingers over his eyelids. I’ve lost my nerve to bring up Bruno again.

“Pippa.” He sighs. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

I reach to grip the armrest between us but his hand is already taking up half of it. I’m caught off guard and I can’t decide if it’s more awkward to jerk my hand away or leave it there. Electricity runs up my arm when he hooks my pinkie with his.

“Still crooked,” he says.

“I’m lucky it’s still there, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, some guy tried to bite it off once.”

He releases my pinkie and tugs at a loose string on his shorts. “He sounds like a real winner.”

I pick at a ripple in the fabric of the armrest. “He’s all right.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I’m surprised by the tightness in my throat. This week is going to kill me.

“It’s just the little finger,” I deflect. “I’m sure I’d have survived.”

“That’s not what I meant.”