by Anna Premoli
“Yes, you idiot, like I just said.” He’s trying to be funny, but you can see that it’s taking him an immense effort. He looks like he’s about to pass out right there in the sofa.
It’s not 102° either, it’s closer to 104°!
“Have you taken any paracetamol?” I ask. “Or at least an aspirin?”
“No. I didn’t take anything when it started because I was throwing up all the time, and today I was just too weak.”
“That’s ridiculous! You men don’t even know how to take care even of yourselves!” I shout. “Where’s your medicine cabinet?”
“That’s in the bathroom too.”
I thought it would be but I didn’t want to start rummaging through his things. I come back a few minutes later shaking my head. “Ari, most of your medicines are past their expiry date.”
He doesn’t seem very surprised. “I told you, I hardly ever get sick,” he says, with a hint of pride.
“Luckily for you, I’m always organized.” And so saying I pull out a packet of unexpired paracetamol from my bag.
“I know you’re organized. It’s one of the things you’re best at,” murmurs Ari, closing his eyes.
I prepare the medicine for him and then sit down next to him. “Come on, drink this. It is a miracle you aren’t completely dehydrated, by the way. That’s dangerous.”
He opens one eye, grabs the glass from my hand and downs the lot. “You shouldn’t be here. Whatever this is might be catching. “
“Oh well, just make sure you don’t kiss me, then,” I say, in an attempt to make a joke.
Which Ari doesn’t seem to get. “They aren’t transmitted by saliva,” he says confidently, “they’re transmitted by air.”
“I doubt that. And who knows who you were kissing on Saturday night...” I find myself saying, and then immediately wish I had kept my mouth shut. I certainly shouldn’t have come out with that - it’s absolutely none of my business who he goes around kissing, and I need to get that through my thick noggin once and for all.
Ari, who unluckily is not quite out of it enough to have not heard, opens both eyes and peers at me for a long time. “I’m not well enough to have this conversation with you right now. And for your information, I didn’t kiss anyone...”
Suuuuure, of course you didn’t.
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” I somehow manage to say in a surprisingly calm voice. “You ‘re free to do absolutely whatever you like.”
“I know I am, but I didn’t kiss anyone anyway,” he says in a serious voice. “Nobody at all,” he adds gloomily, as though to emphasize the concept.
“Why not?” I ask him on an impulse.
He gives a pained laugh.
“Is that actually a serious question or have I ended up on Candid Camera or something?”
“It’s totally serious, really.”
“Giada, I don’t know what kind of people you are used to hanging around with but were I come from it’s not a brilliant idea to go around snogging random girls if the same face appears in your mind’s eye every time you close your eyes.”
“Oh...” I murmur, at a loss as to what to say.
“Exactly, ‘oh’...” he says in an annoyed voice. “And I don’t understand why you ask me certain things when you’re not going to like the answers you get.”
I’ve obviously made him angry, but I swear that my “oh” was meant to sound positive. I’ve never met a person as good at expressing things as well as Ari is. Or anyone who managed to make me feel so alive, come to that.
“Listen, thanks for the medicine but I can’t keep my eyes open so I think I’ll go and lie down. Can you let yourself out?” he asks me, and then gets up with difficulty from the sofa. I rush over to help him and grab him by the waist.
Somehow we manage to get him to his bed and while I’m attempting to lay him down I end up falling rather gracelessly on top of him thanks to his ungainly height. I try to get up right away but Ari’s wraps his arms around me, and I let him do it, enjoying a feeling that I never imagined could be so powerful. We lie down for a while until Ari murmurs into my ear. “You really are an idiot, you’re bound to catch this horrible bloody cold I’ve got. What’s the point of that?”
I get to my feet and smile at him. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll have been worth it anyway.”
Then I sit down on the edge of the bed and wait for him to fall asleep. After two minutes his breathing has the regular rhythm of someone sleeping deeply. I cover him with a blanket that I find on the chair in the corner of the room and go into the kitchen, where I eventually find a packet of rice in a cupboard. I cook some for when Ari wakes up and wants to eat and then set the table and leave it all ready.
I’m just leaving his house when my phone rings. It’s Filippo.
“Hey Giada,” he says. “Is this a bad time?”
Something tells me that we’ve had the same idea at the same time. “Not at all, Fil, hi. News?”
“Yeah, actually. We’re going to be in Milan tomorrow because our manager has booked us a recording session in a studio near the Central Station and I thought that maybe we could get some lunch and talk. What do you say?”
“Sounds like a great idea. I’ll message you when I’ve thought of somewhere we can go, okay?”
“Ok, see you tomorrow.”
*
Filippo and I find ourselves in a very run-of-the-mill pizzeria behind the Central Station. A rather ignominious place to finish what had been the most important relationship of my life – the only one worthy of the name, in fact. I’m absolutely certain that Fil wants to break it off cleanly once and for all. I realised that from how calm he was when we spoke yesterday. People only sound like that when they’ve already made their minds up about something. The really weird thing is that if he hadn’t called me, I would have called him a little while later and organised to meet him in Verona this weekend. Regardless of Ari, it’s time to let go of this thing between me and Fil. Hopefully without anger.
He is already waiting for me at the table when he sees me coming. He stands up and leans over to me to give me a kiss on the cheek. Yes, on one cheek. The sensation of relief I feel is a clear sign that we are doing the right thing.
“I hope I’m not causing problems for you at work with this long lunch break,” he says. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s seemed to consider my commitments, he must be feeling guilty.
“One long lunch isn’t going to kill them,” I reply seraphically and sit down in front of him. “So, it practically took a miracle to get you come to Milan...” I can’t help but point out.
He blushes visibly. “Yeah, well, it was pure chance. I thought that seeing as there was the opportunity, we ought to talk.” He lifts his eyes to see my reaction and, evidently reassured, forces himself to go on. “Listen, Giada, there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m going to go for the most direct: I’ve met someone.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. In a way, I expected it.
“In Verona?” When he nods his head, I say, “And do I know her?”
“I don’t think so, she’s not anyone we know. I met her at one of our gigs and... well, let’s say I thought it was just a passing thing, but it’s not. And since you and I have spent many beautiful years together, I didn’t want to end it in an underhand way, so I came to talk to you before I did anything with this person.”
His face is very tense and he is literally tearing the napkin in front of him into shreds. I should probably put him out of his misery. “The funny thing, Fil, is that I’ve met someone too...” I confess to him with a half laugh.
“Really?” he asks, looking visibly more relaxed. “Someone from the Bocconi?”
“Hard to believe though it might be, yes,” I confess, blushing. Fil is perhaps the one person who really understands how much I’m not usually a fan of them.
“One of the ones your mother would love so much?” he teases me gently.
“Ah yes - my mother would love
him,” I reply thoughtfully.
“And is that really is a problem? I would have thought we should be past caring about getting back at our parents by now, Giada,” he says. “You need to live for yourself, not for them.” Fil does sometimes come out with something very perceptive, and when he does it makes me remember why I first fell in love with him. When I was the centre of his world, everything seemed to make sense - I felt like I made sense - and that is why I hesitated for so long before ending this relationship that hadn’t managed to grow along with us.
“In all honesty, I don’t really know if or how things will evolve with this person, but he’s in my head and I suspect he’s increasingly in my heart and I really didn’t want to go on stringing you along. I was about to call you myself, but you got there first.”
Fil stares at me for a long time with an affectionate expression on his face.
“And in the end we both found the strength to move on...” he comments, looking touched.
“I didn’t have the strength to do anything. He just appeared in my life totally by surprise, completely unexpectedly,” I explain. I wish I could take some kind of credit for it but I’m always the same -always pointlessly, hopelessly neurotic.
“That’s how the best things always happen: when you least expect them, when you don’t think you’re ready or when you wouldn’t bet two euros on them working out.”
I cut myself a slice of pizza but instead of eating it I start playing with it. “I confess, Fil, I’m terrified.”
“About what?”
“About letting myself go, about jumping in with both feet. I’m scared that this might be a big risk. I mean, not that I never let go with you but...”
He interrupts me before I manage to make it even worse. “No, you’re right. With me, you never did let go of yourself completely, there was always a part you kept hidden from me.”
So he realised. God, that makes me feel awful.
“Since we’re in the mood for confessions, I always got this feeling that you didn’t accept me completely, and so I made sure to only show one side of my character to you. With you, and even with other people, I’ve always been one-dimensional. One side for each person.”
“And does this person see through all that?” he asks me sweetly.
“That, Fil, is a really good question...”
*
I am extremely grateful to Lavinia and Ale for organizing an aperitif at the last minute. A girls’ night out is just what I need after ending a seven-year-long relationship. I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel, to tell the truth: when I think of myself and Fil, I am overcome by a wave of nostalgia, but at the same time an unexpected amount of adrenaline is flowing through my veins. I’m scared and hopeful at the same time. I’m a free woman who does not know what to do with her new freedom.
“And so it’s over, then,” says Vinny bluntly.
“Yes,” I confirm as I sit down. “We broke up.”
Ale immediately passes me a glass of something to drown my presumed sorrows in.
“And what exactly is this?” I ask with a smile.
“No idea, but I do know that it’s alcoholic,” she replies, “and you definitely need to get drunk tonight.”
She’s not wrong. I knock back what turns out to be a straight vodka and then order another one.
“Does he know?” Vinny asks me gently.
“He who?” asks Ale.
“Ari”, replies Vinny.
“Oh no, no!” I laugh nervously. “Nobody apart from you two knows yet. I ought to be miserable and sobbing into my drink, right? But I’m not,” I confess, “I’m a bundle of nerves! And he’s still sick at home. He’s supposed to be back at work tomorrow, from what I’ve heard.”
“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he does find out,” murmurs Lavinia.
“If he finds out …” I correct her.
“Why, isn’t that the reason you did it?” she says, staring at me doubtfully.
“To be exact, it wasn’t me who did it, it was Fil. Yes, I was dumped.” And I couldn’t be happier about it.
“Give it a rest with the semantics! You’ve been simmering on a low heat for weeks. And perhaps not even that low, actually, given the way you were glaring at every woman Ariberto came into contact with last Saturday,” she reminds me.
She’s quite right: I haven’t been very discreet. But it’s harder to hide jealousy than any other feeling. It comes at you from inside, overpowers you, and then stabs you in the back when you least expect it.
“Please don’t remind me ...” I whisper mournfully.
“Drink up...” Alessandra tells me, handing me a third glass. “It’ll help you forget everything, you’ll see.”
*
At the end of the evening I find myself at home just in time to realize that not only am I absolutely plastered but that I’m also sick as a dog. And this isn’t just the usual vodka tummy, this is a completely different and much stronger kind of nausea. I run into the bathroom and throw up my guts what feels like an infinite number of times.
So it turns out that whatever it was Ari had actually was one of those really nasty viruses.
*
I open my eyes with difficulty and squint in pain at the light. God, how awful do I feel?
Next to me lie my two phones, my personal one and my company one. This morning, before falling back into a comatose sleep, I at least managed to send a message to Iris informing her that unfortunately I had also won a ride on the tummy-bug carousel and begging her not to send anybody round. So why is my doorbell now ringing so loudly? What kind of person treats a poor dying woman like that?
“Just a minute,” I say as I slowly get myself out of bed. Not a brilliant idea, honestly, as I feel as weak as a wet dishrag. Which seems natural, given that I threw up I don’t know how many times last night. After the first five I stopped counting. It was too depressing.
Somehow I manage to get to the door and open it without collapsing to the floor.
There, in all his splendour, is Ariberto. I am glad to see him looking so well, it means that this thing isn’t deadly and that I can hope to return to the land of the living. Sooner or later.
“Giada!” he exclaims worriedly, grabbing me at the exact moment when I’m about to slump to the floor. He lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and carries me over to the bed. “You should never open the door without asking who it is! I might have been a serial killer!” he says.
“That wouldn’t have been much of a risk,” I somehow manage to joke. “I already feel like I’m dying so maybe it would only have cut short my suffering.”
“You do talk a lot of nonsense,” he murmurs, shaking his head.
“And you are really mean to sick people. And after I was so kind to you.”
“You were an idiot - you shouldn’t have put yourself in a position to catch this horrible virus. It would never have happened if you’d kept your distance,” he says, telling me off the way you do a naughty child.
If only I was able to keep my flipping distance...
“Bertha, take pity on for a poor woman who feels absolutely bloody terrible, would you?” I beg him.
Ari sits down next to me and strokes my head. “You silly, silly girl.”
“I’ll let you insult me if you keep massaging my head,” I whisper. The fever must have completely loosened my tongue.
“How long have you been sick?”
“I don’t even know what time it is. But since last night.”
“It’s one o’clock. And are you still throwing up?”
“Every now and then... “ I admit.
“Well that should stop by tonight,” he reassures me. “You’ll feel shit for another thirty-six hours, and then you’ll magically wake up feeling better.”
“Isn’t there any way to speed up the process? I would really like to start feeling better...”
“You went looking for it, Giada,” he reproaches me. “Honestly, I really don’t understand what
made you do it.”
How can he not understand? I don’t see how it could be any more obvious.
“If you’re sick, I have to come and check up on you,” I murmur with difficulty. “I just have to.”
“What’s that, some kind of unwritten rule?”
“More or less. It’s my new mantra.”
“Are you taking something?”
“Yes. Then I throw it back up, so there’s not much point me taking it in the first place, but I’m doing my best.”
“I’ll be back this evening as soon as I’ve finished work,” he promises me as he gets up from the bed.
My expression grows worried. “No, don’t. I feel terrible and I don’t want you to see me looking so awful.”
But before I’ve even finished saying it, I feel a powerful wave of nausea suddenly overwhelm me. I shoot off towards the bathroom, where I start to vomit up the remaining part of my guts. Ah, the joys of being sick...
And since there’s always room for things to get even more humiliating, Ari follows me in, crouches down behind me and pulls my hair out of the way to make sure I don’t get sick on it. It’s the lowest moment of my existence and there he is, watching it happen in real time. Frankly, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
People often speak about some incredibly romantic gesture that made the difference, but for me, this is the thing that I will always remember: the fact that he came to help me while I was throwing up, when anyone else would have stayed away. Modern romanticism is made up of concrete gestures like that – I mean, I wouldn’t know what to do with a bouquet of flowers.
After I’ve finished emptying my already empty stomach, he hands me some toilet paper to clean my mouth and then a glass of water, and then he helps me up from the floor, picks me up again and carries me over to the bed like a little child.
“Look, there are a couple of things I have to finish at work and then I’ll come back,” he says, leaning close to me to check on my condition. “You hang in there, okay?”
I just nod.
“Have you got a spare set of keys I can take to keep you from waking up?”
I point to the ones on the table. He sits down on the edge of the bed and runs his hands through my hair several times, then he leans down and places a light kiss on my forehead.
