Love & Gelato

by Jenna Evans Welch

  I lay back on my bed and covered my eyes with my arm. Young Howard seemed pretty hot and cold. Had he used the whole secrecy thing as an excuse for not really committing? Had she been way more into him than he was her? That was crazy depressing. My poor mom. But then how did that fit in with what Sonia told me about Howard being crazy about her?

  I glanced at the photograph on my nightstand. I couldn’t stop thinking about that feeling I’d gotten at Ponte Vecchio. After she died a bunch of people had told me my mom would stay close to me, but I’d never actually felt that. Until tonight.

  I rolled off the bed and grabbed Howard’s cell phone from the dresser.

  “Pronto?” Ren sounded groggy.

  “Sorry, are you asleep?”

  “Not anymore. I saw Howard’s number on my phone and had a panic attack.”

  I smiled. “I’ve commandeered his phone. He said I can keep it until further notice. So I have a question for you.”

  “You want to know if I’ll take you to Space?”

  I blinked. “Uh . . . yeah. How’d you know what I was going to ask?”

  “I just had a feeling. And I’m way ahead of you. I texted Elena when I got home. She thinks her DJ buddy is working this week, which means we’ll get in for free. Want to go tomorrow? I can see if other people from the school want to go too.”

  Yes. “Ren, that’s perfect. And thanks again for taking me to Ponte Vecchio.”

  “And for introducing you to your new best friend? I think you set a new world record for most gelato ever eaten in one sitting.”

  “I want to try for another record tomorrow. What was that last kind I had? With the chocolate chunks?”

  “Stracciatella.”

  “I’m naming my first daughter after it.”

  “Lucky her.”

  DECEMBER 6

  Got an e-mail from the nursing school stating that they have officially revoked my spot in the program. I tried to file an extension after I got those letters from my parents, but if I’m honest, I didn’t try that hard. My parents are upset, but all I feel is relief. Now there’s nothing holding me back. When I told X the news, he seemed surprised. I guess he didn’t know I was serious about wanting to stay.

  DECEMBER 8

  Amazing news! The school has offered to let me stay for a second semester at half tuition. Petrucione said I’m one of the most promising students they’ve ever had (!!) and that he and the other faculty think another semester of study will really help my future career. FUTURE CAREER. Like it’s a given! I can’t wait to tell X. I almost told him over the phone, but decided to wait to tell him in person. The soonest we can meet up is tomorrow night. I hope I can last that long.

  DECEMBER 9

  Told X. I think the news kind of caught him off guard, because for a second he just stared at me. Then he lifted me off my feet and swung me around. I’m so happy.

  DECEMBER 27

  X went home for the holidays, and Francesca saved me from what was almost the longest, saddest Christmas by inviting me to go to Paris to stay in her friend’s vacant apartment.

  Paris is a photographer’s dream. When we weren’t out shooting, we hung out on the apartment’s balcony, wrapped up in blankets and eating giant boxes of chocolates we claimed to have bought for our families. On Christmas Eve I talked Francesca into going to the ice-skating rink on the first level of the Eiffel Tower, and even though she just sat on the sidelines and complained about the cold, I skated for more than an hour, giddy about how magic it all was.

  The only downside was how much I missed X. Francesca brought him up a couple of times, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to tell her what’s been going on between us. It’s like we’re living a double life—friends in public, lovers in private. I hated spending Christmas away from him. And I’m also feeling worried. How is our relationship supposed to progress if we can’t even tell anyone that we’re together? Can I survive another six months of secrecy?

  JANUARY 20

  School is back in full swing, and now that the initial excitement of staying for another semester has worn off, I’m stuck with reality, which basically means calculating and recalculating. Every night I get out my notebook and try out different scenarios. How long can I afford to stay in Italy if I take fewer classes? What if I eat only spaghetti and tomato sauce? What about if my student loan gets approved? (Fingers crossed.) All the answers are pretty grim. I can stay, but just barely.

  FEBRUARY 4

  Student loan finally cleared today. PHEW. Had a dinner party to celebrate. Weather was perfect (cold and clear), and the food was divine. Even Simone and Alessio were on their best behavior—they had only one argument (a record), and it was just over who got to eat the last piece of caprese. Finn didn’t end up coming back for the semester. He was on the fence about it, and at the last minute decided to accept a teaching position at the University of Maine. Francesca put a copy of The Old Man and the Sea in the chair where he usually sat, so at least he’s here in spirit. I felt that old familiar weirdness about my friends still not knowing about X and me, but I’m kind of coming to peace with it. He doesn’t seem to mind, and it is what it is. It feels out of my control.

  MARCH 15

  Something weird happened tonight.

  Adrienne hasn’t been hanging out with us much this semester. She stays in most nights and lately it seems like she avoids us even when we’re in class, so tonight a few of us ambushed her at her apartment and took her out to dinner. Afterward, everyone headed over to our apartment, but when we got to the building, she hung back. I finally went looking for her, and when I stepped out of the apartment I saw her standing in the stairwell, talking on the phone and sobbing like her heart had just been snapped in half. I tried to sneak away, but the floorboards creaked, and when she saw me, she gave me a look that froze me to the core. She left without saying good-bye.

  MARCH 20

  By some horrible stroke of luck, Adrienne and I were paired up for an “Out in Florence” assignment. And I say “horrible” because things have been pretty uncomfortable since the other night.

  My idea for the project was to head down to the Arno to photograph fishermen, but Adrienne told me she already had the perfect subject in mind. The way she said it left absolutely no room for discussion, so I just packed up my camera and followed her out into the street. I tried to ask her if she was all right, but she made it pretty clear she didn’t want to talk about the other night. Or anything else for that matter. Finally I gave up on conversation and just followed her into the city.

  We walked for at least ten minutes in silence and then she turned off onto a side street and went into a small tourist shop. There were two middle-aged men sitting in the corner of the shop playing cards, and when they saw Adrienne, they nodded at her and she just headed for the back of the shop. Behind the register was a doorway with a beaded curtain, and on the other side was a small apartment with a kitchenette and a twin bed. A woman wearing a flowered housedress was sitting in front of a black-and-white TV, and when she saw us she raised her hand and said, “Aspetta. Cinque minuti.” (Translation: “Wait. Five minutes.” See, I am learning some Italian.)

  While I tried to figure out what we were doing there, Adrienne pulled out her camera and started taking photos of the room and the woman, who didn’t seem to notice. Finally Adrienne turned to me and said in her deliberate English, “This is Anna. She is a psychic. Her sons own the shop out front, and during the day she reads cards. No one else will be photographing a Florentine psychic. It is a unique subject.”

  I had to hand it to her. It was unique. And the setting couldn’t have been more interesting: dingy back room, the beaded curtain, smoke from Anna’s cigarette curling at the ceiling. So I pulled out my camera and started taking picture as well. Finally the show ended and Anna got up to turn off the TV, then shuffled over to a table pushed up against the wall, gesturing for us to take a seat. After we’d crowded around the table, she picked up a stack of cards and began layi
ng them out one by one in front of her, muttering to herself in Italian. Adrienne set her camera down and was absolutely silent. After a few minutes Anna looked up at us and said with a thick accent, “One of you will find love. Both of you will find heartache.”

  I was a little bit stunned. I hadn’t realized we were getting an actual reading. But my reaction was nothing compared to Adrienne’s. She looked devastated. Once she regained her composure she started firing off questions in Italian until Anna got annoyed and cut her off. Finally Adrienne gave her some money and we left. She didn’t say a word to me the entire way back.

  MARCH 23

  All of us went to a lecture at the Uffizi. Howard offered to walk me home, and I found myself telling him about Adrienne and the psychic. For several minutes he didn’t say anything. Then he started walking faster and asked if he could show me something. We headed to Piazza del Duomo, and when we got there he led me to the left side of the cathedral and told me to look up. The sun had just started to set and the Duomo’s shadow was covering half the piazza. I had no idea what I was looking for—all I could see were the beautifully detailed walls—but he just kept trying to get me to see something. Finally he took my finger and guided it so I was pointing at something jutting out of the cathedral’s wall. “There,” he said. And then I saw it—right in the middle of all that beautiful stonework and statues of saints is a sculpture of a bull’s head. Its mouth is open and it stares down at the ground like it’s looking at something.

  He told me that there are two stories about the bull’s head. The first is that animals were critical to the building of the Duomo, and the bull was added as a way to honor them. The other story has a bit more Italian flair.

  When the Duomo was being constructed a baker set up shop near the building site, and he and his wife sold bread to the stonemasons and workers. The baker’s wife and one of the master stonemasons ended up meeting and falling in love, and when the baker found out about their affair he took them to court, where they were humiliated and sentenced to life away from each other. To get revenge, the stonemason carved the bull and placed it on the Duomo in a spot where it would stare down at the baker in his stall as a constant reminder that his wife loved another man.

  I love how much he knows about Florence, and it definitely took my mind off the whole Adrienne thing, but now I keep wondering about the timing of the story. Was he trying to tell me something?

  Howard. The place where she’d written his name was practically glowing. Why had she not called him X? Was it a slipup, or were they on their way to making their relationship public? And was there some kind of connection between Adrienne and the timing of Howard’s story?

  I stood up and walked over to the window. It was still warm out, almost hot, and the moon was flooding the cemetery like a spotlight. I scooted my violets over, then leaned out, resting my elbows on the windowsill. It was funny, but less than a week in and already the headstones weren’t bothering me all that much. They were kind of like people you pass on the street—there, but not really. Like background noise.

  A set of headlights appeared over the edge of the trees and I watched as the car snaked its way down the windy road. Why had Adrienne taken my mom to a psychic reading about their love lives? Was it possible she’d been interested in Howard too? Was it maybe him she’d been talking to in the stairwell?

  I sighed. So far the journal wasn’t clearing anything up. It was just making things more confusing.

  Chapter 13

  “THERE ARE SO MANY PLACES I want to show you in Florence, it’s hard to know where to start.”

  I glanced at him. Howard and I were headed for the city again, and I was having a really hard time deciding how to feel about him. Maybe because he was blasting Aerosmith’s “Sweeeeeeeet Emooooootion” with all the windows rolled down, and his occasional drum-playing on the steering wheel made it really hard to think of him as the mysterious heartbreaker X. Also, he couldn’t sing worth anything.

  I leaned against the door, letting my eyes close for just a second. I’d stayed up really late thinking about Howard and my mom, and then an incredibly exuberant group of what appeared to be Italian Boy Scouts had come galumphing through the cemetery at the crack of dawn. I’d gotten approximately four minutes of sleep.

  “Would you mind if we started at the Duomo again? We could climb to the top and you’d see the whole city at once.”

  “Sure.” I opened my eyes. What if I brought up the baker and the bull? Would he remember?

  “I thought you’d probably invite Ren to tag along.”

  “I didn’t know that was an option.”

  “He’s always welcome.”

  “Except he’s petrified of you.” Which was ridiculous. I gave him a quick look. Regardless of his shady past, Howard looked like he was trying to emulate the perfect 1950s dad. Freshly shaved face, clean white T-shirt, winning smile.

  Check, check, check.

  He sped up to pass a semi. “I shouldn’t have given him a hard time last night. I can tell he’s a good kid, and it’s nice to have someone I feel safe sending you out with.”

  “Yeah.” I shifted in my seat, suddenly remembering our phone call the night before. “He actually invited me to go somewhere tonight, too.”

  “Where?”

  I hesitated. “This, uh, club. A bunch of people from the party will be there.”

  “For someone who’s been here less than a week, you’ve sure got quite the social calendar. Sounds like I’ll have to restrict all our outings to daytime.” He smiled. “I have to say, I’m really glad that you’re getting to know students from the school. I called the principal a few days before you arrived, and she said she’d be happy to give us a tour. Maybe Ren would come with us. I’m sure he could answer any questions you have.”

  “That’s all right,” I said quickly.

  “Well, maybe another time. It doesn’t have to be right away.” We circled through a roundabout, and then he pulled over in front of a row of shops.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Cell phone store. You need your own.”

  “Really?”

  He smiled. “Really. I miss talking to people. Now come on.”

  The shop’s windows were coated with dust and when we walked inside a tiny old man who looked like a direct descendant of Rumpelstiltskin looked up from his book.

  “Signore Mercer?” he asked.

  “Si.”

  He hopped nimbly off his stool and started rummaging around on the shelf behind the desk. Finally he handed Howard a box. “Prego.”

  “Grazie.” Howard handed him a credit card, then passed the box off to me. “I had them get it all set up, so we’re ready to roll.”

  “Thanks, Howard.” I pulled out the phone and looked at it happily. Now I had my very own number to give Thomas. Just in case he asked. Please let him be at Space tonight. And please let him ask. Because really? Even with all my parents’ drama, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Howard parked in the same area he had the night of the pizzeria, and when we got to the Duomo he groaned. “The line is even worse than normal. You’d think they’re giving away free Ferraris at the top.”

  I eyed the line leading into the Duomo. It was made up of about ten thousand sweaty tourists and half of them looked like they were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I tilted my head back to look up at the building, but there was no sign of the bull. I probably wouldn’t be able to find it on my own.

  He turned to me. “What do you say we get a gelato first, see if we can outwait the line a bit. Sometimes it’s more crowded in the morning.”

  “Do you know any place with stracciatella gelato?”

  “Any gelateria worth its salt will have stracciatella. When did you try it?”

  “Last night with Ren.”

  “I thought you seemed different. Life-changing, right? Tell you what, let’s go get a cone. Start the day off right. Then we’ll brave the line.”

  “Sounds good t
o me.”

  “My favorite place is a ways away. Do you mind a walk?”

  “Nope.”

  It took us about fifteen minutes to get to the gelateria. The shop was roughly the size of Howard’s car, and even though it was pretty much breakfast time, the shop was packed to the brim with people happily devouring what I now knew was the most delicious substance on earth. They all looked rapturous.

  “Popular,” I said to Howard.

  “This place is the best. Really.”

  “Buon giorno.” A bell-shaped woman waved at us from behind the counter and I made my way to the front. This place had a huge selection. Mountains of colorful gelato garnished with little bits of fruit or chocolate curls were piled high in metal dishes, and every single one of them looked like they had the ability to improve my day by about nine hundred percent. Chocolate, fruit, nuts, pistachio . . . How was I going to choose?

  Howard came up next to me. “Would you mind if I ordered for you? I promise I’ll get you another one if you don’t like my choice.”

  That solved things. “Sure. Bad flavors of gelato probably don’t exist, right?”

  “Right. You could probably make dirt-flavored gelato and it would turn out all right.”

  “Ew.”

  He looked up at the woman. “Un cono con bacio, per favore.”

  “Certo.”

  She took a cone from the stack on the counter, piled it high with a chocolate-looking gelato, then handed it to Howard, who handed it to me.

  “This isn’t dirt-flavored, right?”

  “No. Try it.”

  I took a lick. Super rich and creamy. Like silk, only in gelato form. “Yum. Chocolate with . . . nuts?”

  “Chocolate with hazelnuts. It’s called bacio. Otherwise known as your mom’s favorite flavor. I think we came here a hundred times.”