Love & Gelato

by Jenna Evans Welch

  Ren hesitated. “Speaking of Howard . . . I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath. “I sort of asked him about the secret bakery.”

  I whirled around. “Ren! You told him about the journal?”

  “No, of course not.” He pushed his hair out of his eyes, avoiding my gaze. “It was when you were getting ready. I made up this whole story about my mom finding a secret bakery when she first moved here, and then I asked him if he knew where one was. I was going to surprise you and take you there tonight after Space.”

  Finally he looked up at me with big, soulful eyes, and I sighed. It was like trying to be mad at a baby seal. “Did he tell you where it was?”

  “No. That was the weird thing. He said he’d never been to one.”

  I squinted at him. “What? And you described it to him?”

  “Yeah. I tried to be vague so he wouldn’t know I was talking about his date with your mom, but he acted like he had no idea.”

  “So he didn’t remember taking her there?”

  He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. It was like he’d never even heard of Florence’s secret bakeries.”

  “What? That doesn’t seem like something you’d forget.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Was he lying?”

  “Maybe. But why would he?” He shook his head again. “For the past couple of hours I’ve been trying to come up with a reason why he’d forget about the bakery, but so far I have nothing. No offense, but your parents’ story is kind of sketchy.”

  I put my back to one of the columns, then slid to the ground with a thud. “You’re telling me. Why do you think I’m reading the journal?”

  He sat down next to me, then leaned in until our arms touched. “I really am sorry, though.”

  I exhaled. “It’s okay. And you’re right. Something is weird. I’ve been thinking that all along.”

  “Maybe you should ask him about something else from the journal. Like a test.”

  “Like The Rape of the Sabine Women?” We looked up at it.

  “Yeah. See what he does when you ask him about that.”

  “Good idea.” I looked at the ground. Now it was my turn to hesitate. “So . . . I did something I should probably apologize for too.”

  “What?”

  “Back at Space, Mimi and I kind of got into this . . . argument, and I told her that you were ignoring her calls when we were at Ponte Vecchio.”

  His eyes widened. “Cavolo. I’m guessing that’s why she called me a cretino and left?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what a cretino is, but I’m sorry. Thomas told me you’ve liked her for a long time, and I hope I didn’t mess things up.”

  “I’ll call her when I get home. It’ll be okay.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

  I took a deep breath. “Hey, you know if you can’t hang out with me anymore, I understand. It seems like it’s kind of complicating things for you.”

  “No. It’s good complicated.” He pulled out his cell phone. “It’s almost eleven thirty. Back to the cemetery?”

  “Yeah. I should get back to the journal.”

  “And the man of mystery.”

  When I got home Man of Mystery was, inexplicably, taking a pan of muffins out of the oven.

  “You’re baking?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s almost midnight.”

  “I specialize in late-night kitchen disasters. Also, I thought you might want a snack when you got home, and my blueberry muffins are legendary. And by ‘legendary,’ I mean ‘edible.’ Sit down.”

  It was a command. I pulled out a chair and sat.

  “So where did you go tonight?”

  I hesitated for a second, then plunged in. “Space. It’s a club near the Arno.”

  He chuckled. “That place is still around?”

  Phew. At least he remembered Space. “Yes. Have you been there?”

  “Lots of times. Your mother did too.”

  I leaned forward. “So you guys like . . . went together?”

  “Many times. Usually on nights we should have been studying. I don’t know what it’s like now, but it used to be the place to go for international students. Lots of Americans.” He transferred a couple of the muffins to a plate, then set it on the table, pulling up a chair.

  “Space was kind of grimy. I didn’t like it very much.”

  “I never really did either. And I’m not much of a dancer.”

  So I had him to thank for my dancing skills.

  I took a muffin and broke it open, steam curling up toward my face. Now or never. “So, Howard, I have a question for you. You know a lot about art history, right?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “That’s one thing I know plenty about. You knew I was teaching art history when your mom and I met, right?”

  “Right.” I looked down at my muffin again and took a deep breath. “Well, Ren and I went for a drive after Space, and we stopped in this piazza. Piazza della Signoria? Anyway, there was an interesting statue, but we didn’t know the history of it.”

  “Hmm.” He stood up and grabbed a butter dish off the counter, then sat down again. “Lots of statues there. Do you know who it was by?”

  “No. It was in this open-air gallery. Kind of like a covered patio. You can just walk in.”

  “Oh, right. Loggia dei Lanzi. Let’s see . . . there are the Medici lions, and the Cellini . . . What did it look like?”

  “It was of two men and a woman.” I held my breath.

  “Woman being carried away?”

  I nodded.

  He smiled. “The Rape of the Sabine Women. That one is actually pretty interesting, because the artist—Giambologna—didn’t even think of it as a real piece. He just made it as an artistic demonstration to show that it was possible to incorporate three figures into one sculpture. He didn’t even bother to give it a name, and then it ended up being the work he’s best known for.”

  Okay. Interesting, but not quite the story he’d told my mom. I tried again. “Do you know if my mom ever saw it?”

  He cocked his head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember ever talking to her about Giambologna. Why? Did she tell you about it?”

  I can’t remember. His face was as smooth as a fresh jar of Nutella. He definitely wasn’t lying, but was it really possible that he’d forgotten? Had he suffered some kind of head trauma or have a mental block that kept him from remembering details about his relationship with my mom?

  Suddenly a new thought tiptoed out of the corner of my mind. What if he wasn’t forgetting? Or denying? What if . . . ? I sprang to my feet, crumbling the muffin in my hand. “I need to go upstairs.”

  I ran out of the room before he could ask why.

  My mother’s words spun through my mind as I climbed the stairs: Yes, X. I seriously don’t think anyone would read my journal, but I’m giving him a new name, just in case.

  As soon as I was in my room I locked the door behind me and fumbled for the journal. I switched on my lamp and started flipping through it.

  Howard: The perfect Southern gentleman (Southern giant, Francesca calls him), handsome, kind, and the kind of guy who will go marching into battle for you.

  I love being in love in Italy. But truth be told, I would fall for X anywhere.

  Howard offered to walk me home, and I found myself telling him about Adrienne and the psychic.

  “No way,” I breathed.

  There was a reason Howard didn’t know about the secret bakery or the significance of Giambologna’s statue, and why my mom had slipped up and called him by his real name.

  He wasn’t X.

  “Addie, pick up, pick up!” I whispered.

  “Hey, this is Addie! Leave a message and I’ll—”

  “Argh!” I tossed the phone on my bed and started pacing around. Where was she? I went and stood at the window. My mom had been in love with someone who wasn’t Howard. She’d had this take
-over-everything passionate love affair and then she’d ended up pregnant with someone else’s baby. Howard’s. Was that her wrong choice? That she’d gotten pregnant with Howard when really she’d been in love with someone else? Was that what had made her flee Italy?

  I fell heavily into my chair, then popped back up. Ren would answer! I dove onto my bed, fishing my phone out of the covers and dialing his number.

  He answered on the second ring. “Lina?”

  “Hey. Listen, I did what you suggested. I asked him about the statue.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He knew all about it, the history and everything. But then I asked him if he’d ever seen it with my mom and he couldn’t remember.”

  “What is his deal? Either he has the worst memory in the world or—”

  “Or he was never there,” I interrupted impatiently.

  “What?”

  “Ren, think about it. Maybe he doesn’t know about the secret bakery or the confession of love at the Sabine statue because he isn’t X.”

  “Oh.”

  “Right?”

  “Ohhh. Well . . . yeah. Okay, walk me through it.”

  “I’m thinking it went something like this: My mom moves to Italy and makes a bunch of friends, Howard included. Then a few months in she falls for this guy X. Something happens, maybe they fight too much, or there’s too much pressure because the school has some kind of weird rule about dating, and they break up. Then my mom rebounds with this nice Southern gentleman who probably had a thing for her all along. She gives it a try, but she can’t get X off her mind. Then one day she finds out she’s pregnant and panics, because she’s having a baby with someone she isn’t in love with.”

  “That totally makes sense!”

  “I know. And that would explain why we stayed away from him all these years. I mean, he is a nice guy, and from all the stories she told, he was definitely a good friend to her, but you can’t just pretend to be in love with someone. It would hurt them too badly.”

  “Poor, scary Howard,” Ren breathed.

  “And that’s why she wrote ‘I made the wrong choice.’ Maybe that was her big regret. She had a baby with someone she wasn’t in love with.”

  “Except you’re that baby. So do you really think she’d have written that in the front of her journal?”

  “Oh. Probably not.” I sat down. “But, Ren, it’s so sad! I mean, the way Howard talks about her, you can tell he really loved her. And she told me all these stories about how much fun they used to have together. But it just wasn’t enough—she loved someone else!”

  “It’s like that old song ‘Love Stinks.’ ”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “You haven’t? It’s in a bunch of movies. It’s about how whenever you fall in love with someone it turns out they’re in love with someone else. And it’s this big messed-up cycle where no one ends up with the person they want.”

  “Ugh. That is so depressing.”

  “Tell me about it.” He paused. “Are you going to tell Howard that you know? About X?”

  “No. I mean, I’m sure we’ll talk about it eventually. But not until I finish the journal. I have to make sure my theory is right.”

  APRIL 5

  Another night of drama. Simone got tickets to a new club near Piazza Santa Maria Novella and our group plus a few other students met up around eleven. I’d been working late at the studio, so I showed up on my own and when I got there the first two people I saw were Adrienne and Howard. They were to the side of the building, and Adrienne was standing with her back to the wall and Howard was leaning in to her, saying something in a low voice. The scene was so intimate that for a moment I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I’ve never seen the two of them even talk one-on-one. What was this?

  I went into the club without them noticing and found the rest of the group, and then the two of them came in separately, acting like nothing had happened. Then things really got weird. Partway through the night Adrienne called Alessio a liar—something about him breaking his promise to go with her to an art exhibit—and for some reason that really set Howard off. He told her that she was the last person on earth who should call someone a liar, and that if she had any shred of dignity she’d come out with the truth. Adrienne hissed back that it was none of his business. Then Simone stepped in and told them to both calm down.

  Guess I’m not the only one with secrets.

  APRIL 19

  X has been out of town for a full week, but he gets home tomorrow. TOMORROW. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. After class I told Francesca that I needed to find The Dress. You know, the once-in-a-lifetime dress guaranteed to make anyone fall in love with you. (Or in my case, make me look amazing when I tell him my big news.)

  Francesca was the perfect person to ask, because when it comes to shopping she has the patience of a saint. It took us five hours, but we finally found it. It’s an off-white sundress, very feminine, with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt that falls just above the knee. Francesca even talked me into getting a haircut. Who knew cutting off a few inches of useless hair could give you cheekbones?

  And what’s my big news, you ask? Earlier this week Petrucione asked me if I’d be interested in staying on through August to assist with the upcoming semester. I’ll be paid and get an extension on my student visa, which means I will be here until the end of the summer!!

  APRIL 20

  Woke up early this morning ecstatic to see X and there was a message on my phone. He decided to extend his time at the conference he’s attending and won’t make it until Monday. That’s when I had a brilliant idea—I’ll surprise him in Rome! Even if he’s attending seminars all day, at least we’ll be in the same city. I can spend my days touring. Express trains take only ninety minutes, so if I catch the four p.m. train this afternoon, I’ll be waiting for him at his hotel when he’s done for the day. I can’t wait to see the look on his face!

  APRIL 21

  This is my third attempt to sit down and write about what happened in Rome. I can’t believe I’m writing this, but it’s OVER.

  I was never able to find X’s conference online, so when I arrived I called his cell phone and told him I was at the train station with some great news. Right then an announcement started on the station’s overhead speakers, and when things finally quieted down, I realized that something was wrong. He told me to wait right where I was.

  A half hour later he came charging into the train station, and something was definitely wrong. I asked him if he wanted to sit in one of the station’s cafés, and for the next twenty minutes I just listened to him talk. Bottom line: He feels like his work has gotten stagnant, he needs some new creative space, and he’s decided to leave the school and pursue another job in Rome. Oh, and we’re over.

  Over.

  I just sat there, his words swirling around me. It was like my mind couldn’t process it. And then it all hit me. This was the end. He was breaking up with me.

  Suddenly I couldn’t hear his excuses anymore, only the hard truths. I’d spent nine months lying to my friends. I’d strained ties with my family. I’d completely changed my life to be closer to him, and our relationship had never been to him what it was to me. I had the fleeting thought that I could talk him out of it—tell him that I’d figured out a way to stay in Florence even longer—but even in that brief moment of denial I knew it was useless. When someone walks out of a relationship, there’s nothing you can do to keep them there.

  X was still talking when I stood. I said good-bye to him in a normal voice, like I hadn’t just been shattered into a million pieces, then went to the counter and bought a return ticket on the very next train. I hadn’t even been in Rome for an hour. I never even got to wear my dress.

  APRIL 22

  Woke up this morning thinking I’d had some kind of nightmare, but just like the last few days, reality was waiting for me to get my bearings so it could knock me down again. My eyes were so swollen from crying mys
elf to sleep that I had to sit with a cold washcloth over them before I looked acceptable enough to go to class. The whole weekend I’d been holding on to a tiny shred of hope that X would be in class this morning, but of course he wasn’t. Can it really just be over? Nothing has ever hurt this badly. Nothing.

  APRIL 25

  It turns out that Francesca knew all along. Last night after dinner she put her arm around me and told me that X wasn’t worth it, and he never had been. I was so surprised. Did everyone know?

  MAY 2

  This morning Petrucione announced that X has resigned from his position. I felt a huge relief—not because he’s officially gone, but because someone said his name. I didn’t let people in on the relationship, and so now I can’t let them in on my heartache. I feel so alone. Talking to Francesca doesn’t help. If I bring him up, she says bad things about him, and I end up feeling worse. Florence is the perfect place to fall in love, which means it’s also the worst place to be heartbroken. Some days I just want to go home. Should I even stay through summer?

  “Mom,” I whispered. Her sadness was smeared across the journal like paint that had never had the chance to dry. How was it possible that she’d had her heart smashed to smithereens in a Rome train station and never even mentioned it to me? Had I even known this woman?

  I scanned through the last few entries again. No doubt about it, X had been a serious jerk. I especially hated that he’d told her he needed “new creative space.” What kind of a line was that? And it was awful that she hadn’t seen the end coming, especially when it was so obvious from the outside that the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. Reading those last few entries had been like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

  And then there was Howard. I rested my finger on the entry about him and Adrienne. He’d definitely had something going on behind the scenes too. Had he and Adrienne been dating and broken up just before my mom and X? Had both my parents been interested in other people and just sort of fallen together for a while? Is that why they hadn’t lasted? And what had been so special about X, anyway?

  I wanted to keep reading, but my eyelids insisted on doing this slow downward drag. Finally I gave up, tucking the journal into the nightstand and switching out the light.