Page 37 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

A gainst my wishes, June arrives. I wake up early and watch the sun settle on the world outside my window. Today is Isa’s last day of school. I can’t help thinking about that morning, a million years ago, when I brought her to school on her first day.

Isa has behaved like an angry racoon all week.

Yesterday was especially rough. Sofia said she always gets this way when she has to say goodbye.

I get it, but I also don’t want to waste our last day together.

I can think of zero good ideas for breaking through her funk.

So I come up with a terrible idea and decide to go with that.

I slip out of my pajamas and into the dark blue slinky dress Carmen got me for my birthday.

I brush my hair and leave it down, rippling over my shoulders in waves.

I head to the kitchen and get Isa’s cereal all ready.

Angry stomps alert me to her presence in the hall.

She stands in the doorway to the kitchen and scowls.

“What are you wearing?” she demands.

“An evening gown,” I say, like it’s obvious.

“Why?”

“It’s the last day of school. I thought I should celebrate.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, crossing her arms. “It’s just the stupid first grade.”

“Oh, I’m not celebrating you, I’m celebrating me.”

Isa's face turns even stormier. “Why are you celebrating yourself and not me?”

“For the last nine months, I did a great job of bringing you to school. We didn’t get lost. We didn’t get hit by a car. We were on time. That’s worth celebrating.”

“So you’re actually going to wear that on the bus and everything?”

“Sure. And I thought as we were walking into school, I could do a little celebration dance like this.” I wiggle my shoulders back and forth and then my hips side to side and then my shoulders again. I look ridiculous, I can feel it, but it’s worth it when I see Isa’s lip curve slightly.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” she says.

“I agree,” I say. “But I didn’t have any good ideas for making you smile, so I had to go with this one.”

At the mention of her smile, the scowl returns. Then she looks me over again. I give another shimmy. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes are twinkling.

I get her some breakfast and when Marco and Sofia come in, Isa announces that I’m taking her to school wearing an evening gown.

“It’s to celebrate neither of us getting hit by a car,” she clarifies horribly.

Marco and Sofia look at each other, as if the other one might know how to appropriately handle this, and then quickly drink their coffees and head off to work.

Isa is smiling all the way now and even starts giggling when we get on the bus and everyone stares at us. It feels so good to hear her laugh, it makes my heart ache. When we get close to the entrance of her school, she stops and looks at me.

“What about the dancing?” she asks. I give a hip shake, a shoulder shimmy and a pretty good twirl.

“My nanny is crazy,” she says, but she’s laughing, and I eat it up.

The last night with the Rossis is busy. They’ll be gone for six weeks, staying with Sofia’s parents down south, and the pile of things they’re taking looks twice as big as their car.

I help where I can, and when I can no longer be useful, I pull Isa into my room, and we snuggle into my bed and read Harry Potter .

We read three chapters and get all our protagonists safely out of harm’s way.

There’s only one chapter left, where they wrap it all up, but Isa wants to save that for the morning.

I wake up at 6:30 a.m., and I tiptoe quietly into the kitchen.

I make pancakes and put some on a tray with silverware and orange juice and bring it into Isa’s room.

At first, I think she’s still sleeping, but when I look closer, I can see that she’s awake and staring at the ceiling. She turns when she hears me come in.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

Isa sighs. “Bad morning.”

I nod. “That’s what I thought at first too. But then I made pancakes and turned it into a good morning.”

“That doesn’t work,” Isa says.

“You doubt the power of pancakes?” I say in astonishment. “I thought I could finish reading Harry Potter while you eat your pancakes and Polyjuice—I mean orange juice.”

Isa doesn’t say anything but takes the tray from me and starts eating. I read the last chapter. Harry and the gang make plans to keep in touch over the summer and go to the Quidditch World Cup. Ron says he’s even learned how to use a phone so he can call Harry at the Dursleys.

“Can I call you?” Isa asks suddenly. “In America?”

“Any day you like,” I say. “And in the meantime, I got something for you.”

I run to grab her gift from my bedroom.

“You got me a going away present?”

“It’s really more of a celebration present,” I say.

She carefully pulls off the wrapping paper. It’s a photo album, a big thick one, filled to the brim with pictures we’ve taken together. It’s the kind of album that has room to write things next to each picture, and I had a great time adding my comments to the memories.

“Hey, I remember this one!” Isa says pointing. “You covered my face in avocado!”

“That was for our spa night. And turn the page. I included the picture of you smearing your avocado cheek all over me.”

“Oh yeah, that was funny.”

We look through some more. One that Sofia took of us coloring. A selfie I snapped during a Thursday dance party. A photo Marco took of us doing our secret handshake.

“We haven’t done our handshake in ages,” Isa says.

“We better do it now so we don’t forget.”

We do our handshake and then I scoop Isa into a hug.

“Do you know how much I’ve loved being your nanny?” I whisper.

“I think I do.”

“Good.”

Sofia knocks on the door and says it’s time to go.

Tears pop into my eyes. I want to scoop Isa onto my lap and beg Sofia for just one more hour with this amazing little girl.

But of course I don’t. I help Isa get some clothes on and get her unicorn suitcase.

I help her find her coloring book and crayons for the drive.

We take the elevator down with Marco and Sofia and I walk them to their car.

“How long is your drive?” I ask.

“Five hours.” Marco says.

“That’s not too bad,” I say. And then all four of us have run out of things to say.

“Thank you for hiring me,” I blurt. “It has been an incredible year. And none of it would have happened if you hadn’t chosen me to be your nanny.”

Marco smiles. “Thank you for all you have done for Isa and for our family.”

“ Di niente ,” I say, which seems funny because it wasn’t nothing, it was actually everything.

I bend over and give Isa one more hug. I don’t say anything to her, and she doesn’t say anything to me, but we hug for a long time.

When I stand back up, Sofia turns to Marco and says, “Don’t they usually have a fashion expo in Las Vegas in December?”

Marco nods. “We’ve never gone before, but Bianca is always saying we need to branch out to the American circuit. Is Las Vegas close to you?” he asks me.

My heart leaps with hope. “Super close! I could come and see you so easily!”

He turns to Isa. “Would you like that, tesoro ? To go to America like I promised you, and visit Julieta?”

Isa makes a big show of thinking about it. “I mean, if we’re already going...and Julieta’s nearby...I guess we could visit her...”

I snatch her up and dance her around on my hip like she’s a baby monkey.

She giggles and holds on tight as I swing and dip her.

“Whew. This is such a good plan. For a moment, I was worried I wouldn’t see you again and it was terrible!

But now I know we’ll get to hang out in December, and it’s so much better. ”

“It is better,” Isa says with authority. “Because you’re really going to miss me.”

“I really am,” I say. And then I put her back down by the car and watch them all climb in and drive away. Isa rolls down the window and waves to me. I wave back until they’re out of sight. I’m missing that sweet hooligan already.

* * *

Sunday afternoon, Jake and I snuggle on the couch and watch a movie. Okay, there’s a movie playing in the background while we make out.

His hands are tangled in my hair, and his lips are moving down my neck. There’s a delicious buzzing in my brain. Everything feels soft and blurry.

I’m vaguely aware that our kisses have gotten hungrier, his hand on my back stronger as he pulls me to him. I can feel my heart speeding up, my nerves leaping in excitement.

We’re past the point where we usually stop and take a break .

Does he not want to stop? But if he wanted us to take that step in our relationship, we would talk about it, right? Isn’t that what people do?

Jakes slides his hands up my back under my shirt, his fingers cool against my hot skin.

Or maybe people don’t do that. Maybe one thing just leads to another and there’s not much talking at all. I don’t know how this works!

I pull away. “Hey.”

My breath comes out fast, and I can’t look him in the eye. “I um…I need to…” and I can’t think of a single thing I need to do. I just know that I can’t stay here with him like this. “Shower,” I finally say. “I’m going to go take a shower. Get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” Jake says. I can’t tell if he’s oblivious to the sexual tension, or just better at hiding it than I am.

I stand under the hot water, letting it run through my hair and down my back. I take some deep breaths and shake the haziness from my brain.

Fifteen minutes later, my hair is washed, my legs are shaved, and my head is on straight. Jake sits on the couch. Not reading, not looking out the window. Just sitting.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“About our sex life.” My cheeks flush with heat, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

Jake’s eyes go wide. “Do we um, have a sex life?”

“You were up front with me at the beginning, but now I feel like I’m getting mixed signals from you. I don’t know when to stop or keep going. I don’t know what you want.”

I breathe out.

“But I know what I want. I thought I was waiting until I fell in love, but that’s not enough for me.

I want to feel like I have a future with someone.

We’re going to schools on opposite sides of the country.

All of this might be over in a few months and that’s not something I want to worry about when I have sex for the first time.

“So from now on, I’m not just trying to make things easier for you, so I don’t mess up your plans. I’m trying to make things easier for myself. And I’d like your help with that.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a minute. He looks a little shocked honestly.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I’m sorry for giving you mixed signals and making things harder on you. I can do a better job.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He pulls me into his arms and hugs me for a long time. I feel a little silly after my big speech, but I’m still glad I said it.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you back,” I say.

“Should we grab dinner at Il Tavolo Grande tonight?” he asks.

“Yes! I’ve been craving their risotto!” I say. “Let me grab my jacket.”

I grab my jacket and cell phone from my room. And then, like I’ve done every hour for the last week, I check my email. And unlike every other time I’ve checked, I have a reply from Walter O’Brien. My whole body goes still as I read it.

I let out a yell of triumph and leap off my bed. I gallop around my room. I pump my arms. I dance like a lunatic. Then I run into the living room and throw my arms around Jake.

“Guess who has a spot in the highly competitive and world-renowned photography program at UC San Diego?” I ask.

“You.”

“ME!” I shriek.

“The chair responded to your email?”

“Yes!” I pull it up and let him read every word. There’s an apology and an invitation to join the program and at the end, he wrote, “Photography is not just about skill, but passion. It looks like you have both. Welcome to the program.”

I call my parents to share the news, and they’re ecstatic.

“I’m so proud of you,” my dad says, his words wobbly with tears. He’s always been a crier.

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m proud of me too.”