Page 45 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Thirty-One

“J ake’s already seen you in these clothes,” Maggie says, taking a blouse from my suitcase. “Bring some California clothes. Blow that kid’s mind.” She grabs a black mini skirt from my closet and a bikini top from my drawer. “Voila.”

“Yeah, that’s going to go over real well with his East Coast med school friends. I need to look smart.”

“You are smart,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Small town smart. Jake and his people are brain-surgeons-curing-cancer smart. I don’t want to look like a dumb blonde from California. I want to fit in.”

“Why do you care about fitting in?” Maggie asks. “Are you planning on transferring to Columbia?”

I give a sigh. “No. I’m not transferring to Columbia.” Which isn’t to say I haven’t thought about it.

“Fine. No mini skirt. But at least some sexy underwear.” I give her a look. She knows me and Jake aren’t sleeping together. She starts rummaging through my underwear drawer anyway.

“What’s this?” she asks. She has a flash drive in her hand.

“That’s Jake’s movie. I wanted to show you but forgot where I put it.” I grab my computer and pull up the video.

“He made this for me for Christmas,” I say. I want to say more, but I don’t.

We watch Jake smile and wish me a Merry Christmas and tell me he’s made me a video of my favorite things in Milan. Neil Diamond’s “Forever in Blue Jeans” comes on as the video shows the white tents and tables of the market.

“This is the Saturday market at Sant’Ambrogio, where I bought all the beautiful clothes you borrow when you think I’m not looking.”

Then the song switches to “Cotton Eye Joe” and a video of Calypso.

“This is where we went dancing on Wednesdays. You saw it in some of the photos.”

The video plays, and I point out the steps at Duomo, Parco Sempione, and my bus stop.

And then the whole gang is wishing me Merry Christmas.

“What are they saying?” Maggie asks.

“Oh, they’re wishing me a Merry Christmas and saying they’re happy we’re friends. That sort of thing.” My voice comes out wobbly. The sight of Diego smiling and telling me I’m the coolest American he knows sends tears leaking out the corner of my eyes. Mags sees and squeezes me closer to her.

“Did Paolo just say ‘bestie’?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, laughing. I’d forgotten about that. “Jake made him say “Merry Christmas bestie’ cause he knew it would make me happy.”

Then Jake is back on camera.

“ Ciao bella . I had such a great time filming your favorite people and places in Milan. Now I want to show you my favorite thing about Milan.”

Ed Sheeran sings “Perfect,” and we look at photos of me with a bowl of pasta, me perched in a tree, me dancing and laughing and eating.

The song ends, and we stare at the last photo of me smiling like I’m the happiest girl in the world.

“Wow,” Maggie says finally. “No wonder you fell in love with him.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I think you can see I had no choice.”

I take the flash drive out and put it back in my underwear drawer. Watching the video has me feeling all the things. And questioning all my decisions.

* * *

My heart is pounding as I follow the signs toward curbside pickup at La Guardia. There’s a crowd of people, and I scan the faces for his. Then I hear a yell from behind.

“Juliet!”

I turn and Jake is coming toward me. My brain registers that he has a bouquet of flowers while my body leaps into his arms. Then he’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him, and my thoughts are slipping out of my head.

I’d forgotten how good this feels. Or maybe I was ignoring the memory until I could have it again. He smells just the way I remember, pine trees and cold water. I stay in his arms a long time, until all the muscles in my shoulders finally relax.

“It’s so good to see you,” Jake says, but it’s more like a groan. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment for years.”

I smile. “We saw each other last month.”

He shakes his head. “It feels like ages.”

It really does. But now that I’m back here, and he’s holding me, it’s like no time has passed at all.

I pick up the flowers that got dropped on the sidewalk.

“These are beautiful,” I say.

“I got them for you.”

“I assumed you got them for the bald guy I sat next to on my flight,” I say. “Glad I was wrong. This is my first time getting picked up at the airport with flowers. I feel like one of those girls in one of those movies.”

I see something flicker across Jake’s face. I wonder if he’s thinking of all the girls he’s picked up at the airport with flowers. I squash that thought. It doesn't matter .

“I would really like to stand here and kiss you for a few more hours, but I’m going to try to be a good host. Would you like to get something to eat?”

“Always,” I say, and it’s like we’re back in Italy.

We take a cab to a restaurant Jake likes.

It’s weird eating American food together.

Afterward, we walk five blocks to his apartment.

It’s my first time in New York City, and I’m a little overwhelmed by the lights and the buildings and the smells.

The number of people we see on our walk home is greater than the population of my hometown.

Jake’s apartment is a third-floor walkup. I meet his roommate Gilbert, a first-year med student with flaming red hair. I say hello and he gives me a wave and disappears into his room.

“He’s pretty shy,” Jake says. “We’re working on that.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the hall to his room. There’s a bed and a desk. There are no decorations except the framed picture I gave him for Christmas. I look at us, partly obscured by the mementos we collected. It seems like a long time ago.

“Come here,” he says and pulls me onto the bed with him.

And that’s where we spend the next three hours.

Kissing. Holding each other. Talking about stuff that doesn’t matter.

We speak in Italian some. He sings to me some.

We reconnect second by second and minute by minute until it feels like we’ve erased all the time we spent apart.

I wake up the next morning, and my heart feels happy before I even remember why. I’m at Jake’s house. I creep from his room and snuggle next to him on the couch. I don’t even remember him leaving last night, but here he is, curled up with a blanket.

“ Buon giorno, bella ,” he whispers, eyes still closed.

“ Buon giorno ,” I say back. His hair is messy and there’s a wrinkle from the pillowcase on his cheek. He looks gorgeous. I snuggle in next to him and close my eyes and listen to his heart beat.

“Do we have to do stuff today?” I ask. “Or can we stay here like this?”

“We can stay like this all day.”

So we do. We lay on our backs staring at the ceiling. He tells me all the things he’s nervous about in med school and all the things he’s excited about. I tell him how amazing my photography class is and funny things that happened at work.

We eat lunch at a little Greek restaurant nearby and then Jake takes me on a tour of Columbia University.

Cobblestone paths cut through vibrant expanses of green grass leading to old buildings covered in ivy. Students mill around wearing cardigans—actual cardigans—like they’re being filmed for a Columbia propaganda video.

“What do you think?” Jake asks.

“It’s amazing. I think you chose well.”

That night, we go to a mixer for new med students. Jake introduces himself to some people, and by the end of the night so do I.

“Juliet Evans, pediatric neurology,” I say to the tenth group of people we’ve met.

“Pediatric neurology huh?” Jake says. “I had no idea.”

“I am very interested in feet,” I say with my most serious expression.

Jake laughs and kisses me and whispers, “I love you,” in my ear.

We duck out after an hour and head back to Jake’s place. We eat Chinese takeout on the roof and soak in the sights and sounds of the city and the magic of being together again.

The next day we tour NYC—visiting Times Square, taking a boat out to the Statue of Liberty, and watching Wicked on Broadway. Late afternoon finds us under a tree in Central Park, Jake’s head in my lap. We look up at the clouds. We watch people pushing strollers and jogging. We lose track of time.

For dinner, Jake takes me to a Brazilian steakhouse. Tuxedoed servers roam the room with giant slabs of roasted meat. It’s absurdly delicious and by the time we leave, I feel like I am 90% roasted meats.

The sun has set and the city glows with a million lights. Jake slides his hand into mine and leads us to the Brooklyn Bridge.

“What do you think of New York?” he asks.

“I feel like a traitor to the West Coast, but I love it.”

“And you liked Columbia, right? I mean the campus and everything?”

“I did. It’s easy for me to picture you happy here.”

“And what about you?” He squeezes my hand.

“What about me?”

“Do you think you could be happy here?”

I take a deep breath and look at the traffic zipping past. I knew this conversation was coming, I was just hoping to put it off a while longer.

I’m trying to formulate the best response, but Jake continues.

“Just imagine how easy everything would be if you transferred here. We’d see each other every day. We could eat lunch together, study at the library together. Maybe next year we even get an apartment together.”

He wraps his arms around me, and I look up at him.

“ Jake…”

“If you’re worried about getting in, the acceptance rate is a lot higher for transfer students. I think you’d have a good shot.”

“I’m not worried about getting in,” I say slowly. “I already got into a school I love. In fact, I got a scholarship. And I worked and fought to get into my photography program. And I love it.”

“I know, but I’m sure they have photography here. I mean, I don’t know what to do about your scholarship, but we could figure something out. Plus graduating from an Ivy League would give you a lot more career options.”

I try to push down the defensive feelings rising in me. I’m not entirely successful.

“I have a life in California,” I say. “It’s not an Ivy League life, but it’s a life I love. One I’ve spent time and effort building.”

Jake blows out a long breath, clearly frustrated.

“I don’t know why you won’t at least consider it. It would make things so much easier for us. It’s not like I can move to California.”

I look him in the eyes. “And I would never ask you to. Because I know this is your dream, and you worked hard to get here.”

He looks away.

“I know my school isn’t as fancy as yours,” I continue. “I know that being a doctor is a way bigger deal than being a photographer. But just because my dream is smaller than yours doesn’t mean it’s less important. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I am not giving that up.”

There’s a long silence and then Jake says, “I don’t think your dream is less important than mine. I just wish we didn’t live on opposite ends of the country.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Look, you don’t have to make a decision right now,” Jake says, completely ignoring the fact that I’ve already made my decision. “Just think it over.”

I nod. “Sure, Jake. I’ll think it over.”

He pulls me into a hug and then kisses me as the cars rumble past. It’s a hopeless and desperate kiss. The kind that tries to convince you of the impossible.

* * *

I can’t sleep that night. I made my decision, but what if it’s the wrong one? It’s clear Jake doesn’t think we can last long distance. People say love conquers all, but this does not feel like love conquering. This feels like love getting its ass kicked.

Obviously, things would be easier if I lived here. Am I being selfish to want to finish college?

I sit up in bed and grab my phone. I’m about to text Maggie for some advice when I see a text from my mom.

What do you think? Dad got it enlarged and professionally framed. He says once you're famous we’ll sell it and pay for a new house!

There’s a picture of my parents’ living room and one of my photos, a landscape from Florence, is hanging proudly over the fireplace.

I keep staring, and my eyes fill with tears. I wipe them with the back of my hand and reply.

Thanks, Mom. I love it there.

Of course my parents think I’m great. That’s their job. But Professor Melvin also says I have real talent. His note on my last assignment was “Insightful and revelatory.” I don’t even know what that means, but it feels good. And maybe he doesn’t say that to every student.

I think about how I felt when I got accepted into the program. And how I feel every time I go to a lecture. And how I’ve felt every time I’ve picked up a camera since I was a kid. I turn my phone off and crawl back into bed, finally able to sleep.

* * *

“I’m not moving here, Jake.”

We’re at the airport. I’ve waited as long as I can to say it, but I know this is a conversation we need to have in person.

I think he’ll argue, but he just nods his head.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says. “I should have never asked that of you. I know how hard you’ve worked.

And I’m so proud of you.” He rubs the back of his head.

“I don’t tell you enough. I’m so proud of you for going after your dream.

And I love seeing how happy it makes you.

I just miss you. I just want to be with you. ”

“I think we can make this work,” I tell him.

He nods again.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” I tell him. And it feels like goodbye. He leans his forehead against mine, and I can tell he feels it too.

“I love you too,” he says.