Page 48 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three

I master the art of disguise. I learn how to pass myself off as a walking, talking human when really, I’m a scarecrow.

I manage to cook dinner tonight. A delicious pasta primavera that floods my brain with memories and fills my eyes with tears.

I yell at a stranger today, for no other reason than he got in my way and looked vaguely Jake-like.

Michael Bublé’s “Moondance” comes on at work. I have a flash of Jake’s arms around me, slow dancing at the bus stop. I have to go into the back room until I get a hold of myself.

Photography assignment: What is Fall? My photo of moldering flowers hangs next to shots of pumpkin lattes and knit scarves.

Giovanni reads us a funny Italian poem. I burst into tears for absolutely no reason.

Professor Melvin assigns us a photo series due in two weeks. The theme is growth. He encourages us to start brainstorming what our subjects will be and how we’ll best capture them. I have zero ideas.

After the initial devastation of the first week, I throw myself into my classes with complete and total focus. It’s a relief to cram my head full of facts, they quiet the painful thoughts.

I did not completely derail my academic future, as Maggie feared I might.

Turns out, we get to drop our worst exam in Chemistry, so I have some hope for that class after all.

If I do well on my final English paper, which should be easy, and get at least a B+ on the final Chemistry exam, which will be harder, I think I can pull off straight A’s.

So I will graduate sad and alone, but at least I’ll graduate.

I’ve lost contact with all my Italian friends. Jake was on the text thread, and I didn’t want any part of it. When Paolo and Valentina and Carmen reached out to me individually, I ignored them.

Then one day, I get a text I can’t ignore.

We’re coming to a show in Las Vegas in December. Can you meet us there?

I text back right away.

Of course. I can’t wait to see you guys.

As soon as I hit send, my phone rings and Marco’s voice is in my ear a mile a minute.

“ Ciao Julieta . I thought it was easier to call you and work out the details over the phone. I’m already committed to the show, which I’m having second thoughts about, but it’s too late to back out now.

I haven’t bought tickets for Sofia and Isa yet.

I wanted to make sure you’re available. They’ll be bored out of their mind with me in fittings all day. ”

“ Ciao , Marco, how are you?”

“Sorry, tesoro . I am doing fine. A little stressed. But otherwise, fine. How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” I lie. “Thank you.”

“Isa got the Harry Potter book you sent. Very sweet of you. How’s school?”

“It’s going well,” I say honestly.

“And how is Jake doing?”

My response takes a beat too long. “We broke up, actually.”

“Oh, topino ,” Marco says. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah me too,” I say.

“Sometimes it works out that way,” he says. “Some love is like gelato.”

My brow dips in confusion . I’ve had gelato. This is worse .

He correctly interprets my silence as skepticism.

“Gelato is sweet and wonderful and fills you with happiness. And then it melts. It’s gone.

You no longer have it. That doesn’t mean that what you enjoyed wasn’t wonderful, just because it didn’t last forever.

That doesn’t mean your relationship wasn’t real just because it ended.

You enjoyed it for a time. And now that time is over. ”

Huh.

“Thanks, Marco. I’m definitely available in December. Just send me the dates, and I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. I’ll get those to you today. Ciao ciao .” And then he’s gone, and I’m left thinking about love like gelato.

* * *

The first time I laugh, it startles me so much I jump a little.

I’d forgotten what that sounded like. I’m in my Italian class and the kid next to me just said, “My greatest goal in life is to be an avocado.” I’m pretty sure he meant lawyer, the words sound similar in Italian.

I picture a ripe avocado wearing a little suit, and I can’t help laughing.

I get a couple of weird looks. The girl who’s been coming to class depressed for the last month just laughed out loud. I think word spread that I got my heart broken by an evil Italian man. The truth is even sadder, so I let that rumor go unchecked.

When I get to Jamba Juice, Manager Mike is waiting for me.

“Hey, Mike,” I say.

“Hello, Juliet,” he says. “Can I speak with you before your shift?”

“Sure.”

Kevin by the blender mouths “you’re in trouble.” I follow Mike to the back room, which is ten degrees colder than the rest of the store. He’s not much for chit chat, which I appreciate.

“This is your second year here,” he says. “You’re a hard worker. I was able to get you a seventy-five-cent hourly wage increase.”

“Thanks, Mike.” I say. “It’s more than I expected.”

“Well, I tried to get you the full one-dollar increase, but the franchise owner wouldn’t go for it.”

I’m touched. “Thank you,” I say again.

He clears his throat. “I know you’ve been, uh, going through a rough time, and well, I appreciate your dedication to this place.”

Mercifully, that’s the end of his speech. He reminds me to check that the wheatgrass is fresh and then leaves for the day.

He’s not wrong about my dedication. I’ve worked twice as many shifts as I signed up for. The hard work is good for me. So are the money and forced human interaction.

“So, you got a raise,” Kevin says when I come back out.

“Yep.”

“You deserve it. You work harder than anyone else here.”

“That is true,” I say.

“And for that you should be rewarded.”

“Seventy-five cents isn’t much of a reward, but I’ll take it.”

“I’m not talking about money,” he says and gives a head nod to the door.

Orange Dreamy Dream is walking in. I check the clock: 3:30 p.m., right on time. Kevin gives me a big grin, which I pretend not to see. I don’t know if Kevin is gay or not, but I think even a straight man would agree that Orange Dreamy Dream is attractive.

“Hey,” he says, walking up to the counter.

“Hey,” I say back.

“I’ll take the Orange Dream,” he says.

“Sure thing,” I say and take his credit card.

I make him his smoothie, he says thank you and then leaves.

“Wow, that is some hot banter,” Kevin says.

Kevin ends up leaving early due to a personal emergency, which I know is him being too bored to stay here another second. I do all the closing on my own and head home.

Petey and Pirate are at the movies, and Maggie’s on a date with Ben. Her third!

I make a bubble bath for myself and enjoy it with a plate of apple slices and a new book.

It’s a young adult post-apocalyptic novel, and it’s making me feel better about my life.

Yes my heart got smashed, but I didn’t see my own mother get body snatched by aliens and have to put a bullet in her head, did I? So there’s that.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home for Thanksgiving?” my mom asks.

I’ve gotten into the habit of calling her on my walk home from campus. The time I always talked to Jake, now I talk to her.

“I’m doing good, Mom,” I say, answering the question she’s really asking. And I think she can tell it’s true because she doesn’t push it.

“How are your classes going?”

“Like grapes at a wine festival.”

Confused silence.

“Because I’m crushing them,” I clarify.

“Well, that's wonderful. I’m so proud of you. Not just for your classes, but for everything. You’ve done a great job getting through a hard time.”

I make a snorting sound. “There are people battling cancer. I don’t need an award for getting through a breakup. How’s Dad’s fishing?”

“It’s coming along.” She’s using her diplomatic voice. “Dr. Bartlett is very patient.”

We’ve lived on this lake my whole life, and my dad’s never had an interest in fishing. He has no idea what he’s doing or what any of the gear is, but he’s decided it's his new hobby.

“Well, give him my love,” I say. “And let me know when he catches his first fish.”

I decide to get him one of those ugly fishing hats for Christmas. Picturing him wearing it makes me smile all the way home.

* * *

Thursday afternoon I set out to explore the campus with my camera.

Not for an assignment, just for me. I used to wander around Milan, taking pictures of every cool thing I saw, and it feels like ages since I’ve taken pictures for fun.

I photograph the green open space, the tree-lined walkways, the buildings with slivers of ocean behind them.

I imagine I’m sending all these photos to the gang in Milan to show them my school. What would I want them to see?

After I’ve taken a dozen or so, I think maybe I should send them some photos. And some American sweets as an apology for blowing them off when they were just being kind.

I sprawl on the grass and go back through my shots. They need some edits, but I got some good stuff. I stretch out and let my eyes close for a minute. I listen to the sounds of students chattering and seagulls squawking. I listen to the even sound of my own breath.

When I open my eyes, there’s a heart-shaped cloud floating directly above me.

Not it-kind-of-looks-like-a-heart-if-you-squint-the-right-way, but a distinctly heart-shaped cloud.

I grab my camera. I have no idea what setting to use so the first few I snap are out of focus.

But this heart cloud is patient. It doesn’t move on to other parts of the sky.

It gives me some time to fiddle and experiment until I’m able to capture it just the way I want it.

That night, I meet Maggie’s Ben. He’s funny and cute, and it’s obvious he’s falling fast for my best friend. This is about the time I start feeling sorry for Maggie’s boys. They usually end up brokenhearted. But the way Maggie looks at Ben makes me think he might have a chance.

I cook a bell pepper risotto for dinner. It takes a long time, risottos do, but it’s therapeutic, almost meditative, stirring the rice, adding the broth, stirring the rice. There’s enough to share, and we have a tiny dinner party.