Page 44

I Had the Strangest Dream

I play with the wooden ring Ricky gave me when he comes up to me at the rehearsal and hands me a poem from a piece of paper from the journal I bought him. It’s rolled to look like a scroll.

Like, come on. First of all, how extra? (I love it.)

Second, he can’t even let me have one night to myself, can he? It’s not enough that he’s been doggedly staring at both me and Cam, but now this?

“IF ONLY”

we could sail

to the middle

of the ocean

where horizon meets sky

wrap ourselves in stars

float forever in

infinite space

drift on waves and nebula

find a black hole

suspend time,

would forever be enough?

Tonight, meet me where the horizon meets the sky tonight in Positano.

We used to stargaze together, getting lost in constellations. I was always in outer space, while he was firmly planted on the ground.

Everything the Coven and Matty said earlier clicks.

It’s taken thirteen months, but I’m finally ready to finish this, on my terms, not Ricky’s.

I’m choosing to be present with my family tonight rather than focus on Ricky.

Yes, he’s choosing the place—I’m guessing “where the horizon meets the sky tonight in Positano” is his poetic way of saying the place we’re doing the surprise for Sienna because it’s convenient.

That’s been the biggest lesson I’ve learned this week.

I’ve lived my entire life for other people, but here in Italy, I’m finally focusing on discovering what I love.

And tonight, I want to have a good time with my family, so I roll it up and pop it into my pocket for safekeeping.

Then Cam pulls up a chair next to me. “I know what it’s like,” he says, and when I don’t respond right away, he doesn’t get the hint and continues, “To lose.”

So much for peace.

“Lose? Dude, I’m done.” I move to stand.

“I tried. I thought you were cool, misunderstood, whatever. But, man, you’re all over the place and messier than I am.

I’m done playing these games. My life is not a game.

Ricky’s life isn’t a game. Look around, Cam, this is my family.

The Coven, the DeLucas. I haven’t lost. I’ve won. ”

I can tell by the way the corners of his mouth twitch that he’s trying to hold himself together—that I hit him where it hurts, family. But I don’t care. His cheeks get red, his eyes glassy, and in one last-ditch effort to clearly best me, he blurts out, “What, am I the drama?”

That stops me dead in my tracks.

Am I the drama? “It’s you. You’re the one who’s been commenting on all my Clock videos. For months. You tagged @Food-ForChange, you’ve been commenting about me and Ricky, trolling me. Us. Why?”

“You had your chance. Ricky deserves better.” He stands up and faces me, smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt. “I like you, Fielder. I think you’re a great guy. But I love Ricky, and he deserves a chance at real happiness. If you’re not willing to fight for him like I am, step aside.”

He leaves me to sit in silence.

Winding down the narrow, treacherous streets of Positano, the car service Topher hired nearly clips three elderly women, a group of tourists in tacky Italian flag tees, and a man on a Vespa. I shouldn’t have had so much champagne before this drive, but I needed something to take the edge off.

Ensconced high in the enclave of Positano, La Sponda is an elegant, chic fairy-tale dream inside Le Sirenuse, the most prestigious hotel on the Amalfi Coast. Pearl-white walls are decorated with arms of ivy growing upward toward the ceiling like fingers that stretch from arched picture windows and across walls, framing the white, beige, and pastel stacked houses and buildings of Positano.

Emerald-green and gold tile floors, seafoam-green tablecloths, and grand chandeliers made to look like lemon trees with rounded glass globes lit with real candles make it feel like a high-fantasy film set come to life.

It’s old Hollywood glamour by way of the Italian renaissance.

My fingers fiddle with my phone, desperate to film this for @LemonAtFirstSight, but it’s a Michelin-star restaurant, so I need to have some decorum.

Everyone is dressed in suits and designer dresses. Thankfully Topher had clothes for me and Matty because we would have been laughed out of a place like this in our Target polos. Still, I feel so grossly out of place, like I don’t belong.

Matty’s posture is stiff, and I’m sucking in my belly.

As we’re led to a private room, I pray the Coven doesn’t do or say something embarrassing, which of course is a fool’s errand because Nonna immediately shouts, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, holy hell! Where the hell are we, the Taj Mahal?”

Facepalm. Topher should have known better than to try and tame the Lemons. We’re loud enough that all of Amalfi could be in this restaurant and we’d still be the loudest in the room. We’re very much a “two-for-one appetizers at Applebee’s” kind of family.

Ricky and I are deliberately seated on opposite ends of the table. Benny seems to be enjoying connecting with Cam, as if they’re old friends laughing and giggling.

I seethe with rage thinking of how Cam trolled me for months without Ricky knowing.

I won’t let him ruin tonight.

Especially as the most stunning dishes I’ve ever seen are set in front of us.

It’s Top Chef come to life. Seared tuna with candied lemon that electrifies my taste buds, tomato gazpacho that simultaneously feels like being home during a snowy winter day with the brightness of running around Nonna’s yard in the summer sun, Gragnano linguine with clams in a roasted zucchini pesto with scorza di limone that reminds me of a dish Nonna made when I was young, a pasta called “fagotelli” stuffed with beef with sauteed onions and fresh-shaved black truffle (the name alone makes me, Matty, and Benny howl with laughter—and, unironically, Jenni Lee scowls, finding our enjoyment “offensive” and “hypocritical”), and fresh-caught branzino that takes me back to the first time I had seafood in Maine with Dad.

I devour everything with a fervor. My palate lights up in ways I can’t describe. I feel myself lift off the floor and soar into the space above our table.

Orgasmic. Wet dream material.

To share it with the people I love most in the world is what matters. That’s what food does, it brings people together, and the laughter and conversation around the table is vibrant and infectious. I want to prepare dishes the way these chefs do, to make people feel with food.

Ricky savors every bite too, and I wish more than anything I was next to him, asking him what flavors he tastes, testing his palate, talking about what dishes we liked best. That was always my favorite part: us , our ability to talk about anything. Possibility.

What happened to that? Were we ever a possibility?

Monroe and Tyler snuggle up close, and it makes me smile seeing their possibility—how nearly a week ago, they didn’t even know each other, and now they’re blossoming into something real and beautiful. I want to know their story.

After dessert—an apricot tart with white chocolate mousse and almond gelato—Topher gives me the go-ahead.

The plan—as Topher, Ricky, and I had mapped it out days ago—is simple: slip out of the rehearsal dinner after dessert, grab the bags Topher packed for their night on Capri, head to the docks, meet some man called Giovanni who will supposedly have a gozzo outfitted with fairy lights and white rose petals.

I’m to make sure everything is in place before Topher arrives.

Shortly after he gets there, Ricky will bring Sienna, and boom.

They’ll head to Capri to the Gardens of Augustus, where Topher will surprise Sienna with a telescope he has set up staring directly at a star whose coordinates are perfectly visible from the gardens.

The clincher—Topher named the star “Sienna” for her.

Standing up, I announce, “I’m going to the restroom!”

“Salud!” Nonna shouts back, raising a wineglass.

Probably not the stealthiest way to sneak out of La Sponda, but it works. I grab Topher’s bags from the car like a pack mule and make my way to the piers to meet his event planner, who gives me said bag of rose petals and puts me to work, stringing up lights and laying out blankets.

We move lightning fast because time is of the essence!

I barely have time to obsess think about the fact that as soon as this is done, I’m going to have to face Ricky and his decision, and I wonder:

Which one of us will he talk to first?

Me, or Cam?

Between moonlight and cobblestone streets, set against fairy light lanterns and glittering black water, will this be our final massacre, or the greatest love story ever told?