Page 62 of Destiny

I’ve already gotten plenty of presents for Aurora and Alessia, but I haven’t found the right souvenir to give to him. I want it to be something that’s meaningful and not a silly trinket.

I find a random bookstore and go in.

After searching around for a little bit, I found a book by Italo Calvino, Marco’s favorite Italian author. I pulled it out and tried to read the title, although it’s in Italian. It looks old, so I wonder if it’s a first edition or something.

“Excuse me,” I say to the woman behind the desk.

“Yes.”

“Is this a first edition?”

She scans it into her computer. “Yes.”

“How much is it?”

“One-hundred and sixty-four dollars.”

I take out my phone and open my conversion app. That works out to around $200.

“I’ll take it.”

“So, are you a big Calvino fan?” she asks after pushing her big glasses up on her face.

“Oh, no. Um, my boyfriend is, though.”

“Is he also American?”

“Legally, yes.”

Then, she opens her mouth to warn me that it’s written in Italian.

“But he was born in Italy. In Tuscany, where Calvino died…I think.”

“That’s right.” I’m proud of remembering that correctly.

I continue looking and find a fictitious book that centers on an opera for myself.

“Well, here you go.” She offered to give me the book back in a burlap bag.

“Thank you.”

I’m so excited to give him the gift. It’s exactly what I was looking for. I then decided to get a coffee and read some of my books, which are in English. But I take his out too and put it on the table.

“Bea?” I later hear in the distance.

I swivel my head but fail to anyone I recognize me. But then I see Blakely Tamen. He’s been performing at similar clubs as me, and we’ve run into each other on several occasions. Unlike me, he’s from England.

“Hello!” He’s wearing a patched-up leather jacket, and he has his guitar strapped to his back. He gives me a hug, which is only complicated by the large case on his back and the cigarette in his hand.

“How are you?” I ask after ensuring he didn’t burn my long hair.

He takes one more drag before flicking it onto the ground and stomping on it.

“I’m good. What about you? Whoa…Italo Calvino, huh? That’s deep stuff.”

I look back at it and laugh. “Oh, no. It isn’t for me. It’s for my boyfriend.”

“Ah. That’s right. The Italian one. That makes sense.”

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