Page 71 of The Sky in Summer
“There has to be something you can do or say or…”
I stop where she is headed. “He’s a player, Barbra. A girlfriend and an ordinary life isn’t something he’s looking for. He never pretended to be anything else.”
“That’s your fault!”
She says it so forcefully I’m shocked silent for a moment.
“It is.” She continues in a softer tone. “He wanted to be that other guy with you. Right from the start. You were the one that pushed the just friends bullshit.”
“It’s too late. He leaves in a few days. It is over.”
She doesn’t have a comeback, so we sit in silence for the rest of the drive. But in my mind, all of me searches for a way to stay in his orbit.
17
Van
Bon voyage. I heard it a hundred times over the last month. The words are deceptively cheery. Like me. I feel none of what the wish implies. Good trip? Not so far. And I haven’t left yet. It is here in this town, with this woman standing next to me, that I sense my greatest adventure. I didn’t realize when you feel this deeply for someone, everything else seems to change right along with you.
“The colors your mother planted for fall look good.”
“Ring the bell,” I say.
Maybe it is simply a wider vision. The trees with gold and red leaves, music, even the houses I pass every day. In the corners of my mind, the details I previously missed now come sharply in focus. Things so familiar, I thought I knew everything about them, have new depth. This world appeared for me, because she was passing through. Will it be gone tomorrow?
It’s a matter of horrible timing. Nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can quit the job or sell the apartment. The idea of doing that scares the shit out of me.
I have never saidI love youto any woman. It seemed a kind of cruelty because I never felt more than deep affection or lust. Now that the word rings true, there’s no expressing it. No fucking way. What good would it do? Both of us feeling like shit instead of just me? I would see the shock in her eyes and realize how alone I am in my feelings. Like I have been from the beginning. She doesn’t know it’s of her I have been dreaming. She wouldn’t know how to respond without hurting my feelings.
Not going to happen. She was clear from the start. Friends. That was how she saw me then and now. I just need to get past the leaving part. Things will look different then. Soon I will be distracted by the new life in Paris. Other women. Everything I have been fantasizing will evaporate like a dream.
Besides, there is clearly something unmistakable in the distance, shaped by the moments of heavy silence between us. I see her standing guard.
“You’re awfully quiet,” I say, ringing the bell again.
Her face changes its expression, but I am not sure I believe the smile. My father’s footsteps approach.
“I’m fine! Just thinking about how much I am going to miss our play. We’ve had such a good time I’m sorry to see it go.”
That chuckle sounds hollow and sad. It’s probably me wishing it were true. She said it. Play. That is what this whole connection has been. Nothing more as far as she is concerned. The door swings open.
“Bonne soiree. Entre.”
“Salut, papa.”
“Bonjour, petite fleur!”
“Bonjour, Gaston!”
As we walk inside, my father wraps his arm around Layla’s shoulders.
“See! You already speak our language. That will come in handy.”
Neither Layla or I know what to say in response or ask him how that will happen. Luckily, my mother saves the moment.
“We’re late! The family is already there. Turn around, we have to go.”
Tavernetta is a favorite restaurant. Even this bathroom has the vibe. Sophisticated Italian. There’s no cheesy Roman column in front of a Sopranos poster. The food here is quality. Handmade noodles and high-end cheeses. The best guanciale I have ever tasted. Exceptional bread.
