Page 5 of Two Chances With You

“That I can’t say. I’ve come back to Rome to find out.”

We drive in silence.

“Okay if I light a cigarette in here?” I ask.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

I stick a cigarette in my mouth, and I push in the lighter.

“Wait, what are you doing? Lighting it anyway?”

“It’s the ‘rather you didn’t’ that screwed you.”

“You see? You’ve changed. For the worse,” he says.

I smile and look over at him. I love my brother. And maybe he’s changed, too, come to think of it. He seems more mature, more of a man. I take a drag on the Marlboro Medium and start to hand it to him.

“No, thanks.” In response, he cracks his window open. Then he cheers up again. “You know what? I’ve got a girlfriend.”

My brother is seven years older than me. It’s incredible, there are times when he seems like a little kid. He likes confiding in me, and it’s a delight. I decide to give him the satisfaction. “So what’s she like? Is she cute?”

“Cute? She’s gorgeous! She’s tall, a honey blonde. You’ve got to meet her. Her name is Fabiola, she’s an interior decorator, she only likes to go to certain places, and she has great taste…”

“Okay, got it. I understand, sure, sure…”

“Okay, okay. That response from you is an obvious wisecrack. In fact, it’s a dumbcrack. You like that? It’s something she always says!”

“Sounds a little dubious, don’t you think? She needs to be careful, when she says it. Anyway, now I understand why you two get along so famously.”

“Yeah, no doubt about it. We’re really in tune.”

Very much in tune. But what is that even supposed to mean? Being in tune is something that has to do with music. Love is something else, when you can’t breathe, when you miss her, when it’s beautiful even if it’s off tune, when it’s all madness…When the sheer idea of seeing her with someone else would be enough to drive you to chew your way across the ocean.

“Well, if you’re really in tune, that’s the important thing. And then there’s another thing…” I try to give it a good final flourish. “Fabiola is a pretty name.”

An obvious, unremarkable conclusion. But I couldn’t come up with anything else. Fundamentally, I couldn’t care less, but Paolo needs everybody else’s good opinion. Which is the stupidest thing a person can do. And after all, who do you mean by everybody? Not even our parents were one hundred percent in favor ofus.

He seems to practically read my mind: “Plus Papà has a girlfriend. Did you know that?”

“How am I supposed to know that if nobody told me?”

“Her name is Monica, and she’s a good-looking woman. She’s turned his apartment upside down and inside out. She’s made it look less old-fashioned. She’s spruced the place up.”

“What about Papà? Did she do the same for him?”

Paolo laughs like an idiot. “That’s just great, too much.”

My brother and his enthusiasm. Was he like this before I left? When you get back from a trip, everything seems different.

“They’re living together. You have to meet her.”

What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have to do anything. I jerk the steering wheel to one side to get around a car. The driver doesn’t seem to feel like getting out of the way. Move it, buddy! I flash my lights, but nothing doing. I hit the gas; I upshift. The car screeches to the right to get around him.

Paolo pushes both feet into the floorboard and grabs the armrest between the two of us.

Then I ease back to the left and reassure him. “It’s all okay. In America, I could never drive like that. They’re always clocking you to the last inch.”

“So, you came back here to have fun with my new car, is that it?”

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