Wish You Were Italian (4 page)

“Ooh, I like that idea.” His excitement transfers to me, and my pulse races in anticipation.

It takes every ounce of self-control I possess, but I focus on the sidewalk. I can tell we’re getting close because Darren picks up speed, weaving us between other pedestrians and calling out an occasional “
Permesso
.”

We stop when we reach a street of uneven cobblestones. Instinctively, I raise my head but there’s a hand a few inches in front of my face. I look over and find Darren smiling at me.

“You see it for the first time only once,” he says. “Are you ready?”

I take a deep breath and nod as he slowly lowers his hand, but my eyes are still locked onto his, paralyzed by his incredibly sweet effort to make this special for me. He blinks, barely tilting his head to the side as he looks at me. I take his movement as an opportunity to turn my gaze away from him.

And toward the Colosseum.

I get it now. The name fits, there’s no other word to describe it
but
colossal. The Pantheon was huge, but this thing is so massive, I can’t even take it all in at once. I have to sweep my eyes over it, back and forth, row by row of arched windows. Stone and bricks all set in place by workers who probably never considered even for a second that two thousand years later it would be the symbol everyone across the globe pictures when they think of Rome.

Will it still be here two thousand years from now?

I shudder at the realization that for countless people throughout history, this building was the last thing they saw. To them, it was hideous. It was death. But I feel more alive, and somehow connected to the people who built everything around me and laid the stones on the street beneath my feet.

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes sting. I hadn’t anticipated this reaction, but I think for the first time today it’s hitting me how far away from home I am.

The click of a camera’s shutter pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look over at Darren just as he lowers the silver point-and-shoot from his face. My years of experience in drama club fail me as fire creeps up my neck and settles in my cheeks. I can’t even imagine the level of nerd on my face right now.

“You did not just take a picture of me.”

“Pretty sure I did.” He turns the display side of the camera around long enough for me to recognize my pointy nose.

I reach for it, but he holds it above his head. “Let me delete—I mean, see it!”

He hides it behind his back, then brings both hands in front of him, empty. I refrain from reaching into his pocket for it, but bite my lip at the thought.

“I’d ask you what you think,” Nina says to me, “but I can see it in your eyes. You’re in l-o-v-e.”

I’m glad my cheeks are already red, because for a second I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I nod before turning to the Colosseum again.

“It’s incredible.”

I glance at the people all around us, every second person with a camera, snapping away, looking as happy as I am to finally see the Colosseum in person. I join in the picture-taking, zooming in close to explore the detail of the stone. White and gray, crevices darkened with the grime age has exposed it to.

An Australian couple near us asks Darren to take a picture of them with the Colosseum as the backdrop, and when he’s done, they offer to take one of the three of us. I hesitate for a moment, fingers gripping my baby firmly, but I would like to document my trip thoroughly. And I’m sure I’ll want to remember what Darren and Nina look like. Darren passes his camera over to the man, so I suck it up and turn the dial to automatic before handing mine to the woman. Even if they did steal it now, they’d only be getting the twenty photos I just took. And a freaking nice camera.

I wonder how far into my trip it’ll be before I stop thinking of everyone as a potential thief.

Darren and Nina stand on either side of me, one of them touching a hand on my back so lightly, I almost think I’m imagining it. I shift to make sure I’m standing closer to Nina than I am to Darren—out of respect for her, of course—and I feel her hand down at her side between us and not on my back. Which means the hand that’s there belongs to …

Darren leans his head toward me and says, “Say ‘pizza.’”

The three of us laugh and I check out the picture on the preview screen. Shoulder to shoulder, mouths open in the laughter of a shared joke. Students studying abroad. Dropouts backpacking our way across Europe, one historical monument at a time. Best friends. The couple who took our picture has no idea I met them only an hour ago. That soon, we’ll continue on our own ways. They’ll go on to do whatever it is they’re in Italy for, and I’ll go on to Florence to learn about Michelangelo and Leonardo. The artists, not the Ninja Turtles.

Looking back at the Colosseum, I notice for the first time that the bottom row of arched windows is equipped with metal fencing, and there are people milling about on the other side of it.

“Can we go in?” I ask hopefully.

“I think they close at seven,” Darren says. “Probably best to come back tomorrow when you can spend a couple of hours in there. And now you know how to get here.”

Of course. Because they won’t be with me tomorrow. I’ll be alone. Again.

Off to our right stands a massive white structure with three arched openings. I wonder if people used to be able to walk under them or if it was always fenced off like a statue. Through my zoom lens, the detailed carvings of ancient Romans and their steeds come to life.

“That’s the Arch of Constantine,” Nina says.

“I was about to tell her that,” Darren says with a hint of disappointment.

She throws her head back and pokes his arm again. “I know you were, dweebs, that’s why I said it first.”

Doll. Dweebs. Aren’t they just so cute?

Not.

“And all this area behind us is the Roman Forum,” Darren says quickly before Nina can say more.

I turn around, but all I see is a creepy stone building that makes me think of abandoned prison cells.

“The entrance is down that way,” he says, pointing past the Arch. “Add that to your list of things to see tomorrow. Used to be
the
center of Roman civilization. It’s all crumbled bits now, but there’s nothing like it.”

He talks about the history here with such reverence and awe. It’s refreshing to listen to someone passionate about something other than the newest video game.

Darren’s stomach growls, even though I can’t imagine there’s room for anything else after that gelato trough he inhaled. He throws a hand over his middle as if it will hide the noise. “Anyone else hungry? I’m feeling like … mmm, Italian?”

“My treat,” I offer.

“What?” they say at the same time.

“No way,” Darren adds.

“Yes!” I insist. “It’s the least I can do for my own personal tour guides.” And I’m not ready to say good-bye yet.

“Well,” Darren says with a laugh, “we won’t hold you to it after you see the bill.”

We all turn to go, but something holds me back. I steal another look at the Colosseum, glowing in the rich evening light, trying to comprehend that I’m actually standing in front of the real deal. My fingers twitch at the thought of touching it.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell them as I nearly skip down the crowded path to the outer wall, slowing only just before placing my palm on a section of original stone. Stone once touched by the ancients who first set it in place. I feel so connected already.

And it’s still my first day here, in just one city in Italy. Just Rome. There’s also Pompeii, Ostia Antica, Sienna, Venice, Milan, Assisi, Verona. … There’s so much to see and take pictures of. So much to learn.

You’re in Italy for three months, Pippa.

Three months. That’s a nice chunk of time. Maybe even long enough to see everything I want to see.

But I couldn’t. Could I?

My eyes widen, staring at the wall but not really focusing on a particular spot. It’s possible … with enough planning.

Three months.

But
this
was the adventure, staying in Rome a few extra days. It’s enough.

Right?

I slide my fingers along the cool stone once more, unable to help the smile on my face despite the logical fear that this could all end very badly.

Chapter Six

We decide on a little restaurant closer to the Pantheon, and though it’s still pretty toasty outside, Darren insists we sit at a table along the street so my first official meal in Italy is everything it’s supposed to be. With the light from the setting sun slipping between the buildings, and the gentle glow from the candle centerpiece, I feel like I’m inside that café painting by Van Gogh, even though that was probably supposed to be Paris.

Our ridiculously attractive waiter with jet-black hair speaks comprehensible English, but Nina shows off by ordering for us in pristine Italian. Somewhere in all the flowing mumbo jumbo was a request for pizzas and lemon sodas with extra ice— apparently ice isn’t as popular over here as it is back in the States, or
gli Stati Uniti
.

I gape at her. “That was amazing.”

“It better be. I’ve taken enough classes.”

“I got a language program for my computer, but I’ve tried it
only a couple times,” I tell them. “It kept honking at me when I said things wrong. Gave me a complex.”

They laugh, and warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature grows inside me.

“You should keep at it,” Nina says. “It’s a rush to be able to communicate with someone in a different language.”

“Are you fluent too?” I ask Darren, my tone laced with a little more jealousy than I intended.

He shakes his head. “I’m far from fluent, but I get by. Nina’s definitely had more formal training.”

Formal training. There’s a polite smile on my lips, but inside I’m frowning at my lack of worldly experience.

The waiter whistles back to our table and holds out each pizza for display before setting them in front of us. They’re the furthest I’ve ever seen from the deep dishes in Chicago. The crust is as thin as paper and the bright red sauce peeks between patches of perfectly melted mozzarella. My mouth waters as the salty aroma reaches my nose.

Darren stabs one with a knife to slice it.

“Wait!” I blurt out before he does any real damage.

He freezes until I take a picture of it, then proceeds to snatch a slice. Head tilted back, he opens his mouth wide and dangles the pizza in the air, but he doesn’t bite. “Are you taking my picture, or what, Pipperoni?”

I smile as I lift my camera to my eye again. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

The pizza is unreal. So many flavors, cheese that is melt-in-your-mouth good, sauce with a touch of sweet, and just enough crunch. I may never be able to eat at a pizza chain again.

Accordion music floods the air. An elderly man dressed in
black slacks and a plaid button-down ambles down the street, working out a slow song on a worn instrument. I relax in my chair and let the soft melody wash over me. I’m officially smitten with Rome.

Something brushes across my cheek, and I jerk my head around to find Darren swiping at my face with his napkin.

“Sorry.” He hands it to me so I can finish the job. “You have sauce … all over you.”

Embarrassed, I glance at Nina for an instant and see her staring at Darren, eyebrows arched. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but her cell phone buzzes, shaking the table, and she turns her attention to the text message.

“Gotta go,” she announces, popping up from her seat.

My pulse quickens as I realize I’m about to be alone again. I force a smile and look at Darren, expecting him to join her, but he’s still chewing away, elbows propped casually on the table.

“Pippa, it was so great to meet you. I hope you enjoy your time in Italy.” She stands and wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze before turning to Darren. “You’ve got this one, right, doll?” She motions toward her empty plate and he nods, waving her away.

The bill, or
il conto
, comes and it’s not nearly as bad as I expected for a tourist area. It’s probably even cheaper than eating at Disney World.

“I was serious when I said I was paying,” I say, stealing the ticket from Darren. He opens his mouth to respond, but I stop him. “Don’t even try. It’s happening.” I count out some cash and leave it on the tray.

“Well, thank you.” He smiles, scratching that sandpaper chin of his again. “So what’s next on the agenda?”

“Honestly?”

“No. I want you to lie.”

“Smart aleck.” If it weren’t beyond the boundaries of our three-hour friendship, I’d give him a playful shove. “I was actually considering more gelato.”

He grins. “So it’s not a rule that you can only eat it before your meals?”

Is this considered flirting? Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Or am I really so desperate that I’ll take any attention from boys way too seriously?

“The rule was just amended to include after-meal gelato consumption too.”

“Well, in that case,” he says, stepping aside so I can exit the patio first. “Feel like company? My treat.”

We walk until we spot a handful of people coming out of a doorway, licking on cones piled high with gelato in all different colors. The
gelateria
is literally an open door to a room not much bigger than a closet. I get a scoop of pomegranate and chocolate. Darren picks out mango and pistachio.

“Pistachio?” Sure, this place doesn’t have as many options as Della Palma, but there are at least twenty, the rest of them all a better choice. “You can’t be serious.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“What are you? Eighty?”

He pushes his cup toward me. “Taste it.”

I scrunch my brows together and stare at the bright green mound.

“I haven’t licked it yet or anything,” he says. “Try it.”

Reluctantly, I scoop at it with my tiny spoon and my eyes widen as the flavor surprises my tongue. It tastes exactly like a creamy, cold, sweet pistachio nut. “Okay, you win. That’s actually really good.”

“Told you,” he says, taking a bite. “It’s always good to try new things. Especially if it scares you a little bit.”