Italian for Beginners (23 page)

I
spent the next three days wandering the streets of Rome with my camera slung over my shoulder. I trekked through the dust
of the Forum to capture the way the light reflects on the crumbling ruins. I spent almost a full day in Vatican City, photographing
everything from the columns that line Saint Peter’s Square to the statues that sit atop the basilica. I shot nearly a hundred
photos at the Colosseum and detailed the Spanish Steps and Bernini’s Fountain of the Barcaccia, which sits at the foot of
the steps.

But the most shots I got were the ones I hadn’t planned, the ones that were on the way to the tourist sites.

On the way to the Forum, I crouched in a doorway and took pictures of a lone boy kicking a ball around a fountain in the Piazza
Barberini. En route to Vatican City, I photographed two old men smoking pipes in the entrance to a butcher shop and a trio
of giggling teen girls in a huddle, pointing furtively to a trio of boys across the way who were pretending not to notice.
Before I reached the Spanish Steps, I captured two little girls with gap-toothed grins, jumping rope while singing “Se Sei
Felice Tu Lo Sai,” the Italian version of “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” By the time I wandered home late the third afternoon,
having taken the long route past the Tiber so that I could snap some shots of the river glistening in the sun with the gritty
Trastevere neighborhood rising up behind it, I had taken over five hundred photographs.

Best of all, I felt so exhilarated from all the picture taking that I’d managed to keep my mind off the things I’d discussed
with Marco and Karina. Anytime my mother popped into my head or I saw a Roman woman with a haircut that looked like my mother’s
perennial Audrey Hepburn bob, I simply refocused, adjusted the aperture, and lost myself in the world I could see through
the lens. I loved the control that gave me, the way I could select the things that mattered and exclude the things that didn’t.

I’d never felt so free in all my life. And to my surprise, I liked the feeling.

After returning home on the third day, I booted up my computer, plugged in a USB cord, set my camera to automatically upload
all the pictures on its SD card, and finally sat down to call New York.

I called Becky first. I felt guilty that I’d dropped off the map for a few days, but in truth, they could have called me on
my cell if they needed me.

Becky answered on the first ring, her voice sounding cheerful and much closer than it should have, given the miles and the
ocean between us.

“Hi, Sis!” I chirped, happy to hear her voice. “It’s me!”

“Cat! Where are you?” she demanded instantly.

I was taken aback. “In Rome. You know that.”

“But I called you yesterday! Your cell didn’t work, so I called that Francesco guy since you gave me his number, but he said
you’d moved out! I’ve been worried sick!”

I paused and clicked to the e-mail box on my laptop. I scanned the twenty-seven new messages I’d received since yesterday.
None were from my sister.

“But, Becky, if you were worried, why didn’t you e-mail?” I asked.

She made a huffing sound and said, “I shouldn’t have to play detective to track you down!”

I rolled my eyes. She was right; but I also shouldn’t have to report back to her—or anyone, for that matter—either. That was
one of the beautiful, liberating things about being single. But I didn’t want to pick a fight with her now. Not over this.
Not from four thousand miles away. So instead, I just said, “I’m sorry. I’ll call the cell phone company and see what the
problem is. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well,” Becky said. “You did. You can’t just go disappearing like that. What if Daddy or I had needed you?”

“But you didn’t, did you?” I asked in a small voice.

“That’s not the point.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay.” I paused. “So. How’s married life?”

As I knew would be the case, the change of topic worked perfectly, and Becky launched into a fast-paced, bubbly, long-winded
tale about how Jay had tried to vacuum the carpet the other day but had tripped over the power cord and knocked over a lamp,
which made her
so
mad because it was her
favorite
lamp in all the world.

When she was done, she was silent for a moment and then asked, “So? How are you? What’s new?”

It was strange, I thought, that she hadn’t asked about Francesco. Or why I was no longer living there. But I figured I had
to tell her anyhow.

“Well, I’m actually living in a little apartment near the Pantheon for the next few weeks,” I said. I took a deep breath.
“Things didn’t exactly work out with Francesco.”

Becky was silent for so long that I thought we’d been disconnected. “Hello?” I finally asked tentatively into the silence.

“I’m here,” she said. “I just can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“What? What do you mean?” I was taken aback. It was about the last thing I had expected her to say.

Becky sighed dramatically. “Come on, Cat,” she said. “You go all the way over there and then you blow it with the guy you
went to see?”

I was silent for a long moment, mostly because my jaw had dropped and I couldn’t quite seem to get it to cooperate. Finally,
I managed to squeak out, “What?”

“Well, no offense, Cat. And I’m just saying this because I love you and I’m worried about you. But don’t you think you’re
being a little too picky? I mean, you keep choosing all these guys and then changing your mind about them.”

“Becky, I didn’t change my mind about Francesco,” I said. I shook my head. I didn’t even know where to begin. She had never
understood the concept of breaking up with men you knew were wrong for you; her philosophy was more along the lines of staying
with them as long as they did things for you. “He changed his mind about me,” I added softly.

Becky was silent for a minute. “Are you sure you didn’t just push him away?” she asked softly. “Like you do sometimes?”

I could feel my skin beginning to crawl. “No, Becky,” I said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t push him away.”

“Don’t get defensive,” Becky said. “I’m just trying to help. Because I love you.”

I closed my eyes for a minute and tried to calm down. “I know,” I said finally.

“So when are you coming home?”

“In two and a half weeks. Same date as I originally planned.”

Silence. “You’re staying?” she finally asked.

“I like it here, Becky,” I said. “I feel happy here. And it’s nice to take a break.”

“Is there another guy?”

I shook my head. Apparently, that’s all she could think of. “No,” I said. As soon as the word was out of my mouth, I thought
of Marco. Did he count?

“So you’re just alone?”

“Yes. And I’m happy.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Well. That’s good.”

“Thanks,” I said simply. For the first time in a while, I was feeling pretty secure about the decision I’d made.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!” Becky said suddenly.

“That guy who owns the restaurant where the reception was? Michael? He called to ask about you.”

My heart stopped for a moment. “What?”

“Yeah, well, he had my cell phone number from when we were planning the reception, and he just called out of the blue to ask
if I knew how to get in touch with you.”

“And what did you say?” I asked carefully.

“I told him you were in Rome with your old boyfriend.” She giggled.

I swallowed hard. “And what did he say?”

“What does it matter? He’s
married
, Cat.”

“I know.” I paused. “But what did he say?”

“He got all silent for a minute, and then he mumbled something about how he hadn’t realized you had a boyfriend, but he wanted
to clear up a misunderstanding with you.”

I shook my head. “A misunderstanding?”

“Yeah. Look, Cat, you’re not thinking about getting involved with some married guy, right?”

“No!” I exclaimed.

“Because, I mean, now that
I’m
married, I would be personally offended.” Cat sniffed.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. As usual, it was all about her.

“I would never do that,” I said. “You know that.”

“Yeah, well.” She made another huffing noise and said, “I just don’t want to hear later that you got involved with him over
there in Rome.”

“In Rome?”

“He said he was going over for work. But it’s not like he has any way to find you.”

I closed my eyes. I was staying in his friend’s apartment. Of course he could find me. My heart was suddenly pounding rapidly,
and my palms felt sweaty. “Did he say when he was coming?”

“I don’t know. This week, I think? Besides, why does it matter?”

“Of course. It doesn’t.” I blinked a few times and tried to steady myself. “Well, I’d better get going.”

“Oh, right,” Becky chirped, back to her cheerful self.

“Will you tell Dad I said hi? And let him know that I’ve moved apartments and will try to get my cell phone working?” I didn’t
think I could handle a second family conversation today about what a failure I was.

“No problem. Talk to you soon!” And with that, the phone clicked off on her end.

I sat holding the phone for a while until it started making noises at me. Then I slowly set it back down in the receiver and
turned back to my computer.

I watched blankly for a while as my photos loaded, each one crystallizing momentarily on the screen as the files were saved.
It was like being in the middle of a slide show, reliving my past three days in Rome. The longer I watched, the more I began
to breathe again. The photos relaxed me, reminded me of where I was, outside the pressures of having a boyfriend, of dealing
with Francesco, of thinking about Michael.

Michael.
I sighed and shook my head. I couldn’t believe he was coming to Rome—or, given my sister’s sketchy recollection, might even
be in Rome now. The odds of me running into him were, of course, slim. But just knowing that we were, or would soon be, in
the same city unsettled me. I tried to shake off the thought.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

The first thought that flashed into my mind, just because I’d been thinking about him, was
Michael
. But that was insane, wasn’t it? Surely Karina would have warned me.

Still, when I opened my door and found Nico there, there was a tiny, ridiculous part of me that felt disappointed.

“Hi, Signorina Cat!” he said excitedly.

“Well, hi there, Nico,” I said, smiling down at him.

“Mamma sent me up to see if you wanted to come down to dinner. At the restaurant. It is slow there, and she says she has not
seen you in a few days.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’ve been sort of busy.”

“Doing what?” He blinked up at me.

I hesitated. “Taking pictures, actually.”

“Pictures? Of what?”

“Of Rome,” I said. I realized it sounded silly, but Nico just looked curious.

“May I see them?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the computer. “I have them on my computer if you want to watch as they upload.”

“Oh, yes, please!” Nico said. He grinned at me and walked into my apartment. He sat down on the edge of my bed and stared
at the screen of my Thinkpad. “I’ve never seen a computer this small before!”

I looked at the laptop. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “Mamma and I just have an old computer. It doesn’t even do pictures very well. But I can e-mail!”

“Well, that’s exciting.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He stared at the screen for a moment. “You took all these photographs?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. I sat down beside him, and together, we watched photo after photo materialize on the screen.

When they were finally done loading, Nico looked up at me. “Those are really good,” he said solemnly.

“Oh, yeah?” I smiled. “Well, thank you, Nico.”

“Do you have any of America?” he asked, looking at me hopefully. “On your computer?”

I paused. I wasn’t accustomed to showing my photos to anyone. But it was silly to feel self-conscious about showing them to
a six-year-old, wasn’t it? “Sure,” I said. I leaned over to the computer, clicked open a folder, and started the slide-show
function.

Nico sat transfixed for ten minutes while image after image of New York popped onto the screen. There were street shots of
New Yorkers going about their days, businessmen absorbed in cell phone conversations, women hailing cabs, kids playing in
Bryant Park, couples strolling in Central Park. There were black and whites of Magnolia Bakery and the Empire State Building,
bright-hued photos of springtime in Central Park, sepia photos of the park’s Boat House. As I watched with Nico, I smiled.
I, too, was feeling transported to the Big Apple from the edge of a twin-size bed in Rome.

When the slide show was finished, Nico turned to me with wide eyes. “Those were amazing,” he said.

I smiled. “Thanks. They’re nothing special.”

His eyes widened farther. “You are crazy, Signorina Cat! They were the best pictures of New York I’ve ever seen!”

I laughed. “Well, thanks,” I said. “But I’m sure there are many New York pictures out there that are much more beautiful than
mine.” After all, how many New York photos could one little Roman boy have seen?