Page 37 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
Something about the way Dante claims ownership over Magdalen stirs a dark anger in me and, before I have a chance to calm down, to breathe and remember that my loyalty to him should supersede any sympathy for her, the words are out.
‘So you’re allowed to shove your dick in my sister’s face, but when I dance with Magdalen for less than three minutes it’s an issue? Since when do you give a shit about who she fucks?’
The car jerks to an abrupt stop at the exit of the roundabout. I stifle a curse as my head almost slams into the dashboard.
‘So you are fucking her?’ Dante yells, whipping his head to look at me. ‘I swear on my mother’s life, I will slit your throat. You little piece of shit. I knew it. I fucking knew—’
‘Dante!’ I bellow over him. ‘I haven’t touched Magdalen. And I definitely don’t want to fuck her. Now can you please look at the fucking road?’
But even the feel of those two words so close together are dangerous, holding secret fantasies between the space that separates them. I squeeze my eyes shut to erase any compromising images, focusing on the blur of coral and pale-yellow buildings that pass us by. Dante murmurs underneath his breath, revving the engine as he continues down the cobblestone road, cursing out pedestrians as we near the tailor’s shop.
‘Just, don’t pull that shit we used to in high school with her. She’s not like them. She’s just a little different, a little slower than most.’
I shove my hand underneath my legs and take a deep breath out, disappointment and realization settling in me as the engine turns off and we sit, neither one of us attempting to leave the car as his words echo through the small space. The words spill before I have time to catch them.
‘Certo, you know I wouldn’t do anything, Dante. It was just a dance to make some creep she knew jealous. We said no sisters, so no sisters, okay? I get it. And, not to mention that I’ve known her for ever – why would I start anything now?’ I pause, looking out at the streets and watching the crowds of people standing in front of the macelleria, feeling weak. ‘Anyway, none of this matters because I’m meeting Chiara tonight and I have a feeling I won’t be thinking about your sister then.’
I hope he doesn’t catch on to the slip. That I think about her when I don’t have Chiara to distract me. Unclenching my hands, I try to laugh but it sounds hoarse. If Dante notices, he doesn’t show it. I open the car door before waiting for a response, needing to escape the sinking feeling that begins to form in the centre of my chest. Of a memory unravelled before it has even begun. It’s just a crush, I repeat as we cross the street. And again, when the bell chimes as we enter the shop. As the tailor measures the width of my shoulders and hands me back my credit card, I repeat it until they are the only words I remember in any language. It’s just a crush, it’s just a crush, it’s just a little crush. I’ve survived worse.
At exactly nine o’clock in the evening, I’m standing outside L’Essenza, waiting for Chiara’s shift to end. I check my watch, already wishing I never called her. Too late to bail? My heel shuffles against an upturned stone and, just as I’m about to make my escape, the door swings open and the sound of laughter trails through. Chiara’s bright eyes greet me with delight.
‘Ciao, Theo! Come stai?’
Wrapping her hands around my neck, she squeezes me into a hug; my hands hover at my sides, unsure of what to do with myself. When she unravels herself, peering up at me, her smile is large and promising. ‘I’m surprised you called. The way you looked in the cafe made me feel like I was disturbing you for asking.’
Taking a step towards the cafe window, neon sign flickering as always, I spot Giuseppe behind the bar, back hunched over another coffee creation. We begin walking down the alleys of Via Roma when I spot another cafe across the street and jerk my head towards it.
Palms slick, I ask, ‘You want a coffee?’
Chiara rolls her eyes, a playful grin taking over her face, and she pats my shoulder. ‘I serve coffee all day, Theo. I didn’t ask you out for more.’
I roll my shoulder, feeling fucking stupid. Obviously she doesn’t want coffee.
‘Sorry. Why did you ask me out, then?’
She sighs exasperatedly, as if my question is boring. Since when did I get bad at this?
‘Theo, don’t think I don’t remember us in high school. We all wanted to be the girl you chose. I gave you my number so you would choose me tonight. Call me nostalgic.’ A blush creeps up my neck. Her boldness is both sexy and intimidating and, before I have time to answer, she grabs my hand and drags me down the street.
‘Come, I know a bar by my house that does the best spritz. Not too much orange. Come, come, slowpoke. I’ve got things to do.’ And just like that we are off, Chiara tugging me towards the quiet little bar.
‘Haven’t had a spritz in ages,’ I grunt, maybe to myself or the city. Chiara looks back at me, that devilish smile still on her lips. We turn towards Via Georgiana, and there’s a small bar with fairy lights covering the awning and wrapped around the front door, bright reds, greens and blues scattered across the floors and small outdoor tables.
‘Sit, sit. Relax.’ She beckons me to a plastic table out front and I laugh; her directness is hot. Watching her order drinks from outside, she stands on her toes to be seen by the bartender. Her legs are bare; she’s only wearing a tiny gingham skirt and cropped tank top. She’s incredibly beautiful. Fair skin and freckles everywhere. Short black hair clipped back with a tortoise barrette, sharp angles. But for a brief moment, so quick it’s just an image of outlines and colours, I imagine another standing at the bar. Long legs and elbows resting comfortably on the counter. Wondering what she would order and if she would like a spritz, too.
‘Ecco la qua.’
I blink and Chiara is standing above me, leaning down to place the bright orange drinks on the table before dragging the chair and sitting next to me. Her knee brushes against my outer thigh and, just because I am sick of overthinking, I press into her further.
‘Cheers to reunions and long-awaited promises.’ She laughs and taps her glass to mine and I can’t help but laugh with her, the words ringing more truth than I care to admit.
‘Thanks for the drinks.’ I take a sip from the amber liquid, bitter sweetness dancing on my taste buds, but I barely swallow before Chiara pipes up again.
‘You were a good fuck, back in the day. You’d better not disappoint me now that you’re old and boring.’
I snort and almost spit my drink out. Chiara’s eyes crinkle with amusement and her unapologetic motive is so fucking attractive, that any hesitations I had fade with each sip I take.
‘Ah, I see, so just using me and then sending me back out to the streets?’ My eyebrows shoot up in mock offence.
