“Prego,” she says softly. “Text me?” She asks it as she’s slowly walking backward away from me, and her voice is steady, but her face has the most hopeful expression on it.
“I will.”
Her smile bursts into light, the white of her teeth visible in the streetlight, then she turns away from me and heads back to her scooter.
Again, I watch until she’s out of sight, then fall back against the building again as if all energy has completely dissipated from my muscles. “Jesus Christ,” I whisper into the night. I take a moment to replay our kiss. How it felt, the taste of wine still on her tongue, the warmth of her hand on my neck. “Jesus Christ.” Because it bears repeating.
Chapter Ten
Chloe’s squeal is high-pitched and loud enough to snag the attention of at least half the people walking down the street as she exits her cab at the corner and sees me walking toward her.
While I don’t squeal, I’m just as excited to see her. It’s been too long. I spent much of early summer in my apartment in New York City, and Chloe was a counselor at a summer camp, so our schedules didn’t mesh. I haven’t seen her in nearly two months, which is unusual for us.
I only get close to her cab before she runs and jumps into my arms, wrapping her legs around me like a chimpanzee.
“Aunt Lily!”
“Hey, Thumper.” I hug her to me. She’s always hugged me like this: a full body hug. And she’s tiny—barely five foot one—so it’s not hard for me to hold her this way. I spin her in a full circle before setting her back down so she can help the cab driver who is unloading her stuff.
“How was the flight?” I ask as we walk toward the hotel. She’s got a large backpack slung over her shoulder, and I’m pulling her wheelie suitcase.
“Are you kidding me? It was incredible. I stretched out and slept for a few hours. And the food was really good.”
I treated her to a first class ticket, which made me happy. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“It slapped. Seriously. Thanks, Aunt Lil.”
Chloe and I have always been close. I knew by the time I was forty that having kids was probably not happening for me, and Iwas okay with that. I wasn’t somebody who never wanted kids, but I also wasn’t somebody who had to have them, like some of my friends are. I figured if I ended up with a partner who really, really wanted them, I’d be happy to coparent. But that didn’t end up being the case, so Chloe is about the closest thing I’ll ever have to my own kid.
In the Cavatassi, I introduce her to Marco, who she whispers to me is “hella hot,” and he takes us upstairs. While my suite is considered the penthouse, there are still three other rooms on the floor, and Marco puts Chloe in the room right next to mine. There’s no adjoining door, but I don’t worry about her. She’s a responsible kid, and I don’t expect for a second that she’ll sneak out when I’m sleeping. In addition to being responsible, she knows I’d kill her. And then I’d send her home so her father could kill her again.
Serena is having that wine-tasting thing tomorrow night, and she’s invited both me and Chloe. I have no idea who else will be there, but Serena has yet to introduce me to somebody I don’t like, and when I tell Chloe about it—and that she can bring Reggie—she’s thrilled.
Tonight, though, since Chloe’s flight didn’t arrive until midafternoon and she’s tired from traveling, we’re going to have a leisurely dinner nearby, just the two of us. It’s been far too long since I’ve had my niece all to myself.
I take her to a little café that I’ve been to a couple times, so I know that the hostess speaks impeccable English, and if we sit outside, again we can bring Reggie. Chloe is pretty much in love with my dog, so bringing him along becomes her thing, and she holds his leash. When we’re seated, he sits at her feet, not mine, which makes me feign hurt, when inside, I’m actually grinning. I love that he loves her.
We order; Caprese salad for me and gnocchi for Chloe, who doesn’t understand why I’m in Rome and not having pasta, andI’m forever grateful she doesn’t have body image issues. I hope she never gets them. I almost tell her to ask me that question when she’s over forty but decide I shouldn’t put that on her. “Because the fresh mozzarella here is to die for,” I say. I order a glass of Pinot Grigio, and the waitress turns to Chloe, whose eyes go wide.
“Can I get wine?” she asks in a whisper, like the waitress wouldn’t hear her.
“If you tell your father, I’ll kill you,” I say.
She gives a tiny giggle and asks me what kind she should have.
“Can you bring mine and I’ll let her taste it?” I ask the waitress, who smiles with a nod and is off.
“So?” I say. “What’s new at home? Ready for school?”
She lifts one shoulder. “Yeah. I think so. Mom got me some clothes. I have almost all my supplies.”
“What’s gonna be the hardest?” The waitress brings us warm bread and a saucer of olive oil for dipping.
“Ugh. Calculus, I think.” Chloe is not great at math. Like her aunt, she struggles with numbers. But unlike her aunt, she keeps trying until she gets it.
“Your dad any help there? He’s good with numbers.”
“He tries, and yeah, sometimes he does help.” She takes a bite of her bread and makes a humming sound of approval.
