“I don’t know. It just is.” I’m trying not to sound anything close to irritated or annoyed or oversensitive, but I think I’m failing.
“Well, she didn’t seem to think so.” Chloe isn’t pouting, but she’s close. We’re silent for a few moments. Then she seems to gather herself and turns to face me.
“Okay. Remember how you told me if I wanted to ask Jordan to the dance just as friends, I could do that? And I told you if I do, somebody else will ask him to go asmorethan friends?” I nod. “Well, that’s what will happen here.”
I squint. “I don’t follow.”
She tips her head to the side. “How long do you think Marina will last out there before somebody snaps her up?”
I blink at her. That’s a question I have avoided asking myself. I saw how the lead singer of that band looked at her, how strangers in shops and restaurants and on the street look at her. With curiosity. Interest. Desire.
I don’t like it.
Still. “Chloe. She lives in Italy. I live in the US.”
Chloe looks at me expectantly. “And? What’s your point?”
“Honey.” I don’t want to make her feel bad, but she’s a kid. She has no idea how—
“You think people don’t do LDRs all the time?”
I shake my head. “What’s an LDR?”
She groans, and it’s brutal. Can’t remember a time when I’ve felt quite this uncool. “Long distance relationship, Aunt Lil.”
“Oh,” I say, drawing the word out.
“People are in ’em all the time. And they make ’em work.”
“Well. Good for ‘people.’ ” I make the air quotes, really wanting this conversation to be over. I’m not proud of the relief that floods me when we pass under the sign readingFiumicino Leonardo Da Vinci International Airport.
Chloe sighs, and I hope it’s the sigh of somebody who has given up trying to make their point. And that seems to be the case until we get her bags out of the trunk, and I ask the cabbie to wait for me while I get teary and hug my niece so tightly, she starts to wiggle in protest. Then I hold her face in both my hands, like I’ve done since she was a toddler, and I kiss her forehead, then both cheeks.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too,” she says, grabbing my forearms. “And you’re awesome and gorgeous and somebody like you should be worshipped, not all alone. That’s all I’m saying.” She smiles at me as I let her face go. She shoulders her backpack, telescopes the handle on her pullman, and hugs me one more time. “You’re worth loving, Aunt Lil. Remember that.”
She turns and heads into the airport. Over her shoulder, she calls, “And come home soon!”
I stand there, misty-eyed, and watch her disappear into the crowd, wondering if she’s actually sixteen or a wise fifty-year-olddisguised as one. Shaking my head, I climb back into the cab.
Her words echo through my head for the entire drive back.
You should be worshipped, not all alone.
Worshipped, huh? I can’t say I hate the sound of that. I wonder what it’s like to be worshipped. Not that I need that level of devotion, but you catch my drift.
You’re worth loving, Aunt Lil.
Yeah. That one. That one worms its way in and settles around my heart like the gentlest of hugs.
I stare out the window as we drive, my eyes wet.
It’s quiet for several miles—well, quiet except for the cabbie, who is now singing to Lady Gaga—and then my phone buzzes. Two texts.
One is from Chloe, telling me she cleared security, and also apologizing for getting “hella serious” on our last day. I, of course, tell her it’s fine. Because it is. She texts back,I just love you and want you to be happy.Ladies and gentlemen, my teenage niece, sounding like somebody’s grandmother.
The second text is from Marina, and all it says isThinking of you…There’s one red heart, and what the hell? Three simple words and a red heart have me all gooey inside? Just like that, I’m a mushball? Have I always been this easy?
