We quickly scrambled to put ourselves right, so that when she came sailing through the door saying, “Did you hear the good news? Avery is the new Franco!” all she saw were two people sitting with a desk between them and innocent smiles on their faces.
I WAS NERVOUS, but my giddiness was defeating the butterflies. I had a job!
It wasn’t glamorous, exciting, or paid, but it was mine. Earned by merit, education, and perhaps a wee bit of nepotism since I was best friends with the boss, but it felt good.
I floated home like I was starring in my own Disney movie. I held doors for strangers, bought a sandwich for a homeless man on the corner—who turned out not to be homeless but a hipster—and sang my way to Daisy’s.
My home for the foreseeable future.
I needed to Skype my parents to tell them I was staying longer than I thought . . .
After two quick rings, my father’s forehead greeted me.
“Dad move the laptop a bit,” I instructed.
As he adjusted it, he said, “I miss the days when you just called someone on the phone; none of these bells and whistles.”
My mother came in behind him, waving daintily at the screen. “Avery, how good to see you! You look outstanding,” she cheered, sitting gracefully on the arm of his leather desk chair. “Italy suits you.”
Dad nodded in agreement.
They both looked happy. He beamed when she rested her hand on his shoulder. She blushed when he lifted her hand to kiss it.
I thought this virtual catchup would be strained, awkward between us. At least it felt that way, given the nature of their emails since I’d arrived. Tone could be hard to decipher, especially when your mother was using absolutely zero punctuation.
“So tell me.” Mom was fiddling with her diamond anniversary watch, something she did when she was anxious. “How is everything going?”
Dad chimed in, “Have you been sightseeing? Are you being safe? Is Daisy keeping an eye on you? I’d hate to have to speak with her father,” he teased.
“Everything is fine, Mr. Bardot!” Daisy chirped from the kitchen. “Did you tell them yet?” she asked, squeezing into the laptop’s frame. “Aren’t you excited!”
“Shhh.” I pushed her away playfully.
“Tell us what?” they asked together, both now leaning too far forward into the screen.
Daisy headed back into the kitchen, while I was left to face the foreheads.
I sighed. I wanted to build up to it. Ease them into the idea that I was contemplating staying here. For a while. The more I thought about what was in Boston, or what wasn’t in Boston, the less thrilled I was to return. Them, I would miss. The rest, well couldn’t I have that here?
Marcello aside, I needed something for me. A tether that kept me grounded. Happy.
Maybe that’d be him, or maybe this was just another flash that would burn hot. Either way, I had an opportunity that I didn’t have before and I didn’t know if I could let it go. If I should let it go.
“Things here are great,” I started. “It’s every bit as beautiful as I’d imagined.”
“Spoken like a true artist,” my father said.
“Funny you should mention that.” I cleared my throat again. “You know that Daisy’s an architect and she’s pretty high up with her firm.”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“Well, I was there visiting today, and a position for someone with my qualifications came up. It’s volunteer, but it’s perfect for me. Right place at the right time, and all that.”
“Working in Rome?” Mom asked, fiddling with her watch again.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“It must feel good, being offered it. We know you’ve been missing that,” Dad said, patting Mom’s hand.
I nodded again, elation ballooning in my chest. “I did a little bit of work for them already while I was here. It was a vase.” That turned out to not be just a vase. “Something else came up, more time consuming. Difficult. Really specialized.”
Then Mom said, “You’re not taking it are you? What would you do? Live there? For how long?”
“Well, I was thinking that I could—”
“I’m all for finding yourself after divorcing, especially after what Daniel did to you. But, sweetie, your home is here. In Boston.”
“Of course it is, Mom. That’s not what I’m saying—”
“I knew this would happen if you went to Rome, I just knew it! What’s next? Traipsing all over the world like Daisy does? What kind of life is that?”
“Actually, Mom, her life is pretty great and—”
“What about meeting someone else? Getting married again someday, hmm? Something less . . . rushed this time. What about starting another”—her voice got weaker—“a family?”
“Whoa, hang on, Mom; I’m not even divorced yet! Getting married again is not even on my radar, and the rest, well the rest . . . I want to work as an artist. I miss the rush of adrenaline I got from finishing a sketch or creating a new piece. Remember how I would float home from class and couldn’t stop smiling? And Dad used to say I was all dreamy? There’s a lot of smiling and floating and dreaming here.”
My parents exchanged a look.
“I need to get Avery Bardot back. I don’t want to just be someone’s wife out of obligation. And if the rest comes, well, then it comes.”
Mom huffed, “What’s wrong with being a wife and a mother?”
She looked hurt, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Damn it.