Page 26 of I Think Olive You

“It’s okay, just… I don’t want the workers to think I’m too cozy with you. I’m still dealing with the fallout of the mess with Umberto.” Her halfhearted shrug tugs at my insides, and the word “cozy” and all it implies settles inside me like molten honey. But I can’t slip into that, so I deflect instead.

“Only in private. Got it.” I nod, knowing I’m pushing my luck.

Giuliana gifts me a chuckle that’s half-sigh but lets my comment slide in favor of explaining the situation with her family.

“Nonna wants me to spend more time with Chiara. I understand, but I have responsibilities here. Chiara is fine when it’s not summer and she’s going to school. The rest of the year she gets to be around others her age but now… it’s isolated out here. I remember from when I was a girl her age. Except I had both my parents. All she has is me and Nonna, and acres of land.”

“How young was Chiara when you both lost your mother?” I hold my breath. It’s a difficult and personal question, but I’ve been wondering. Lorenzo’s death was not a surprise to me, but I have yet to find out about Giuliana’s mother.

“Childbirth. She had complications. They tried for many years, hence the difference in our ages. The doctors warned against it, but my father wanted a son to carry on the farm, so they kept at it until Chiara.”

“Jesus.”

Giuliana nods and her dry humorless chuckle lets me know I’ve said it out loud.

“I know my father loved my mother, and she him. I sometimes wish they loved each other a little less. If he’d cared less, he might have moved onto someone else who would give him the son he craved. If she loved him less, she might have stopped putting herself in danger for the sake of legacy.” Her words are bitter, sharp. I can almost taste their tang in the air.

“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I can say.

“So, yes. There is tension between me and my nonna. She wants the best for the both of us and she won’t be around forever. It’s all to make sure Chiara and I have each other for when that happens.”

“It still doesn’t mean she should give you crap for it almost every day. What are you supposed to do while you're putting a roof over everyone’s heads?”

A tiny voice in my heart pipes up that my father had been doing the same and I resented him for it.

“Nonna believes in ‘destino’ and claims no matter how hard I work, if it isn’t meant to be it will crash down regardless. She says it's better to surrender to life as it comes and take time with those most important to me. Nonna says a lot of things.”

Giuliana blushes for some reason and starts walking away, as if this conversation is over.

My hand shoots out, grabbing hers and stilling her.

“Your work counts. I see it and the workers see it. Don’t let her convince you otherwise. You can’t be everything to everyone. Sometimes it takes sacrifice.”

Nice words, asshole. What do you even know of sacrifice?

Giuliana looks down at where our hands are clasped together, the contact lasting a little too long and I feel a frisson of energy shoot up my arm. Her skin is soft and warm, familiar. Unbidden images of the feel of it spring to mind and I drop her arm like it’s burned me.

“I’m sorry. I’m overstepping.”

“No, I appreciate it. I don’t have too many friends anymore. After school most moved away, and the few who stayed near town got very tired of me canceling plans to work or take care of my sick father. The person I thought would understand turned out to be a huge mistake. So, it’s nice having someone outside of my family to talk to. I’m sorry we got off to such an awkward start.”

My mind wanders to our night in Gravina, our bodies entwined and it’s a double-edged sword of desire and pain. I wouldn’t call it awkward. Not at all. Though I’m not sure what name to give it. One-night-stand sounds cheap, incorrect somehow. There are too many muddled feelings involved for it to be so simple.

“I’m sorry about your father. I’m sure the two of you were close.” Unlike me and my progenitor.

“In some ways, but we had a difficult relationship. When Mama died a lot changed in him. He lied about being sick and avoided going to the doctor for a long time which might have made a difference—lies that only hurt in the long run. But he needed me and by the end we had made peace.” Her eyes are a little glossy and she clears her throat of the building emotion there.

“Anyway, I think we better get back to the task at hand. I have to meet with the mill owner next week to check in and set our harvest date. He will be able to explain the process to you, but first I’d better explain some terminology since his English is limited.” She walks ahead, gesturing for me to follow.

“The fruit still has a few weeks of growth left. By the time we harvest, the branches will hang heavy with some overripe fruit dropping to the ground and getting in the way underfoot. But those olives are just as important. As they decay back into the ground, they feed some of the little animals, keeping the ecosystem of the grove balanced, and enriching the soil more.”

I reach out for one of the olives, the outside firm and smooth to the touch. It kind of blows my mind how something this small creates a multi-billion-dollar industry.

“We have a big showing for the first day of harvest, and then a party to celebrate after. There’s still more to do after but the bulk of it happens on that first day. Once we’ve gathered up all the product, we try to get it to the mill as soon as possible. You’ll learn more about what happens after the harvest once we get there. It’s kind of an involved process and it will be easier to explain if I can show you.”

I follow behind her, our shoes leaving footprints in the dusty earth, and seeing it makes my stomach flip—closeness, even this slight.

The sun catches on her hair, ponytail swishing with her decisive steps as she walks ahead of me. Giuliana pauses to talk to the workers as we go. Every few rows she bends down to inspect the ground, rapid Italian to the workers followed by a brief explanation to me once the conversation is over.

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