Page 7 of Capri

But this food better be good.

Around us, families shuffle in and out of the vendor tents with reusable bags of goods and what look like fun collectibles. Little girls pull their loved ones to jewelry tables with necklaces and bracelets made from seashells. Runners sprint along the cobblestone path in the market center, not letting the unsteadiness of the architecture ruin their stride.

I hear soft tunes of an acoustic guitar strumming in the background.

The easiness makes the recent strife in my life fade away. Like I’m transported to another moment, another season in time.

Just for a little while.

“Oh, pizza!” Collie shouts. “Sound good to you?”

I laugh. “I’m good with whatever.”

Collie leads us to the quaint pizzeria with copious amounts of outdoor seating and waiters circling tables with olive oil and fresh Italian bread.

My mouth waters at the smells.

“I love Italy,” Collie mumbles, rushing toward the entrance door. I take a moment to appreciate my older sister. We’re only six years apart and you’d never know. Collie is the life of the party, the one everyone loves to be around. The one who, growing up, all the guys my age wanted to be with. That hasn’t changed for her at thirty-two. She’s still just as beautiful with her short, bright blonde hair and petite frame. She’s a single fitness instructor who’s never known a stranger and loves to take risks.

I’m the opposite.

I’ve been married, dated the same guy in high school, and I’m a teacher. I eat the same breakfast every morning and drink my tea with a splash of cream and two teaspoons of sugar. I like to know what comes next. In some ways, I understand it can be extreme to have such a strict regime, but I don’t know how to be anything else.

I’m type A.

That’s why saying ‘fuck the itinerary’ took a lot of strength for me to do. I know Collie needs this week of refreshment just as much as I do.

Call us the Traveling Sisters. A.K.A.—avoiding real life problems.

The waiter greets us and leads us to a table outside on the perimeter of the village. The metal bistro tables are decorated with fresh flowers and linens, while the strumming of the guitar I heard before sounds off behind us.

“Two limoncellos, please,” Collie tells the waiter, ordering for us.

“Look at you taking the lead,” I tease her. “We gettin’ drunk today?” I joke, sending her a smirk.

She smiles wide. “If it gets you to loosen up, then yes,” Collie says with confidence. “But look at you letting me lead. Isn’t letting someone else handle things for you fun?”

“Uh, not really,” I admit. “Besides, I’m plenty loose.” I shimmy my shoulders to prove it.

“Your excitement has me truly thrilled,” she jokes.

Time to switch gears. “Drew called me on the plane ride over,” I tell Collie, my tone stale.

“Please tell me you ignored him,” she murmurs, rolling her eyes.

Collie hates Drew almost as much as I do. I can tell she wants to say more when his name is brought up, but chooses to stay silent.

I appreciate that since I have no interest in trashing him. He ruined his reputation all on his own. Voicing it myself is just a waste of words.

Although he’s my least favorite human on this planet, I refuse to be the poor victim hurt by his schemes. So, I play the part. I act like I don’t give a shit who he sticks his dick in and focus on being the happy woman I’m choosing to be.

He doesn’t need to know I sit in my apartment alone at night with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, wishing I could erase time—erase all the wasted years I spent defending him.

It’s easy to misconstrue my loneliness as heartbreak.

I’m not heartbroken—not even in the slightest.

“You actually answered? Capri, you guys have been divorced for two weeks, andnowhe wants to call you?”

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