Page 126 of Italy Can Bite Me

She perches on my bed, her bangles clinking. “Now darling, you really must understand why I gave away my walking tour spot to your dinosaur-obsessed ex.”

I emerge from my pillow fortress, my messy bun channeling Medusa’s worst hair day. “Fine. Why did you do it?”

Her perfectly lined eyes soften. “I’ve known you since you were categorizing your baby blocks like a tiny CEO in training. Your brain’s always been a powerhouse of problem-solving, but I could tell you needed more time.”

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good that did. Jared found out anyway, and Matteo still left.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Give up? Accept defeat? Start a cat sanctuary?”

She laughs so loud they can hear it in the tunnels under the Colosseum. “Oh darling, that’s the biggest load of bull I’ve heard since your mother argued that sensible shoes were sexy. You’ve never given up on anything you truly wanted. It’s the thing about you I admire most. Took me decades to become that kind of woman—but you, my dear, were born ready to chase your dreams and make them real.”

“Wow… thank you,” I say, caught between surprise and pride. Then a question that’s been nagging at me bursts out. “Why did you turn down Howie’s proposal? Was it because you don’t love him?”

“No, it’s because Idolove him.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Has your mother ever told you about the time I almost got married when I was young?”

“Mom pretty much sticks to the message ‘Aunt Deb, the Cautionary Tale of Braless Spinsterhood.’”

“Ha! Well, your rigid grandparents wrote that particular script.” A hint of melancholy flickers across her face, at odds with her luminous demeanor. “His name was Roger. We met at Berkeley—he was dynamic, passionate—leading protests against the Vietnam War. The type of man who could start a revolution with just his smile. Which he did—in my pants.”

“Aunt Deb!”

“Oh please, as if you and your Italian Stallion weren’t testing the structural integrity of every surface in Italy.” She smooths her dress, but I catch the slight shake in her hands. “Anyway, it was theMake Love, Not Warera, darling, and let me tell you—we took that slogan as a personal challenge. I learned positions that madeThe Kama Sutralook like a children’s book.”

She waves away my scandalized expression.

“We got engaged—had it all planned—a Golden Gate Park wedding filled with love, flowers, and just the right amount of rebellion to keep it interesting. But then your grandparents…” She hesitates, her features tightening. “Religious, old-fashioned, and about as flexible as a brick wall. They saw my young groom as a threat to everything they stood for. They made it clear: break up with the radical or lose my family.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It was the sixties, Katie-kins. If you married the wrong person, or God forbid, didn’t marry at all, people assumed you were defective or in a cult.”

She dips her hand into her purse, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and reveals a worn-out set of dog tags. The same ones I saw during my Great Condom Heist at the nude beach.

“I was young and scared, so I chose my family,” she says softly, as if reliving every moment. “Then he got drafted and I knew—God, I knew—I’d screwed up.” She pauses, swallowing hard. “I wrote to him, begged him to believe I was sorry, that I’d been wrong. Told him I’d drop everything and everyone so we could build a life together, far away from anyone who disapproved.”

“What did he say?”

“I’ll never know. The letter came back markedDeceased.” She grips the tags as though they’re the only thing keeping her from unraveling. “He died believing I chose fear over him. That I wasn’t strong enough to risk it all for us.”

Tears—ones I thought I’d exhausted—form again.

“I see the same fear in Matteo,” she adds softly. “That terror of losing what you love. But sweetie, sometimes the biggest risk is not taking one at all.”

“He’s made it pretty clear he wants nothing to do with me. His company’s bankrupt and he’s…” I choke back a wave of emotion. “He’s broken.”

“Oh, you young people and your dramatic self-sabotage! You think love ever happens in the right conditions? It’s about weathering the storms together. Preferably naked.”

“Of course you make it about sex.”

“What? Sex is an excellent cardio and emotional workout.” She takes her hands in mine. “Now answer me this—does your heart sing for him? Do you want to spend every moment with him?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “And yes.”

---