Page 74 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

And while I was fuming and considering permutations, my cellphone beeped again.Tattinger. As in… champagne? Julian was with Sienna. Drinking champagne. What more proof did I need? How much longer was I going to stay in the dark while my man slept with someone else? Never again!

‘I have to go,’ I blurted and scooped up my bag before Alberto could look up. ‘The wedding’s off!’

‘Erica, why? What’s wrong?’ he called after me, but I was already in first gear.

Of course, Julian being ‘out of town’, there was no way I could confront him. I wanted to tell Renata or Paul –someone– because the weight of it was killing me. After only two years in Italy and three in a relationship with Julian, we were over. He’d cheated on me. How many times had it happened before – once, twice, a million times? No wonder he always found excuses to put off the wedding. Did everyone on earth but me know?

For a very brief moment, I was tempted to get into my car, go over there and catch him in the act. Just so there would be no more doubts. But I chickened out. If it was true, what would I do? What would I say? The first time it happened to me, I was married to Ira, and perhaps back then it made sense. We had had nothing in common except for the kids. It had seemed to me only natural for it to end that way.

But Julian and I? We were made for each other. And I wasn’t so sure I was ready to face something so monumental. I couldn’t bear losing him. So I stayed put and worried in silence, something I was getting amazingly proficient in.

*

That evening, Paul called and he wasn’t happy with me.

‘You’re not serious about calling off the wedding again, are you? Because I had to find out from Alberto that my best friend isn’t getting married any time soon.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you when you got in tonight.’

‘That would have been nice, seeing as I’m yourwedding plannerand all!’

‘I said I was sorry.’

‘Is it like the last time? Is it only postponed? Because in that case, some of the foods Alberto chose will soon be out of season. Not to say your dress out of fashion.’

‘Ha. Ha.’

‘You laugh. Have you checked your calendar lately?’

Was he joking? I lived by those colored squares. Pink, you’ll remember, for my ever-fading wedding day, so distant it was now paling towards an off-white. Blue for the days Julian was away. Green for the kids’ activities. Orange for appointments. Red for business deadlines. Between that and my colored Post-it notes, from the outside, my life looked like a rainbow. But in reality, it was more like a game of Twister, as I had to hit as many different colors as possible and literally bend over backwards. Not a way to live in rural Tuscany.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose. ‘I have to take Maddy to ballet. I’ll call you later, OK?’

‘I’m looking like a fool, Erica. This is the umpteenth time we’ve had to reschedule.’

‘I’m perfectly aware, thank you.’

‘There goes my chance of ever working with him again – or getting into his pants, thank you very much.’

‘Paul, what do you want from me?’

‘Just choose a damn date already.’

Anything to get him off my back. ‘Right. As soon as Julian gets back, I will.’ I could also have mentioned Julian’s little tryst, but if I mentioned it, then it became real. First, the bloody locusts. Then my back, and now a knife in the back? This was all too much, even for me.

‘God, I swear we’ll all be old and gray by the time you guys get a move on.’

‘Thank you very much. I really needed that.’

‘Just trying to motivate you, that’s all.’

‘Bye,’ I snapped and hung up.

A second later, my phone beeped. It was a message from Alberto:

The menu can still be saved, and so can you.

Ha. As if. With Julian booking hotels and buying Tattinger, my dreadful prophecy had fulfilled itself. After barely three years, Julian’s famous Superman syndrome had inevitably reached its end.

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