Page 87 of My Big Fat Italian Break-Up

‘Never mind Julian,’ she dismissed with a wave of her petite hand. ‘Did you tell your very best friend, Paul, that you and Alberto kissed? Because I wouldn’t. He’d be devastated. He’s head over heels in love with him.’

‘Alberto kissedme,’ I corrected her. Just as Paul sauntered into the bedroom like it was Florence Central Station or something.

‘What did you just say?’ he whispered, his face paling. ‘You…? Alberto?’

Oh, God. Was this a nightmare I’d never wake up from? I stood up. ‘Paul—’

‘I can’t believe you’ddosuch a thing to me,’ he whispered. ‘YouknewI loved him.’

‘Paul, no – you’ve got it all wrong.’

‘This is the worst thing you could ever do to me, Erica! Ever!’

I was shaking my head. ‘No, Paul, you’ve got to listen to me. There is absolutely nothing between us.’ Are you having a sense of déjà vu, as well?

‘Did he kiss you or not?’ he demanded.

I swallowed. ‘He did. But only because I was sad.’ That didn’t convince even me.

He snorted. ‘Oh, you poor, sad, unlucky Erica! With the perfect life, the perfect kids and the perfect husband. Oh, I feel so sorry for you.’

‘Stop it,’ I pleaded. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not my fault if Alberto isn’t gay. And in any case, I’m not interested. I have my own problems. Julian’s left me for good.’

And with that, I got to my feet again and left both Renata and Paul in my room.

Just when I needed them most and they were both on my case. But at least Paul should have believed me. How could he even think that I could want anyone besides Julian? Come to think of it, how could Julian himself believe I’d want anyone else? Didn’t he love me enough to doubt that he may have got it wrong for once? Why were he and Paul so ready to believe the worst about me?

Where had I gone wrong? I’d been their rock for years – Paul’s especially. Every time they’d needed me, I was there – through thick and thin: hospitalizations, bouts of insecurity and depression. You name it, I was always the first number on their mental Rolodex and Contact Number One on speed dial. I’d always drop everything to be there for them both – to cheer them on, whether with a tiramisu or some good solid advice, when they thought they were kaput. And now they didn’t believe me?

This whole bucolic Italy thing was beginning to weigh too heavily on my heart. Nothing – absolutelyniente– was going as I’d hoped.

If I hadn’t left Boston with Julian, maybe none of this would have happened. I certainly wouldn’t have had the money to buy a farmhouse – and, consequently, not even thedrivenor the strength to move to Tuscany, open a B & B and try to live the genuine good life. Maybe he’d still be there working as a principal, catering to some other troubled mother while sporting a pristine suit and a crisp white shirt, not the tatty old jeans that stayed clean for two minutes flat out here in the fields.

The good life. Where had it gone? I’d wanted to improve my family’s life, but instead I’d only managed to pull us all into a pit of despair. The kids missed me. And they were right. I’d let my A Taste of Tuscany take over my mind. As if financial success was the only way of proving myself worthy of Julian’s love and trust. Well, I’d blown it completely. Now, nothing was left of my relationship with Julian. What else mattered? My big fat Italian life was over. Now, it was the beginning of my big fat Italian break-up.

And now, I gulped down my cappuccino and reached for my third homemade cupcake. Who cared if I gained 15 kilos now? I’d lost the love of my life and my best friend, what else did I have to lose? Julian didn’t love me anymore and there was no way in hell I’d be looking for anyone else to take his place. So it wouldn’t matter if I gained 30 or even100kilos. I’d eat my way into oblivion until I was so fat I couldn’t fit through the door. And then I’d be stuck in the house – in this kitchen, actually – right next to the refrigerator, where I belonged. They’d have to come and knock the wall down to get me to the hospital for an emergency heart op. Because my heart was breaking for good.

But if you knew me at all, I was never one to dwell and feel sorry for myself (well, once I’d eaten all the chocolate cake) for too long. After the drama spell, I’d always bring the drapes down and pick myself up.

Paul had packed his bags in a huff and left without saying goodbye. He was probably going to be staying with one of his many friends in Florence. He needed to fester for a bit, if I knew him at all. Insisting he stayed wouldn’t have done any good. But with two of the three most important men in my life gone, I was completely lost.

‘Erica, where’s Julian?’

I jumped and turned to see Sienna sticking a leg out of a taxi as it pulled up on our drive.

‘I’ve been calling him, but he’s not answering.’

I looked up. God, she came and went, came and went, I’d lost complete track of her. Complete track of everything, actually. My life was spiraling out of control, spinning out into the infinite universe, never to be found again…

I rubbed my face in exhaustion. ‘I’m not sure at the moment. He went for a drive.’ Probably to Tokyo.

I wanted to take it out on her, tell her this was her fault too, but who was I kidding? This was all my own doing – my insecurity had caused this. If I’d been self-confident, I would have understood that Julian’s business trips were to compensate for our lack of income and that he was doing it not only for his personal success as a writer, but also for us as a family. And I wouldn’t have vented to Alberto. Any pea-brained woman would have understood, but me? No sirree.

She huffed, running a slim hand through her glorious mane. ‘Bloody hell. I just got here and I have to fly back home for an emergency. Can I bum a shower off you?’

‘Of course. Come on in. Are you hungry? I’ve got some roast pork with some rosemary baked potatoes and a nice niçoise salad.’

She swung her other leg out and hefted her wheelie suitcase. ‘You’re an absolute doll, Erica, thank you! I always said Julian was the damned luckiest sod on earth for having you.’

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