Page 100 of Better Than Gelato
“Speaking of exes,” Naomi says looking at Jake. “I bumped into Gwen the other day. She sends her love.”
My senses go on high alert. I want to ask some benign questions about Gwen, something totally casual and subtle, like on a scale of one to ten, how beautiful is she? Then Paolo pops into my head. I fake a yawn, which turns into a real yawn because I’m suddenly pretty tired.
“How’s her family doing?” Jake asks politely, and Naomi launches into how marvelous Gwen’s family is.
Jake gets up to use the restroom, and Naomi leans across the table toward me.
“So, are things between you and Jake pretty serious?” Her tone is friendly, like we’re co-conspirators, but I know it’s a trap. I do my best to answer without answering.
When Jake comes back Naomi launches into her “brilliant” idea of starting a cosmetics line for pets. She has pictures, which I’m hoping she photoshopped, of a Pomeranian wearing a Taylor Swift shade of red lipstick.
It’s only 9:00 p.m., but I’d rather rip my own ears off than listen to Naomi any longer. The next time the waiter walks by, I give him my desperate eyes, and he gets the message and brings the check.
Jake hands over his credit card, and Naomi smiles at me and says, “It’s nice to have someone who pays for everything, right?”
“Um…” I don’t know how I planned on finishing that sentence, but Jake saves me the trouble.
“It’s nice to have someone like Juliet who always thanks me for treating,” he says to Naomi. “You’re welcome for your dinner, by the way.” He gestures to Naomi’s plate. She didn’t take more than two bites.
“Thank you Jakey,” she says in a sugary voice that makes me want to vomit.
Before anyone can suggest dessert, I stand and grab my purse. “I’m feeling pretty beat, I’m going to call it a night. Naomi, it was nice to meet you. Jake, thank you for the lovely dinner.”
“It looks like this week is still up in the air,” Jake says. “But we'll come up with a plan tonight, and I’ll text you the details.”
We both assumed I would go traveling with him and Naomi this week, but now I’m wondering if we can un-assume that.
“Sounds good,” I say to Jake, giving him a quick kiss. “Good night, Naomi.”
“Buh-bye,” she says, not taking her eyes off her phone.
I head toward the door, but I’m still within earshot when Naomi says, “Gwen was way prettier.”
I don’t know how one person, in less than an hour, can make me feel insecure about my job, my looks, and my relationship. By the time I get home, all I want to do is crawl into bed.
* * *
I wake up late the next morning and see a text from Jake.
I’m taking Naomi shopping this morning. Want to come?
He sent it two hours ago. I text him back.
Just woke up. I’ll meet you downtown after my lunch with Paolo.
I mentally high five myself for dodging a horrendous shopping experience with Naomi, then hop in the shower and brainstorm other ways to get out of spending time with her this week. Can I convince Jake that the Rossis came back and demanded I take care of Isa?
Paolo chose the restaurant this week and got us a table on the balcony with a view of il Duomo.
“How was the enemy combatant?” he asks as soon as I sit. “Did you follow my training?”
“She wasn’t that bad,” I say, trying to be diplomatic. “I think she might have been jet lagged.”
He makes me recount the whole evening in excruciating detail and then draws his own conclusion.
“She’s a terrible human being.”
“There may be some evidence to support that theory,” I say. I take another bite of my soup. Soup is the best. Then I ask the question that’s been rattling in my brain all night.
