Page 103 of Better Than Gelato
Many hours later, there’s a knock on the door. I’m sweaty and for some reason, I’m sleeping on the living room couch instead of my bed. I stumble my way to the door and manage to open it on the second try. It’s Paolo and Valentina.
“Hello!” I croak.Whoa. My voice does not sound good.
“Oh, Julieta!” Valentina says. I can tell from her face I look dreadful.
“Come in,” I say. My voice sounds better the second time.
“We brought dinner,” Paolo says. I look at the clock on the wall, and I’m surprised it’s 6:30 p.m.
“How are you feeling?” Valentina asks.
“Better than yesterday. Paolo helped me get home and into bed.”
“He told me,” Valentina says.
“He also turned down Jake’s sister who was putting the moves on him,” I add.
“Hmm, he didn’t tell me about that,” Valentina turns to look at Paolo.
“He said he had a girlfriend, but she still said he should buy her dinner. And Paolo said, ‘No thank you.’”
“You remember all of that, but you don’t remember how to take off your boot?” Paolo mutters under his breath.
They stay for the next hour and hearing about Valentina’s experience with Paolo’s family makes me feel a bit better about Naomi.
“Thank you,” I tell them as they go, “for the soup and the visit.”
“Di niente,” Paolo says. “If a best friend can’t bring you dinner when you’re sick and your boyfriend has gone off with his horrible sister, what are we even here for?”
* * *
I spend the next week resting so much, my body is forced to get better. Jake and Naomi get home this afternoon, and we’re meeting up for dinner tonight.
Maybe it's what I overheard Naomi say to Jake about Gwen being prettier than me. Or maybe it’s the fact that the last time they saw me, I looked a total mess. But I want to look stupendous for dinner tonight. I take a shower and wash my hair. I follow a makeup tutorial on YouTube. I wear one of the outfits Isa always chose for me: loose turquoise blouse, black fitted pants, ankle boots.
This time, I make it to the restaurant before them and stand outside the door to wait. And because the universe loves me, or because I’m a blonde woman in Italy, I’m being offered a ride on a Vespa by an attractive man named Giuseppe when Jake and Naomi arrive.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I say. “But my boyfriend’s here, and we’re going out to dinner.”
Giuseppe gives Jake a head nod and then rides off.
I turn and smile at Jake and Naomi. I don’t say anything about Giuseppe to make the point that this kind of thing happens so often, it’s not even worth mentioning.
“Welcome back!” I say. “How were your travels?”
I miss Naomi’s reply because Jake has scooped me up and is whispering in my ear, “I missed you so much. I love you. You look gorgeous tonight.” We hug for a long time.
We go inside the restaurant and dinner goes a lot better than last time. Not because Naomi’s less obnoxious—she’s somehow worse—but it doesn’t bother me the same way.
She complains about how crowded the plane was, how much walking there was, and how terrible the food in Malta was. Out of nowhere she asks me, “Is your dad a lawyer?”
“Nope. Runs a dry-cleaning shop.”
I enjoy the appalled look on her face. I could have said he’s retired, but her question was obviously trying to make a point, and so was my answer. I give her a look that says, ‘Your watch may cost more than my car, but you’re not better than me.’ At least I try to. It’s not easy to get all that in a look.
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Jake says for the third time as we leave the restaurant.
“Me too,” I say. “I’m just glad it happened now and not next week.”
