Page 112 of Better Than Gelato
My parents sold the business, and I got into the photography program.
I fell in love, for crying out loud!
I made friends I will have for the rest of my life.
I tamed a velociraptor child. Or at least befriended one.
I traveled to Florence, Switzerland, Rome, and Greece.
My head lists all these things, but my heart is crying too loud to listen.
As soon as I get off the plane, I find a bathroom and wash my tearstained face. I do my hair and put on makeup until I look like a human being again.
My parents see me before I see them, and I hear my dad yell, “There she is!”
I spot Maggie running toward me and when her hug lands, I’m nearly knocked off my feet. We hug and laugh and talk over each other.
“You’re back!”
“Mags!”
“You look so Italian!”
“I missed you so much!”
My parents make it over to us, and Maggie lets go so my dad can give me a hug. His eyes are teary, and he doesn’t speak.This is where I got my crying from. My mom squeezes in for a hug and there are no tears in her eyes, only happiness.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she says. “Was it hard to leave?”
“Incredibly hard,” I admit. “Right until this moment.”
“Well, good job getting on that plane,” she says. “I’m glad you did.”
“And great job getting into your photography program,” my dad says. “I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I haven’t told them the whole story yet, about getting rejected and then fighting to get in. But there’s time for that later.
We go to dinner at the Olive Garden, which was my dad’s idea. It was a terrible idea. The pasta is obnoxiously overcooked, and the server corrects my pronunciation of bruschetta.
The ride home is filled with storytelling and laughter and inside jokes and new jokes. My dad drops Maggie off at her house and then we pull into our driveway a few streets over. Our house feels smaller than I remember.
My parents follow me to my room, each dragging a suitcase. My dad reaches around me and switches on the light. My bed is all made up and on the walls are vintage posters of Rome, Florence, and Athens.
“Ta-da!” my dad says. “We thought you’d feel right at home.”
“They’re amazing!” I say.
“We’re so glad you’re home,” my mom says.
My dad doesn’t say anything. He’s gone teary again.
* * *
I wake up before the sun rises the next morning, and I can’t go back to sleep. I take a long shower. I give my heart a mental poke to see how it’s feeling, and it’s better than I expected. Yesterday’s sadness of leaving mixes with today’s happiness of being home.
I send Jake a selfie of me in front of the poster of Florence.
