Page 128 of Better Than Gelato
Confused silence.
“Because I’m crushing them,” I clarify.
“Well, that's wonderful. I’m so proud of you. Not just for your classes, but for everything. You’ve done a great job getting through a hard time.”
I make a snorting sound. “There are people battling cancer. I don’t need an award for getting through a breakup. How’s Dad’s fishing?”
“It’s coming along.” She’s using her diplomatic voice. “Dr. Bartlett is very patient.”
We’ve lived on this lake my whole life, and my dad’s never had an interest in fishing. He has no idea what he’s doing or what any of the gear is, but he’s decided it's his new hobby.
“Well, give him my love,” I say. “And let me know when he catches his first fish.”
I decide to get him one of those ugly fishing hats for Christmas. Picturing him wearing it makes me smile all the way home.
* * *
Thursday afternoon I set out to explore the campus with my camera. Not for an assignment, just for me. I used to wander around Milan, taking pictures of every cool thing I saw, and it feels like ages since I’ve taken pictures for fun. I photograph the green open space, the tree-lined walkways, the buildings with slivers of ocean behind them. I imagine I’m sending all these photos to the gang in Milan to show them my school. What would I want them to see?
After I’ve taken a dozen or so, I think maybe I should send them some photos. And some American sweets as an apology for blowing them off when they were just being kind.
I sprawl on the grass and go back through my shots. They need some edits, but I got some good stuff. I stretch out and let my eyes close for a minute. I listen to the sounds of students chattering and seagulls squawking. I listen to the even sound of my own breath.
When I open my eyes, there’s a heart-shaped cloud floating directly above me. Not it-kind-of-looks-like-a-heart-if-you-squint-the-right-way, but a distinctly heart-shaped cloud. I grab my camera. I have no idea what setting to use so the first few I snap are out of focus. But this heart cloud is patient. It doesn’t move on to other parts of the sky. It gives me some time to fiddle and experiment until I’m able to capture it just the way I want it.
That night, I meet Maggie’s Ben. He’s funny and cute, and it’s obvious he’s falling fast for my best friend. This is about the time I start feeling sorry for Maggie’s boys. They usually end up brokenhearted. But the way Maggie looks at Ben makes me think he might have a chance.
I cook a bell pepper risotto for dinner. It takes a long time, risottos do, but it’s therapeutic, almost meditative, stirring the rice, adding the broth, stirring the rice. There’s enough to share, and we have a tiny dinner party.
A few days later, Petey brings me a small heart-shaped rock she found.
“It reminded me of those cloud pictures you showed me,” she says.
I hold it in my hand. It’s dark and smooth and heavier than it looks.
“Thanks, Petey,” I say, and slip it into my pocket.
Saturday morning I do laundry and find the rock at the bottom of the dryer. The spin cycle cracked it, and it looks like a tiny broken heart. As I stare at it, something clicks in my brain.
I hop online and do some research. I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for, but I’m hoping I’ll know it when I see it.
What I find is a flower,Dicentra spectabilis, more commonly known as bleeding heart.
“Hey roomies,” I holler. “Who wants to take a trip to a botanical garden?”
* * *
I turn in my photo series in the morning and spend the afternoon at Jamba Juice second-guessing my editing choices.Did the cloud photo need a sharper contrast? But it’s a cloud, it shouldn’t look sharp.I’m concentrating so hard I don’t notice that Orange Dreamy Dream has walked in until he starts talking to me.
“Hey,” he says.
I jump.
“Hey,” I say back, pretending I wasn’t startled. How is it 3:30 already?
I’m already ringing up his order when he says, “I thought I might try something different today. Do you have any recommendations?”
Oh. That’s unexpected.
