Page 49 of Better Than Gelato
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
Jake smiles. “I’m counting on the fact that I look too pathetic for you to poke right now. What’s so terrible about following your dreams and becoming a photographer?”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” I say.
“Yeah, and I didn’t get it then either.”
“Have I told you about my grandpa?” I ask. Jake’s eyebrows knit together at the abrupt change in topic.
“I don’t believe you have,” he says.
“My grandpa was a painter. He pursued his dream of painting even when it didn’t pay the bills.” I look around Jake’s room. At his desk, at a poster on the wall, anywhere but him. “My dad grew up with nothing. He’s the oldest of seven, and he got a job at fourteen to support the family. All while my grandpa painted.” I try to say it lightly, but it doesn’t quite work.
“That must have been hard for your dad,” Jake offers. His voice is full of sympathy.
“It was. So, when he became a dad, he worked eighty hours a week to make sure we always had food on the table. We barely saw him when we were kids. And somehow we were still poor.”
I smile to show that I’m over it, and it’s not a big deal.
I clear my throat. “Anyway. I think sometimes you need to be realistic about your dreams. There are other people to think of. My dad’s already been hurt by one dream chaser. I can’t do that to him again.”
I don’t wait for Jake to respond.
“Can I get you some more meds?” I ask.
Jake looks at me like he wants to say more, then shakes his head and says, “Sure, the meds are on my dresser. I don’t think they make much difference, to be honest.”
I bring him the bottle and his water. Within minutes, his eyelids start drooping and his voice gets floaty.
“Thank you for taking such good care of me. I feel like I’m a hundred years old.”
“I’m so sorry you feel so bad. I’m going to let you get some rest.”
His eyes fly open. “No, I don’t need rest! Stay.”
“Okay, I’ll stay,” I say. His eyelids flutter back closed.
“Good. Stay forever.”
I smile but say nothing. When his breathing has gotten nice and even, I collect my things and let myself out. I zip up my coat, put in my headphones, and start the long walk home.
ChapterTwelve
Today is an obscure Italian holiday and the whole gang is going to Switzerland for the weekend. Switzerland! Paolo managed to book us two rooms at a bed and breakfast at the base of the Alps. The rates are super cheap. He says it’s because we’re sleeping three to a room, but I suspect it’s because it’s a mafia safe house.
We arrive to a world of white. I’ve never seen so much snow in my life. I didn’t even know that much snow could exist in one place. Paolo shivers and mutters something about missing Sicily.
We drop off our bags at the lodge and go exploring. Pine branches bow under the weight of the snow and all the shops look like they’re made of gingerbread. It’s idyllic, but this California girl starts losing feeling in her toes quickly. I’m relieved when we head back to the lodge.
A snowball fight breaks out just as we near the entrance, and after narrowly avoiding a snowball to the face, I zip up to the girl’s room to grab my camera, then settle onto the front porch to record the battle. Jake and Diego are crouched behind a wheelbarrow filled with snow. Diego lands a snowball in the center of Paolo’s back and then drops down before Paolo can see him. Carmen is darting behind trees getting close to Jake and Diego, but they haven’t seen her yet.
I snap and snap and snap. I’ve been watching tutorials on action shots, and I think I’ve gotten better. It’s hard to zoom in when everyone is moving so fast, but I love capturing their expressions best of all. Carmen is steps away from Jake and Diego’s position, and I focus on Diego’s face and wait. I know Carmen will go for him first.
Sure enough, just as he’s about to launch a shot at Valentina, he takes a snowball to the back of the neck at close range. His mouth drops open in surprise, and his eyes squinch shut in cold, and I capture it perfectly. I swivel to capture Carmen’s triumphant face. Her hair is in disarray, and she’s laughing.
Eventually we head to our rooms, wet and cold and promising vengeance.
“We’ve been here three hours, and I’ve gone through all my clothes for the weekend,” I tell Valentina and Carmen as I lay my wet socks on the radiator.
