Page 50 of Better Than Gelato
“Just buy some new ones,” Carmen says.
“This is a Swiss resort town. I don’t think pants cost the same here as they do at the Sant’Ambrogio market.”
“So have Jake buy some for you,” Carmen says. “He’s loaded.” She’s changing out of her sweater and laying it out to dry.
“He’s not loaded,” I say reflexively.
“Okay, his family is, same thing.” She says it like everyone knows this.
I look at Valentina for a second, but I’m not quite sure what to ask.
Carmen slips a dry sweater over her head and then looks at me curiously. “You didn’t know he was rich?”
“I never thought about it. He doesn’t seem…”
Now Carmen is smirking at me. “What, because he doesn’t dress like Paolo? And he always needs a haircut? Both of his parents aredoctors. And his house is gigantic.”
My face heats.How could I have been so oblivious?
“When did you see pictures of Jake’s house?” I ask.
It comes out more accusatory than I meant, and Carmen does not respond well. Her hands go to her hips, and her eyes narrow.
“I saw pictures of his house when we were all sharing photos of our homes,” she says defiantly. “It was before you got here. And if I know more about him than you, it’s because I’m paying attention.”
I need to leave this room.
For a moment, I try to think of some polite excuse, but when I can’t, I simply open the door and walk out. I head down to the first floor and find a tiny library tucked into a hallway near the lobby.
I’d just assumed that Jake’s family was like mine.Only why would they be when my parents run a dry cleaner, and his parents are both doctors?
I plunk into a big red armchair and replay conversations I’ve had with Jake. Talking about going camping as a family, because we were too broke to go on a real vacation. Worrying about how I’ll pay off my student loans when I get back. How stupid I must have sounded. I’m scuffing my shoe on the carpet and feeling like a moron when there’s a knock on the door frame.
“Come on in,” I mumble.
Jake sits in the chair next to mine. “Cool library.”
“Yeah.” A thought pops into my head. “Do you have a library in your house?”
“A small one, yeah. It’s filled with my parents' books from med school. Why?”
“Are you super rich?” I ask bluntly.
He gives me a weird look. “We do okay.”
I suck in a breath. “You’re so rich you have to downplay how rich you are.”
Jake holds his hands out and raises his shoulders in the universal gesture for, ‘I’m not sure what to tell you.’
My shoulders slump. I don’t know what I want from him.
“You seem surprised,” Jake says, taking my hand. “And upset. Is it a big deal if my family has money?”
“I just feel weird around you now.” I fiddle with the trim on the arm of my chair. “All my stressing about paying off student loans, I thought it was something you would get. But you don’t.”
I take a deep breath and look at him. “And there’s probably a bunch of stuff I don’t get about you. Does your family own a yacht? Do you have a personal chef? Do you swim in a pool filled with caviar?”
“We don’t own a yacht,” Jake says. “We had a housekeeper who cooked dinner a couple times a week because my parents worked crazy hours. I have never once swam in a pool filled with caviar. We fill ours with champagne. Better for swimming.”
