Page 70 of Better Than Gelato
Paolo looks at me and says, “Excuse me,bella donna, your bag has landed on my foot.”
I can barely see the floor, but I make out a pink and gold blouse spilling over Paolo’s shoe. I start giggling.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say with feigned horror. “Let me get that.”
I dramatically drop all the bags I’m carrying and bend over to retrieve the bag on his foot. My jostling must have upended the pomegranate box because I feel two slip out and land on my back before rolling to the floor. I’m giggling so hard I’m hiccupping now.
“Madam, are you well?” Paolo asks in a polished tone, but I can tell he’s moments away from losing it.
“Oh yes, quite well,” I say. “Just collecting my things.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to be of assistance,” Paolo says, “please keep it to yourself.”
I give him the grade school hit to the back of the knees, and it sends him crumbling to the elevator floor with his pile of boxes and bags.
“Oh, you’ve come to help!” I say between hiccups. “How kind of you!”
“Yes, I’m very kind,” Paolo says. “Everyone who knows me talks of Paolo’s kindness.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open to find us in a heap on the floor. For some reason, the ding makes me laugh even harder. “Ding!” I repeat. “Ding!”
“Dolcetta, did you have some birthday drinks?” Paolo asks suspiciously.
That makes me laugh some more. “No, I don’t drink,” I say.
“Yes, I’d heard that,” Paolo says. “And yet what am I to make of the hiccupping girl on the floor of the elevator?”
“You’re on the floor too,” I point out.
“That’s true. Let’s get ourselves sorted.” The doors to the elevator have started to close.
Paolo scrambles over a box and punches the open-door button just in time. We manage to collect our things and get them back where they go. I crawl out and give Paolo a hand up.
“We did it!” I yell and throw my hands up victoriously. The bags swing wildly, and Paolo has to duck to avoid getting hit in the face.
“We made it from the car to the apartment,” he says. “It’s quite the achievement.”
“It’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“Yes, I think we have a gift for making the simplest things a challenge. Would you like some help carrying your things to your room?”
“Yes. But we must be quiet like ninjas. Can you be quiet like a ninja, Paolo?”
“I am stealth personified,” he says.
I open the door and scoop up my bags and then motion for Paolo to follow me as I tiptoe down the hall to my bedroom. He carefully unloads his packages onto a chair in the corner and then we tiptoe back down the hall to the front door.
“Thank you for everything,” I whisper.
“Happy birthday,” he whispers back.
I snuggle into bed and let all the wonderful things about my life fill my mind and lull me off to sleep.
ChapterSixteen
The train platform at Stazione Centrale smells like urine and cigarettes, and an overweight Italian man is telling me things I pretend not to understand. I’ve watched three airport shuttles come and go and my mom still hasn’t arrived. I’m so amped with excitement that when she finally steps off the train, I nearly trample a group of tourists to get to her.
“You made it!” I say, throwing my arms around her.
