Page 33 of Prosecco with My Professor
I have a lot fewer questions after I spot her in the cafe sitting at an outside table. She’s not alone—my ex-husband is here, and that provides a lot of answers. I’m guessing this was Bruce’s idea, and he paid for the ticket, and Hattie is surprising me because even though I can be a bit of a pushover when it comes to my middle child, I would have put my foot down and said no to Bruce coming here.
I give Hattie a warm hug and revel in that for a moment—it’s been almost four months since I’ve seen her. She seems to feel the same way, and we don’t pull apart for so long that Bruce clears his throat.
Reluctantly letting go of her, I turn to Bruce. Maybe it’s the residual effect of having been around my friends, a bunch of strong, confident women, over the past few months, but I straighten up to my full height so that I look slightly down at my ex. “Bruce,” I say, “what are you doing here?”
“Emma, it’s good to see you.” He opens his arm for a hug, and I hide an eye roll and quickly return it. We’re still trying to find a new normal, especially around the kids, which often means dealing with my feelings of being dropped like a hot potato when our youngest went off to college in private—or at least the privacy of my best friends and some cheap wine.
“So, whatareyou doing here?” I repeat my question.
“Well, Hattie and I were talking about her schedule and since she has Fridays off, we thought we’d take a red-eye and come for a visit. Especially since we didn’t get to see you for Thanksgiving.”
“Well, a spontaneous visit. How lovely.”
“I hope we’re not inconveniencing you. I know your classes are in session, but surely you can take some time to tour Rome with us?”
“Of course.” Whelp, there goes any free time I had this weekend. But I am excited to spend time with Hattie, and hopefully, I can convince her to do some things solo with her dad.
Bruce pays their bill speaking loudly in English, and if Tessa were here to see this, she would smack Bruce’s shoulder and hiss at him tobe coolwhile elegantly and apologetically handling the check. I’m pretty sure Jade could do this whole interaction in Italian. One time, she told us she could order a beer in twenty-three different languages.
My friends—well, at least Jade and Tessa—are so much more well-traveled than I am, and two of the four reasons for that are right in front of me. Bruce and I had talked when we were younger about traveling abroad, but those plans never materialized, and that was both our faults. When you run a small business and have three kids, doing something like flying to Paris for an anniversary trip doesn’t happen without a shit ton of planning.
I’d shocked Bruce when I’d told him I was going to get my MBA in Rome. Even more shocked than when Parker had come out as non-binary. Almost as shocked as he was when I told him I would not be working for him after he announced that he wanted a divorce.
See where all that falls? Charming, right?
After Bruce pays the bill, I lead the two of them back to my apartment, detouring to show them the unimpressive outside of my university and pausing as we cross the River Tiber at the Ponte Principe Amedeo Savoia Aosta. Gazing down at the water, Hattie points out the running trail to her dad on the bank of the river and they discuss running together in the morning.
“Where are you staying?” I ask them.
“I have a hotel room just down the river. But…” Bruce glances at Hattie, who turns to me with hope in her eyes.
“Could I stay with you, Mom?”
“Of course, but you know I only have one bed, right?”
She shrugs. “That’s fine. We can share.”
As teenagers, my kids protested so much if they ever had to share a bed with one of us. My how times have changed.
Later that night,after an early dinner and catching the Trevi fountain all lit up, Hattie and Bruce are too jet lagged for much more, so we split up, Hattie and I returning to my apartment. She falls asleep quickly while I work on my assignment for Organizational Behavior.
Maybe it was years of primarily reading titillating romance novels with my friends or over a decade of experience running a small business, but good god, reading about this stuff is boring as hell.
Maybe it’s reading a bunch of stories about old white dudes sucking the life out of labor forces.
Either way, when Hattie came out of my bedroom hours later, rubbing her eyes sleepily and asks what I’m doing, I realize I’ve gotten off track, and instead of finishing my chapter on the Hawthorne Experiments I was watching a YouTube video on squirrel obstacle courses.
How did I get here?
“I have an assignment due Monday that I forgot about, so I have to work on it this weekend. Sorry, sweetie.” Hattie sits next to me on the loveseat and leans onto my shoulder. I kiss her dark, curly hair.
“You forgot about an assignment? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well, apparently, it is.”
After a moment, she asks, “Do you remember the big whiteboard we used to have in the kitchen? Where would you write all of our big homework assignments and Second Chance’s big events? You need something like that.”
I lean my cheek against the top of her head. “That was a lot easier because I was always home. I can’t take the whiteboard to school with me.”
