Chapter Fifteen
Alessandra
Erica’s tiny arms are wrapped tightly around my hips in a way that is both endearing and cutting off my circulation. I finally broke it to my favorite little brats about a week ago that I won’t be around to clean up their spilled juice boxes much longer, and the imminent threat of me leaving has Erica acting uncharacteristically affectionate. Ben, who is currently resting on his mom’s hip as she scribbles out my check, is too young to be fazed. I’m sort of jealous of him that he doesn’t have to deal with good-byes.
“No, you’re stuck with me for a few more days,” I say, shaking the grip of Erica’s Play-Doh-covered hands. Maybe I should have broken the news sooner and enjoyed a few more weeks of this. It sure beats the usual symphony of screams and constant sass over the injustice of me suggesting she eat a vegetable.
“I wish you could stay forever!” She sticks out her bottom lip, batting her big brown eyes at me.
“Erica, no pouting,” Lorraine snaps, ripping my check out of her checkbook and handing it to me. She’s been especially quick-tempered with the kids lately, probably because of the stress of trying to find a replacement nanny. “Thank you so much, Alessandra, and I’m sorry I was late. Again.”
I check the time on my phone—she was forty-five minutes late tonight, and this is becoming a new habit for her.
“Don’t stress it at all,” I say, and I actually mean it. I guess getting laid really does put people in a better mood. I fold the check in half and slip it into my purse as I head toward the door.
“Ciao, Erica. Ciao, Ben.”
“Ciao, Alessandra!” Erica shouts. This is the first time she’s repeated any Italian back to me.
I want to turn around and hug her, but I can’t stick around for what would undoubtedly be another twenty-minute ordeal of Erica attaching herself to me. I have dinner plans with Deanna at a sushi spot we’ve been meaning to hit up since it opened two months ago, one more item on the list of things we have to do together before I leave. Once I’m on the train, I shoot her a text to give her a heads-up on my late arrival, then immediately draft a flirty text to Quinn.
The past week has been an incredibly delicate balancing act of my work, social, and sex lives in an attempt to get in the best of everything before I go. It’s been the perfect kind of hectic. The kind where I’m gossiping with Deanna over a bottle of wine one hour, and whispering dirty Italian and nibbling on Quinn’s ear the next.
The restaurant is two blocks away from my train stop, allowing me enough time on my walk over to swipe a coat of gloss across my lips and check my hair in the front-facing camera on my phone. I look surprisingly put together for a girl who spent the day cleaning spaghetti sauce off the face of a one-year-old. My hair has held its loose curls, and the first breezes of early fall have left my cheeks the perfect amount of rosy. I walk into the dimly lit restaurant feeling like I was plucked from the pages of Vogue instead of having just gotten off a hot, overcrowded train car.
Deanna is already settled in at a table, sipping a glass of wine and perusing the menu. When I sit down, she motions for the waitress to bring another glass for me.
“Okay, you look way too good for having wrangled kids all day. Are you meeting Quinn after this or something?”
She’s right to be suspicious. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone straight to Quinn’s place after plans with her. One of the items on the infinitely long list of reasons I love Deanna is that she’s never gotten jealous about a guy, and Quinn has been no exception. Still, we only have a matter of days left to get in the last of our Aly-and-Deanna time, so I told Quinn tonight was a no-go.
“Nope. Tonight it’s just you, me, and as many spicy tuna rolls as we can handle.”
We order a first round of sushi to split, and in the quietest voice I can manage, I fill Deanna in on my tryst with Quinn last night. I keep the details to a minimum for the sake of the waitress, who arrives with a platter of sushi as I’m wrapping up my story.
“All while the kids were asleep upstairs. Damn, Aly. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Deanna picks up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks and brings it slowly and suggestively between her lips, letting out a low hum of satisfaction. I do my best to stifle my giggles.
“You should’ve seen how good he was with the kids. I couldn’t help myself.”
My mind wanders back to watching Quinn push the wooden truck across the rug with Ben as Erica clung like a monkey to his back, vying for his attention. “I can’t believe I’m saying it, Deanna, but I think I’m falling for him.”
She nods, seemingly unsurprised. “So, what are you going to do, then? Swap out that plane ticket on your vision board for a picture of his face?”
The idea of staying in Boston to be with Quinn crosses my mind at least a dozen times a day. I have more than enough money saved for a plane ticket home if I still want to spend a few weeks in Italy. Maybe Quinn would even want to come with me. I can imagine sipping coffee with him on the cobblestone streets of Rome, clinging to his perfectly toned arms as we hike the cliffs on the Amalfi Coast.
Every hair on my arms stands on end as I snap out of my fantasy.
Italy with Quinn would be a daydream come true, but then what? I come home and keep being a nanny? Tutoring here in Boston is decent money, but certainly not enough to live off of. How can I abandon my dream at the last second? But then again, how can I leave Quinn behind just as I’m beginning to fall for him?
Whenever I’m stuck, I always imagine what I would say if Deanna were in my shoes. What advice would I give her? Without a second thought, I would tell her to get on that plane.
“I have to go to Italy. It’s non-negotiable at this point.” I pop a piece of California roll into my mouth to give myself time to actually believe what I just said. “He hasn’t even mentioned the idea of me staying. Plus, what am I supposed to do. . .ditch my dream, stay here and remain a nanny, just for a chance with Quinn?” My voice trembles a bit as I say his name, my toes curling inside my boots, but I have to be practical. Quinn is a maybe, but Italy is a guarantee.
“You’re right,” Deanna says, and I’m half surprised to hear it from her. “Besides, you haven’t even known him that long. You have no idea if you guys would work out.”
“Exactly. We could date for a year and be happy, but then what? There are no guarantees. What if it runs its course? I would never forgive myself for bailing on Italy for a man.” Even for a man as perfect as Quinn.
Deanna forces her mouth into a half smile. As much as she has been my cheerleader throughout the process of deciding to make the move to the other side of the ocean, I know it’s hurting her as my departure gets closer and closer. It’s a lot easier to tell your best friend to follow her dreams than to watch her actually board the plane.
“And who knows, I probably won’t stay in Italy forever,” I remind her. “Maybe he’ll still be single when I come back. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”
This loosens Deanna up a little bit. She lifts her half-empty glass of pinot grigio in the air, and I follow suit.
“To following your dreams,” she says, “and to hoping they lead you back to living on the same continent as me someday.”
Clink.