“I’m only asking,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.
“That’s not a question you should be asking me,” she said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “I have to be in Zurich by September 10 to present the central thesis for my research project in front of an academic approval board. I am not the kind of person to back down when something gets in my way. Do you think I would have gotten this far if I did? And I’ve never met a challenge I couldn’t find a way around. So, the question shouldn’t be ‘Do you really want to do this?’ but ‘Would you like my list of real estate agents?’ Because whether I have to rent a house, find one document in a cabinet of thousands, or tattoo the goddamned Italian national anthem somewhere on my body, I am going to do this.”
“Understood,” he said, trying not to think of where a tattoo of the national anthem would lookbeston her body. “I only hope that this postdoc is important enough to keep you going when it seems like it’s never going to happen.” He froze. Why did he say that? Of course it was important to her. She’d traveled across the globe to do this. It wasn’t so different from what he’d done, except their motivation was different.
“My work matters to me deeply. I need to make this happen,” she said, the set returning to her jaw.
“Can I ask what your research is about?” he asked, redirecting.
“I study some aspects of social psychology that discuss Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs and how a reinterpretation ofthat model for modern times is important to personal and therefore societal success.” She paused. He tried to hide how confused he was. He failed mightily. She went on.
“Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs says that people have to have certain things in a certain order to reach overall life success. So, first you have to have basic things like food and shelter taken care of before you deal with your personal safety and security, then you have to have loving friends and family before you can think about the things you want to accomplish in life. Once you have all of that taken care of, then you can consider the big stuff: life purpose, self-fulfillment, creativity, legacy.”
“But you don’t agree with that?”
“I disagree with the order. I think that it’s too constricting and unrealistic. In today’s world, any model needs to be more flexible because some of those basic needs have become luxuries. Not everyone has a home, but they can still achieve things. Not everyone has safety and security, but they still have to find their place in the world. We need a model that deemphasizes things like family environment and community and prioritizes personal volition and skill.”
“I can see how that makes sense,” he said, trying to be cautious. Something about “deemphasizing family” hit him in the chest, but he let it go. “So, you are modernizing.”
“Yes. The thing is that many people sabotage their own success because they don’t truly believe that they are capable of ever meeting their own expectations. Some think they’ll be judged for their achievements or considered arrogant, or worse—they think it’s safer to stay wanting. So, hopefully this will be used to help further support the individualismthat people shy away from as we move into a new world where we’re more likely to be disconnected. Why make that an impediment? I choose to see it as a strength.”
“Right. Because all you need is you, right?”
“In general, yes. Or a better way to say it is, just because all I’ve ever had is me doesn’t mean I can’t achieve success. And before you say it, yes, I know that this is personal. But research is ME-search.”
“That’s really something,” he said, wholly unable to commit to an adjective.
“It’s realistic.” She shrugged. And maybe it was, but it also made him feel unsettled. He didn’t feel bad for her—there was nothing about this woman that required pity—but the reality of having no parents was unfathomable for him, and he suddenly wondered if she felt alone. Or maybe she didn’t notice. He imagined what it would be like to get good news or deal with something terrible andnotpick up the phone to share it with family. A ping from his own phone brought him back. It was Davide, a mayor from a neighboring town whom he had asked to meet with ages ago to pick his brain. He was asking if Andrea was available to meet for an aperitivo in less than an hour, and though the idea of leaving her was dreadful, he absolutely couldn’t say no. He looked down at his dusty pants and shoes still sticky from fallen apricots and knew he needed to get home to change first.
“I hate to meeting,” he blurted out. Clearly his brain had got stuck somewhere betweenI hate to leave youandI have to go to a meetingand split the difference. “Sorry, I mean I have to get to a meeting. I also do not love meetings. But that’sanother story. Do you want to stay here, or are you done for the day?”
Lora looked back at the table and shook her head. “I think I’m done,” she said, suddenly looking very tired.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said, refocusing. “We will finish this, yes? And there isn’t enough real estate here to have a list of real estate agents, but I’ll get you connected with Maria. She’s the one who knows what we have available.”
“Thanks,” she said, picking up her bag. “I’d do it myself but—”
“Yeah, it’s that only-speaking-English thing. It’s OK, we will figure out a translator. But if you’re going to become a citizen, you may as well try to learn, right? It’s definitely going to make this process easier.”
“I’ll get on it,” she said, walking toward the door. “In my spare time.”
Chapter 7
A dragging agitation pulled at Lora as she left city hall and hiked back up to the B and B. And while some of it could have been the heat of the afternoon settling on her skin, there was no denying that she was utterly gobsmacked with the news that she was going to have to “live” in Baia Santa as a real resident. She crashed into the cottage to find Vilmari scrolling comfortably from a pillow, and though Lora didn’t want to disrupt her chill, in only a few minutes, she found herself ranting about everything Andrea had told her.
“And on top of it, he said I need to learn Italian.” Lora flung her arm behind her on the bed. She was lying down with her legs up the wall against the headboard while Vilmari curled in a cloud of white sheets on her bed.
“Well, you do,” she said. Lora shot her a look. “Don’t look at me like that. I got the same comments from my cousins every time we went down to Puerto Rico. Just because I grew up with some slang and know how to makearroz con gandulesdidn’t mean I could speak Spanish. I learned, sameas anyone else. It was tough, but look—I write one hundred percent in Spanish now, and not even my editors can tell that I couldn’t conjugate atostónbefore.”
“I can learn, I know. To be honest, that’s the least of my worries. But how am I going to find a place to live and make it look like someone actually lives there in only a few days? I have some money saved, but you know I don’t have enough to set up a European pied-à-terre.”
“He said that the police come to your house? Do they stand at the door, or do they have to be invited in like vampires?”
“I don’t know if they come all the way inside. What if they check the bathroom for toothbrushes or open the fridge to see how long you’ve kept the yogurt?”
“I think that would be considered less of a residency visit and more execution of a search warrant,” said Vilmari.
“Let’s hope,” Lora said, swinging her legs around to sit upright against the pillows. “Apparently everything is different here.”
