“I was too for a long time, for different reasons,” said Ottavio, still staring at her in the mirror. “But I will sharewith you something I learned a long time ago. There are many kinds of family. It doesn’t matter what it looks like, it’s just good to have one. Shorter?” he asked, his fingers pulling on the fringe.
“No, that’s perfect. You don’t think that it’s good to be independent? You’ve had so much success by yourself.”
“Amore, I’ve never been by myself, not even when I seemed to be. Without our friends, our community, the family we make, we are nothing. That’s why I moved back here. I could have gone anywhere. Isn’t that why you are here too?”
“No. I came here to become a citizen so that I would be able to go somewhere else. I suppose that sounds a little odd.”
“I don’t judge. But remember one thing. At some point, we don’t want to keep packing suitcases, yes?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” he said, placing his scissors and comb down on the counter by the mirror.
“What made you stop packing suitcases?”
“The only reason anyone does—love.” He grinned, fluffing up her damp hair with his fingers.
“But only after you had your career, right? I am sure that it was easier to settle down once you had accomplished as much as you had.”
“I don’t see it as settled down,” he said, shaking his head. “Yes, there have been plenty of people who I have loved and lost, but I have this incredible life with my companion, Emanuela. We travel, we live well, we both work at what we love. I’m on the same adventure as ever. I just chose to share it with her.”
“That is perfect. It’s so simple,” said Lora, a buzz humming in her ears. Maybe she was just hungry.
“Eh,amore, the older you get, the more you realize that those two words usually mean the same thing.” He picked up the hairdryer. “Now, I can’t make you more beautiful, but I can make you fabulous. Ready?”
She nodded, and Ottavio fired up the dryer, filling the room with a din louder than her thoughts.
By the time Ottavio finished drying her hair, applying shine spray, and taking a few photos for Instagram, the shops were open again. Lora needed a snack immediately, and Carola’s fruit stand beckoned her over with its shining apples, fat peaches, and juicy cut pineapples.
“Ciao, Loretta!” Carola called, waving from behind a stack of watermelons.
“Ciao!” Lora screwed on a smile at hearing the name that still sounded odd to her ears and walked toward her.
“Vuoi un po’ di anguria?” Carola gestured toward the watermelon.
“Oh, OK.Anguria,” Lora repeated, wondering if repeating a word also counted as conversation.Two in a day! Nice!
“Ti taglio un pezzo?” Carola made a cutting motion with the side of her right hand against her open left palm.
“Sì, OK.” Lora smiled, watching as Carola pulled out a gigantic knife and expertly cut the watermelon into four long pieces. The fruit fell open, revealing the reddest, juiciest interior dotted with shining black seeds. She wrapped a piece in plastic, slid it into a shopping bag, and handed it to Lora.
“Quanto?” Lora knew that she was forgetting a word buthoped that Carola would figure out that she was asking how much it was.
“No, no, no.” Carola waved her hand away at her. “Sei figlia di un amico. Non é necessario.”
“What? No. Please,” she said, reaching into her bag for her wallet. “Per favore.” But Carola only waved her hand again. Lora persisted, pulling out a five-euro bill, but this seemed to escalate Carola’s protests to the point where an older couple who were in deep contemplation of a display of lettuce began to take notice.
“She don’t want,” said the older woman in English, wagging her index finger.
“I see that,” said Lora, “but I want to give her something.”
“No, no, no,” Carola repeated, turning to walk back into the shop with a smile.
“She don’t want,” the woman repeated, shrugging.
“Mamma, ciao.” That was a voice she knew. He was everywhere, wasn’t he? Andrea looked surprised as he double-kissed the couple hello. “Ciao,” he said, turning to her. “Lora, these are my parents, Paola and Antonio.”
“Oh!Ciao, piacere,” she said, wondering if her pronunciation was terrible. His mother reached her hands out to half shake, half hold Lora’s. Andrea said something to her, but Lora understood the words “Ivo” and “americana,” which elicited an immediate grin. Then he said “cittadinanza,” which she knew meant “citizenship.” This word somehow had the power to turn Paola’s expression into something dark with a puffing of air through pursed lips.
