“I don’t think it needs to be. You make your own decisions, don’t you? And the outcome is your responsibility. Your life shouldn’t rely on other people or their expectations.”
“This may be your area of expertise, but for me, it’s not as black-and-white as a research hypothesis,” he said, taking a lap around the perimeter of the garden.
“I didn’t say it would be easy. That’s what people always get wrong. Sometimes the right path is the difficult one, but people don’t like to hear that. You’re inadvertently letting everyone think that life was so much better there, but it’s obvious that wasn’t your experience. Don’t you think that’s starting to affect you? This thing with your stomach—”
“I don’t know what I think of my experience,” he said,gesturing to a pot of begonias. “Look, I had to leave New York in the end. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why? Did you do something awful? Get fired? Sleep with your boss’s wife? Did you get busted for drunk driving up Park Avenue the wrong way in your underwear?”
“It was none of that.” He shook his head. His shoulders rose and fell with a great sigh as he stopped walking and turned to face her. “Look, almost no one knows about this, OK? There’s only one other person I’ve told.”
“You are the only person who knows my birth name aside from Vilmari. So, we’re even. Let’s hear it.”
“Well, Franca knows your name. And Carola. And everyone at the immigration off—”
“Whatever. Speak,” she commanded, waving her hand to dismiss his stalling.
“OK, OK. I was having panic attacks.” He breathed out, sat on the bench. Hunched forward, he pulled his glasses off. “I told you that I loved the city for a long time and then I didn’t feel good there anymore. This is why.”
“Do you know what caused them?” she asked in a low voice, feeling the weight of his confession. She sat on the bench between him and the watermelon.
“No. At first, I thought it was something about my diet or some kind of vitamin deficiency. But it wasn’t any of that. I was telling the truth when I said that everything was a mess when I came here to visit. I wanted to help, not run away from New York. But it’s also true that I’ve had no panic attacks since I’ve been here.”
“So, you’re afraid to go back.”
“I’m not afraid. If I had to be there, I would figure it out. Maybe. I would have to.”
“But in the meantime, you don’t want to tell anyone what happened.”
“My family will only worry—or think it’s all in my head. They are not exactly on top of the latest mental health information.” He leaned back, pushing the hair off his forehead. “Giada is the only one who knows. Sometimes I would call her when it was happening. She would do episode recaps of reality shows or tell me stories about silly things we did when we were kids to keep my mind off whatever was freaking me out. I love my family, but this is not something they could help with.”
“Well, I’m sorry for that. But it’s like I said, eventually you’ll have to do what’s right for you—not them.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I like the sound of it,” he said, turning his face toward her slightly. “They invested in my future. I feel like that means I have an obligation—”
“Obligation? To do something that ultimately makes you feel terrible?” She shook her head. “See, this is why independence is so important. You can’t live on obligation, Andrea.”
“But I can’t live without it either.”
“Well, I can see why you’re stuck.” She stood, suddenly needing to move her legs.
“You seem to have this switch in your head that makes it possible to not think about this stuff. I don’t have that,” he said, looking up at her as she paced toward the sink.
“That’s what you think is in my head? A switch? That’shilarious. All I do is think! I just know how to filter, Andrea, because I know that if I don’t, the drain gets clogged. Get it?”
“And you don’t think that you’re trying to ignore facts about your life because it’s safer? So you don’t get slowed down? I’m sorry to tell you, but I think I’m not the only one avoiding.”
“I think you’re wrong,” she said, turning back to face him fully. “I don’t avoid. I select!” Couldn’t he see that one of them was in control and the other wasn’t? He wasso frustrating. Yet that vein in his neck pulsed in a way that made her want to feel it under her tongue.
“And I think you’re wrong,” he said as he stood facing her in a standoff. “It’s that you don’t like to admit things.”
“Like?” She leveled her chin.
“Like maybe you feel things more than you want to show.”
“Give me an example,” she said before realizing that she was suddenly both eager and afraid of his answer.
“Do you mean that?” He took one step toward her.
