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My stomach grumbles as I take my wallet from the couch, and I leave the apartment, descending the stairs in hurried strides. Immediately, I find myself in the quiet streets of the village.
But before I can get anywhere, Antonio bumps into me, a grin plastered on his boyish face.
“Ren! You’re finally awake!”
I chuckle, ruffling the boy’s curly hair. “What do you mean ‘finally?’ I was awake ages ago!”
“No, you weren’t!” he retaliates, matter-of-factly. “You weren’t listening to Laura Pausini on the balcony like you always do, so I figured you were still asleep.”
I laugh heartily, amazed by the kid’s observation skills. “Do I listen tothatmuch of Laura’s music?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! I hear it every time you call me over.” Antonio perks excitedly, bringing his hands behind him. “Anyway, do you need me to buy you lunch?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’d rather buy something myself today, Antonio.”
“Aw, so no tip for me?” Antonio exclaims, pouting.
I chuckle at the kid’s words. “I’ll get you a cookie on the way back. How does that sound?”
“I’d like that very much. Thanks, Ren! You know where to find me!”
I watch him as he joins his friends before I take off for the other side of the street. I head towards Trattoria d’Abruzzo and enter the quiet restaurant.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Angelino!” I greet, walking up to the counter and taking a seat in front of the man. “Are you done serving lunch or did I make it just in time?”
“You’re just in time, Ren,” the old man informs, booming with laughter as he leans over the counter. “What will you be having today?”
“If possible, I’d like to have the day’s special?”
“You’re in luck! We’re havingcacio e pepetoday.”
I beam at the news. “Thencacio e pepeit is! I’d also like to have apizza al taglioand one cookie.”
“Will you be having it here?” Mr. Angelino asks expectantly, eyes shining.
I shake my head. “I’ll be taking out today’s special,” I say, already expecting his disappointment.
Sighing, Mr. Angelino punches in my order and rings up my bill on the cash register, clicking his tongue.
“You’re always working, Ren. Come eat here sometimes! The regulars miss your stories, you know?”
I laugh, delighted by the sentiment. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make time in the next two weeks. I just have to finish this piece.”
“Well, whatever it is, I hope the piece is going well.” He barks orders for someone at the back before turning to me with a quiet smile. “The kids at the elementary school miss your art sessions as well, or so that’s what my daughter tells me.”
“I’ll be sure to pay them a visit some time,” I promise. He gives a silent nod and goes back to polishing glasses while I wait for my order.
When my food arrives, I take it gratefully from Mr. Angelino and leave the place after promising to visit again soon. I pass by the playground to give Antonio his cookie before I make my way back to my apartment.
I go straight to my bedroom and place my food on the high table next to the balcony. I then take the covers off the piece I’ve been working on tirelessly for weeks. I stare at it, marveling at how the colors are finally coming together.
“This part still looks wrong, though,” I murmur, closely observing one area of the painting.
I open my takeout box, and the salty smell of the dish hits me. I smile in delight as I take a small bite, the creamy texture blessing my tongue.
“Oh, that hits the spot,” I say, taking another bite of the dish. After I’ve momentarily satisfied my hunger, I make a grab for my materials and resume last night’s work.
With practiced hands, I squeeze small blobs of oil paint onto my palette. I dip the brush into the paint, and once the brush hits the canvas, I lose all sense of time and begin painting the hours away.
