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“You try pizza yet in Italy?” Matteo asks.
Slade rolls up the sleeves of his lightweight button-up. It’s a hot, humid day and we just spent time by blazing hot furnaces. “Actually, no we haven’t.”
“Gelato?”
“No, we’ve failed as tourists.” Slade knows as well as I do, we didn’t come here to be tourists. I think Matteo knows it as well.
Matteo laughs like his son is a comedian.
While we’re melting, Matteo still looks fresh as a spring day. “Okay, pizza and gelato sound good now?”
I’m ready for a break. “Sounds great to me.”
Matteo takes us to a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. “Best pizza here.” We grab outdoor seating in a shady spot overlooking a canal, our favorite way to dine lately. Slade sits next to his father, and I sit across from my handsome Italian men.
We order two pizzas. One is basically a caprese salad with pizza sauce on top of crust. My kind of food. Slade and Matteo choose a pizza that looks like mussels and clams came to die on it. There are literally open mussel and clam shells on top of their crust, along with a whole shrimp in the middle, head, antennae, and all. The shrimp looks like a bug. Seafood is just not my thing. They both rave about how delicious it is, but I can barely watch them take a bite without my stomach rolling.
I swear I’m not kissing Slade tonight. Yeah, who am I kidding? I probably won’t be able to keep that promise, but right now I’m dead serious.
Evidently, my thoughts are written all over my face.
After Slade takes a bite of the shrimp, Matteo says, “You kiss Slade now, yes beautiful Marin?”
So he did follow our “American humor” last night. Or at least, he got the gist.
I shiver as though I took cherry cough medicine. “I’ll probably never kiss him again in this lifetime, if you must know.”
They both laugh like I’m hilarious. It’s the first time I feel outnumbered and wish another girl was present on our trip. With my luck, it would be a seafood-loving girl.
Matteo clears his throat as though he’s nervous, then announces, “Last night, I call my Laurie. We nine hours ahead in Italy. So, one in afternoon for her. We have nice talk.Very nice talk.”
Slade’s eyes widen as he coughs like his food just stuck in his throat. It’s probably a shrimp antenna. He composes himself quickly. “What did you talk about?”
“Everything. We catch up about lives. We speak for two hours.Long, long time.”
Matteo is deliberately vague, making me wonder what type of words they exchanged. Words of love? Apologies? Possible future plans? Inquiring minds want to know.
“So, it was a good talk?” Slade asks, even though Matteo already said as much.
“Ah, yes. I tell her about day, about taking our son to see sights I take her to see. I tell her our son is my happiness. We both have tears. Tears can be happy, yes?”
“Yes, they can,” I answer, thinking about my exchange with Slade last night. “Happiness can be expressed in many ways. Not just smiling, laughing, or jumping up and down with excitement.”
Slade stares me down with twinkling eyes. “That’s the usual response. Just saying.”
“Tears of happiness are a thing. You know this better than anyone.” I love sharing playful banter with him. He’s always up for it.
“Touché.” Slade raises his eyebrows, admitting defeat.
“Slade and beautiful Marin, you speak with riddles. I not always understand. I have question. Will invite your Papà to wedding? I like be there very much. I travel to Oregon. I love be there. I see your love is very strong. I know wedding come soon. I want be there, okay?”
“Okay,” Slade answers. “I would love to have you at my wedding, Papà.”
“First time you call me Papà. Thank you, my son.” Matteo gives Slade the traditional Italian air kiss. He’s quite demonstrative. I find I like people who show their emotions more and more. I’m done with people who keep everything to themselves.
“Ah, more grandchildren for me. Make me rich man.” Matteo pats his heart. “Very rich man.”
The thought of having children with Slade makes me glance at him with a warm smile. My hand reaches out to his, but he moves it away quickly, wiping his hand on a napkin.
