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“No, you are joking us.” Tommaso places his hands on his hips.
Slade splays his hands and smirks like a true Italian. “Come to America and see.”
“How you live with tornadoes?” Francesco asks.
“I hold my hand over my eyes to shade the sun and I look far into the distance. If I see a tornado in Texas, I know it’s time to hide in the basement.”
“You see Texas from Oregon? No, that joke.” Francesco stomps his foot.
The adults are laughing at the twins’ exasperation. When Matteo translates for Nonna and Giana. They laugh uproariously, wiping tears from their eyes.
“What you eat for supper?” It’s Tommaso’s turn. But the twins are on to Slade. They know his answer will be funny.
“I live on hamburgers and french fries. That’s all Americans eat. Nothing else.”
This time both Tommaso and Francesco laugh along with everyone else.
“You like driving car on streets? You go fast?” Francesco asks, laughing as he asks the question. He knows his uncle’s response will make him giggle.
“I drive like a racecar driver, so fast you can’t see my car. I’m just a flash of light.”
Tommaso and Francesco hold their stomachs as they giggle.
“But,” Slade says, “Boats on canals are a lot more fun than cars on streets.”
The boys clap at Slade’s answer.
I pick at my food, not feeling very hungry this evening. Everything is actually delicious, to my surprise. Although, I chose to forgo the sardines. Really, I’m just moving the food around my plate, making it look like I’m eating.
I wish I would’ve feigned illness and stayed at the hotel. This is Slade’s last night with his Italian family. I don’t want to ruin it for him. So here I am, doing my best to be present and smile when everyone else smiles.
Only once do I look up from my plate and notice Slade watching me. He’s smiling at something one of the twins just said. He’s using his phone to explain real answers to their questions. His smile fades when he sees my expression. I look back down at my plate and quickly take another bite, acting as though I’m enjoying the evening.
I am, actually. I love his family. I love being welcomed into this home. I’m sad it’s our last night. I’ll miss this courtyard filled with family warmth. I wish I didn’t feel so defeated this evening. I lost happy Marin somewhere between Murano and Venice. With a snap of the fingers, she was gone.
We have an early flight tomorrow morning. With many tears, hugs, and promises to visit again, we finally say our goodbyes. Matteo and Nonna hug Slade the longest. I remember to take lots of pictures. Then Slade asks me to take a picture of the entire group.
Because I’m the outsider. I’m not part of the family. Ouch.
It's true. What can I say? This isn’t my family. This is Slade’s family. Naturally it’s me who would take the group picture. I have no right to be insulted, nor am I really. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been the one volunteering to take the family picture. I knew this trip was the Slade show.
My current fragile state of mind is making me ultra-sensitive. I see hurt where there is none.
Matteo gives me a long hug as well, and a traditional Italian kiss. “So happy to meet you, beautiful Marin.”
As we leave, I wonder if I’ll ever see any of them again. The thought makes me hurt inside even more. I love Slade’s family. I fell for them easily. As easily as I fell for Slade.
Slade wraps an arm around me as we walk back to our hotel. He’s emotional after saying goodbye to his newly found family. I tell myself I’m giving him space to sort out his feelings. Truth is, I have nothing inside me. Nothing to say and nothing to give. I’m too wrapped up in myself.
Slades pulls us to a stop. “We should take a moonlight ride in a gondola. It’s the one thing that shouldn’t be missed while we’re here. Now’s our last chance.”
I won’t deny him. “Okay.”
He hesitates. “Are you all right, Marin?”
I don’t want him to notice my somber mood, and I don’t want to ruin his trip. It’s been such a success and I’m truly happy for him. “I’m just tired.”
We keep walking. “Aw man, me too. It’s been a crazy couple of days. I think we’ll go home and sleep for a week.”
