Читать книгу Catarina's Ring - Lisa McGuinness - Страница 13
ОглавлениеJULIETTE, LEARNING TO DRINK ESPRESSO THE ITALIAN WAY
When she got back to her apartment, Juliette tossed her bag on the still-unmade bed, kicked off her shoes, and poured a glass of red wine even though it was only four in the afternoon. She sank onto her love seat and called her sister on her now internationally equipped cell phone.
“Hi,” she said once Gina picked up. “It’s me.”
“Juliette? The connection’s so clear, it sounds like you’re just down the street. How are you? How’s it all going? I miss you already!”
“I’m fine. And Lucca’s gorgeous.”
“Did you have your first day of class today? How was it?”
“Yes, and it was amazing. I think it’s going to be an excellent class, but man did I have to stay on my toes. It’s difficult to try to keep up with what I’m supposed to do while it’s being taught in Italian.”
“Trial by fire, as they say.”
“Trial by skillet in this case, but being here and surrounded by the language brings back so many memories of when we were little and spending time with Nonna and Granddad.”
“That must be nice.”
“Yeah, I wish I knew what it was like here when they were young,” Juliette said wistfully.
“We should have asked them more about it, while we still had them. But now it’s your turn to be young in Italy. So try to enjoy it. Don’t think about what happened before you left, if you can.”
“That’s my plan, actually. Sometimes deep denial is best, don’t you think?”
“At least for now. So, tell me,” Gina said, trying to move her little sister into a more life-affirming frame of mind, “is there anyone interesting in your class? Any appealing men?”
“Juliette realized what her sister was trying to do and appreciated her effort.
“My instructor is definitely interesting,” Juliette noted.
“Do tell.”
“Well, the first thing you should know is that Italian men have some sort of indefinable sexiness that American men don’t. Well, not that they don’t, but it’s definitely different. Like being sexy here is expected in the same way it is for women at home. They dress better, make more eye contact, and I don’t know. . . there’s just something. I’ve only been here two days and have already been scrutinized with frankly sexual undertones more than I think I have during my entire adulthood at home.”
“Maybe they’re just more obvious.”
“Maybe. Anyway, my teacher definitely has that frank Italian undertone of charisma. Not that it matters. He’s way too handsome to be my type. But it’ll be fun to take my class from him, that’s for sure.”
“Don’t discount him just because he has a pretty face, Juliette. After all, who knows, maybe he’s the Italian version of the dorky guys you usually go for at home.”
“That may be true!” Juliette chuckled in spite of herself. “Maybe he’s a complete dork and I just don’t know because it’s a different kind than American dorkiness. Either way, he seems like a great teacher. And he’s nice! And he speaks English, so he let me know that if I get confused he’ll help me sort it out. But that’s not even the best part—we made mouth-watering polenta today . . . and you know how I feel about polenta.”
“Yes, I believe your stand on polenta is ‘boring: might as well be grits.’”
“Exactly. But this was different in a fundamental way. It was extraordinarily flavorful and rich.”
“It’s good to hear you sound excited. It seems like this is going to be as great as you hoped.”
“I hope so. I feel far away from home, though, and terrible about leaving you and Dad with so much to deal with. I’m kind of lonely and freaked out, but I’m trying to be tough.”
“Don’t worry about us. The police let me know yesterday, though, that because the driver has been charged with criminal drunk driving and manslaughter you’ll have to make another official statement at some point. But for now, the police said they can talk to you by phone if they need to.”
“I still can’t believe she’s gone. How could this have happened?”
“I know, but for now try not to dwell on it.”
“I’m trying not to, but sometimes I need to. You know, to process it. Does that make sense?”
“It makes complete sense. When I miss her, I try to focus on one of my favorite memories of her. It seems to help.”
“At home, my friends were trying too hard to cheer me up. I needed to get some space away from that,” Juliette paused, then Odessa popped into her mind. “I met a woman here who I can see becoming friends with. Her family sells cheese.”
“Of course, back to food. Leave it to you to find a friend who makes cheese. It would never be someone who, say, works at a bank.”
She had to agree that her sister was probably right.
After their conversation, Juliette felt the time change dragging her down and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, but she knew she needed to go get some dinner. In fact, she knew exactly what she was in the mood for: minestrone soup.
She doubted if there was such a thing as take-out in this town, and it was only six o’clock. Restaurants wouldn’t serve dinner for hours yet, so she decided to shut her eyes and rest a little bit. Over the next hour, she kept jerking awake, afraid to fall into a deep sleep, so she finally forced herself to get up off the couch and find a restaurant and that bowl of minestrone.
