Halfway to You(61)

Keith and I quit bickering and looked at him. Three entire seconds passed before we all burst into laughter.

“Still thinking about it, bud?” Keith asked.

“Just trying to defuse the shop talk,” Todd said. “This is a reunion. Let’s talk about reunion stuff.”

“Such as . . . ?” I asked.

Todd brushed the hair from his face, and another pulse of desire thrummed through me. “I don’t know, memories. Nostalgia. Funny stories.”

Keith raised his palms. “Okay, okay. Just can we please not talk about my butt? This is a nice restaurant.”

“It was a nice butt,” I said, and we all laughed again.

Todd launched into retelling the time his moped stalled after turning the wrong way down a one-way street, eliciting angry honks from locals whizzing past. That story led into the next moped misadventure, when Keith had mistaken someone else’s parked bike for his own, straddled the seat, and promptly gotten hit in the back of the head with the owner’s purse as she rushed to defend her ride.

As we reminisced, I lost myself in the bright, oceanic blue green of Todd’s eyes, magnified by his glasses. Whenever we came together after a long time apart, I always noticed details I’d forgotten—the exact angle of his straight nose, the freckle just under his ear—my memory a shadow of the real thing. His cheeks were flushed from the warm restaurant, the wine—and maybe from seeing me again?

Keith was telling another story, and Todd was laughing, and suddenly I felt so unbelievably glad to be in this restaurant with these two. Aside from Carmella, they were the realest, truest companions of my life.

When the waitress returned, Keith ordered the bruschetta appetizer—pronouncing it with the soft sh of someone who hadn’t been to Italy yet.

“It’s broo-sketta,” I enunciated. “You would know that by now if you ever came to visit.”

“As soon as Iris is a little older, we will.”

“How much older?”

“Hey, when you’re flying eight hours with a kid, you can set the timeline.” Keith wiped his mouth with his napkin. “That reminds me—and I know it’s a long way off, but—what are your plans for Christmas? Barbara and I decided to invite my whole family upstate. We’d love for you both to come.”

After so many Christmas letdowns as a child, I’d let go of all holiday expectations. Even visiting London with Todd last year had been modest—delightful, but modest. Christmas with the Whitakers sounded wonderful and overwhelming. Keith and Todd had been friends since they were kids, so the family already knew Todd. I’d be a stranger. And yet this was my chance to indulge in a real celebration. Intimidated as I was, it sounded perfect.

“I would love to,” I said, glancing at Todd.

His eyes had gone distant; he set down his fork. “I don’t know . . .”

With a soft, earnest voice, Keith urged, “They’d love to see you again, bud.”

I put my hand on Todd’s arm. “I’ve never had a big holiday before.”

“You haven’t?” Keith asked.

“Growing up, it was always just me and my mom, and sometimes one of her boyfriends.” A twist of sorrow made my sternum ache. I loved the prospect of starting a new tradition—or being a new part of an old one. “Your family won’t mind having a stranger there?”

“They’ll adore you,” Keith assured. “And they already love Todd.”

“They’re pretty great,” Todd admitted. “But it’s only April. Can we think about it?”

I studied his face, trying to make sense of his reluctance.

“Of course,” Keith said gently. “We have plenty of time.”





ANN


Manhattan, New York, USA

April 1993

That night, I nestled into Todd’s embrace, enjoying his delicious warmth against my skin. Unfamiliar lights and sounds filtered in from the wooden blinds covering our hotel window. I ran a hand through his sparse chest hair and kissed the soft flesh where his collarbone met his shoulder.

“I missed this,” I whispered. It’d been months since our last visit, and I was basking in the glow of this lighthouse blip of brilliance.

Todd’s entire body stiffened, but then he pulled me closer. “I was so worried about you today.”

“Maybe Keith was right about getting a mobile phone.”

Todd sighed. “I don’t like being apart so much. This long-distance thing—”

“It’s hard for me too.”

Tonight wasn’t the first time this had come up. He wanted to live closer, or together. And I wanted that, too, of course, but I had a sickly suspicion that Todd wanted me to move back to Colorado. That he wanted me to make that sacrifice. The thought of leaving Italy—my home—made me wilt.

With each passing visit, I worried that Todd and I were approaching an impasse. I would not leave Rome—I couldn’t. I had a happy life there—one I had carefully cultivated for the past eight years. He hadn’t asked point blank yet, but I knew it was coming. I dreaded the day that I would have to tell him no and instead ask whether he would leave Colorado. I feared his answer. I feared the futility of our future together. It was easier to float along, stealing sweet moments together whenever possible. I didn’t love long distance, but what was the alternative?