From Sand and Ash(36)

When he was younger, he would stay for the full month of August, just like the rest of the family, but as he grew older and his studies intensified, an entire month just wasn’t feasible. Plus, as much as he loved his family and the seashore, three weeks of sun, sand, and Eva’s beauty weren’t healthy for a young seminarian, regardless of whether or not they called themselves cousins. But his nonna would beg and plead and cajole, and he would inevitably show up, if only for a few days.

Angelo loved the beaches of Maremma. It was a place filled with memories bathed in warmth and washed in white—white sand, white shells, white towels, and the white sundress Eva had worn that long-ago summer when he’d received his first kiss.

It was Eva’s first kiss too, though he was pretty sure she’d received plenty since then. Eva had convinced him that they needed to see what all the fuss was about. She was twelve that summer and he was fourteen—still too young and far away from the priesthood to worry about his immortal soul if he kissed a signorina. Eva’s suggestion had seemed logical. Enticing even, and he had shrugged and let her pull his face to hers.

Her lips were soft, but his were sandy, and she had wrinkled her nose and laughed when their mouths touched.

“That tickles!” She brushed at his lips and they tried again, but neither of them closed their eyes. They stared at each other, even when they were too close to see anything but eyelashes and freckles.

They stayed frozen, lips touching, until Eva started to laugh again.

Angelo pulled away and scrubbed at his mouth, embarrassed.

“I think we’re doing it wrong,” he muttered.

“Really?” Eva frowned, her laughter fading. “What else should we be doing?”

“Well, for one, you could close your eyes.”

“But you didn’t close yours!” she argued.

“I’ll close mine too.”

“Okay. What else?”

He had a pretty good idea that kisses involved tongues. He wasn’t sure how, as that seemed extremely wet and a little disgusting. But he thought he would try just a tentative stroke. He wouldn’t tell Eva it was coming, then if it didn’t work he could claim the attempt was inadvertent.

“Tip your head so we don’t bonk noses,” he instructed.

“Okay. And come closer so we aren’t stretching,” she suggested.

They tried again, and he made sure there was no sand on his lips. They leaned in and simultaneously closed their eyes, tilting their heads instinctively. It was much better, especially because Eva wasn’t laughing. Angelo’s tongue tiptoed out and touched her top lip. She tasted like sunshine and grapes. She stiffened in surprise but didn’t pull away, and his hands fisted handfuls of sand as her tongue hesitantly returned the caress. Then his tongue was touching hers and her grape-and-sunshine flavor was in his mouth and tickling his nose, and his eyes were rolling back in his head, completely drunk on sensation.

That was when his nonna discovered them. She shrieked their names and swatted them both on the heads, crossing herself and praying between the slaps. They were grounded from each other for two days, and Camillo sat them both down for a serious talk.

When he was finished with his strange, rambling lecture about men and women and babies and kissing, Eva just laughed and bounced up from her seat. She placed herself in her father’s lap and looked him in the eye, her face deadly serious.

“Babbo! It was disgusting. It was like kissing an oyster! I never want to kiss another boy for as long as I live.”

“It was?” Angelo interjected, stunned that the experience had been so very different for him.

“You don’t?” Camillo looked as shocked as Angelo felt.

“No! It was a silly dare. Angelo is like my brother. I am his sister. It will never happen again, Babbo. Don’t worry. Now please, I need my friend back. I don’t want to spend my holiday all by myself.”

“Angelo?” Camillo was looking at him, his eyebrows raised.

“Huh?” He was completely lost, and his feelings were more than a little bruised.

“Was kissing Eva like kissing an oyster?” Camillo pressed.

Angelo’s eyes darted between Eva’s face and Camillo’s spectacled gaze, then back again. He always tried to tell the truth. Especially to Camillo. Should he tell him it was nothing like kissing an oyster? Should he tell him it was the most amazing fifteen seconds of his life? Eva had widened her eyes comically and tilted her head, giving Angelo a look that said, “Play along, you idiot!”

Oh.

Oh!

“Um, yeah. Maybe not like an oyster . . . but it was slimy and a little disgusting. Like kissing Nonna, maybe,” Angelo lied.

Eva laughed, not offended in the slightest.

Camillo narrowed his eyes at his daughter, and she grabbed his face and kissed his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, Babbo. Angelo is my brother. Now may we please go to the beach?”

The memory made Angelo smile. Eva had been devious and oh-so-convincing. Camillo had sighed and off they had gone. But they weren’t left alone again, even once, for the rest of the summer. And there was no more kissing. It was as if a decision had been made. The response of their elders had made the pathway clear: if they wanted to remain in each other’s lives, kissing was not an option.

They had never talked about it. Never admitted to each other that it was a beautiful first, a precious memory. But for years afterward they couldn’t mention oysters without grinning at each other, and when they did, Eva would get a look in her eyes. She got a look in her eyes, and Angelo got a pain in his chest.