Page 79 of I Think Olive You
I wait, scared to breathe as she opens her mouth to speak.
“I brought you this. It’s the product of this year’s harvest and will be distributed soon but I thought you deserved a taste before it goes out. You did earn it after all.”
I take a tentative step toward her and wrap my hand around the glass, the sides of our fingers touching as the bottle changes hands. The need to breathe her in, to nuzzle my face into her neck and clutch her to me, feels like my life depends on it.
She must see it. It’s written all over my face, sleep-wrinkled and all.
Giuliana’s spiced rum eyes are molten when she looks up at me and I’m trapped in the world of emotions there. “Teo…” she whispers, and I’m on the balls of my feet ready to surge forward if she says the word.
I set the bottle of olive oil down on the nearest surface and step as close as I dare. She bites her bottom lip and my eyes are caught there, on wants and memories, and the tart sweetness of the taste I know awaits. It looks like she might invite it. She’s here, after all. Instead, she hits me with cold water in the form of her next sentence, and it opens a chasm of distance I wish didn’t exist.
“We need to talk.”
Not what I hoped to hear from that delectable mouth, but it’s expected, I suppose. Giuliana’s had time to think and collect all her anger and pain into what will no doubt be a well-rehearsed speech. She is poised, deliberate, and not one for half measures. Despite her occasional anxiety around pulling things off, she’s steady and confident. Giuliana wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t ready to be.
Still, I want to stall for time and get as much out of this situation as possible before she dissipates. When she leaves back to Italy, she’ll take my heart with her.
“Do we have to do this here?” It’s stupid. We could talk anywhere. It doesn’t matter that we’re in my mother’s apartment.
The question stumps her—her shoulders deflating a little as if she’d been preparing to launch into the discussion. But she shrugs in agreement.
“I feel strange in my mom’s apartment. Plus, you’ve never been to New York before, right?”
Shaking her head, she looks over her shoulder at the city as if just remembering she’s here.
“So, let me take you out somewhere. It can be as private or public as you’d like, but you should get a feel for the city at least once.”
Let me show you my corner of the world. Or at least Central Park.
Pulling the strap of her purse closer to her body as if gathering courage, Giuliana nods and follows me out of the apartment. I’m going to burst out of my skin and lose my mind, or fizz into an effervescent haze in the autumn air. She’s here. Giuliana is here with me.
We don’t talk. This silence between us is delicate. One wrong move and it’ll all be over.
It’s already over.
While not as mean as some of the other things I’ve said to myself, it’s no less devastating. Waiting at the crosswalk, we listen for the beep and tick letting us know we can go. The symphony of New York is such a juxtaposition to what we had in Italy. There’s no summer night sounds of bugs and birds—no light breeze ruffling the olive branches and infusing the air with the scent of earth and fruit.
New York wafts the smell of car fumes and too many people. It’s hot and cold. The asphalt is warm from the sun but a sharp fall wind sucks between tall buildings and launches directly at us. It teases her aroma around my nose—her summer scent that I’ll relish until the day I die and search for in every warm day.
Giuliana looks out of place, not because of the loose strands of her hair dancing in the air or her clothing, which is fine. Jeans, sweater, boots. It’s her gaze—trained up and around trying to take in every inch of the city as we walk. Her brown eyes are wide and a sense of excitement vibrates through both of us. Trying to see it the way she might, I consider how it would come across for the first time.
The city is loud and famous, nowhere near the history of Italy but the stuff of legends regardless. When we make it to Central Park, the trees are lit up and glowing with golden sunset. I can’t help but find it beautiful. Giuliana must agree because she does a little twirl—a 360-degree view to absorb it all.
And it’s that excitement, that thirst for something new on her face that spurs me into action. A horse snickers nearby, drawing my attention to the carriage ride. It’s something that always felt stupid and touristy to me but has a certain charm now. Without thinking I grab her hand, tugging her toward the carriage, and hoist her into the seat as soon as the driver gives the okay.
“Teo… I don’t know about this.”
The nickname does me in. Things can’t be all bad if she’s still using it. It means something, right?
“This’ll give us a way to see a bit of the city and the privacy to talk. Unless you’d prefer to do it in a restaurant or on a park bench?”
The clop of the horse’s hooves starts against the road while she considers, and her lips thin into a little line. “Okay. This is fine.”
As the horses turn onto one of the paths off the main road, I gather the courage to look at her. I’ve stalled for long enough. Hopefully the scenery will soften the blow, or at least put her in a merciful mood.
“Now, although I put my foot in it earlier, I really do want to know what brought you here. You said you wanted to talk, but the way we left things…”
It was a fucking mess. Her ordering me away from her life will never leave my memory and it’s precisely why I’m confused. Why would she have come? The article was supposed to help. But I don’t imagine it’s enough to fix everything.