CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hannah
This is it, my last day.
More than my last day, because Sunday is already half gone, and my flight leaves in just a number of hours. I don’t even need both hands to count them. A desperate heaviness has settled over me. It began this morning, a frog in my throat, a lump I can’t quite swallow. An elephant in the room that I don’t want to turn and look at. I can’t bear to.
Every word we exchange seems more laden with meaning today, quieter and sober because we both know that this is it. The end of everything. I wish desperately that I had booked my vacation for two weeks instead of one – that I had met Marco a day earlier – anything to make this separation less painful. I almost think about changing my flight, seeing if I can stay with Marco for another week since it costs me nothing to stay at his home.
But when I hint about it, telling him that I wish I was staying longer, he only makes a hum of agreement and touches my shoulder, and walks on. So, I have my answer. As wonderful as this week has been, Marco does not wish to extend it any further.
He’s probably right. If we part ways now, we don’t have time to ruin everything. We still have bliss, without arguments or disagreements, without misfortune or hard times. Now we are happy. If we drag out this farewell for another week, things might turn sour. I just have to keep telling myself that, because every bone in my body wants to go back into the house and cling onto a radiator so that he can’t drag me away.
Not only has Rome been such a welcoming vacation, but I’m losing him. My Marco. The man I have fallen in love with in such a short time. I didn’t know him before this, however much I thought I did, and the man I know now is someone I would gladly spend my life with. I blink back stubborn tears as I carry my purse to the car and get in, at Marco’s insistence that I allow him to load up the trunk with my suitcases.
I take a moment to dab at my eyes. I know that if I start crying now I won’t be able to stop. I distract myself by turning on my cell phone, looking at the messages I have from friends back home, and from my Dad.
Home. I try to comfort myself with that thought. My own bedroom, with all of my things. My laptop, which I didn’t bring with me. College. All my friends. A new year of possibilities. Somehow, none of it manages to overcome the lump in my throat – but at least I’m not already crying by the time Marco gets into the driver’s seat, asking me if I’m ready to go.
I can only nod. I don’t trust my voice to hold up if I have to answer.
I stare out of the window, trying hard to reframe everything in my mind, that it’s not that I want to cry because I’m leaving, but rather that I should be getting a last good look at everything that we pass by. My last glimpse of Rome. While I’m struggling to hold onto all of this, suddenly time slips by me and out of my grasp, and now we are pulling up in a parking lot outside the airport, pulling into one of the marked bays not far from where the shuttle bus stops.
I blink, looking up at the cars around us, realizing that we’re not where I expected. “You can just drop me outside the front of the airport,” I say. “You don’t have to pay for a parking ticket.”
“Nonsense,” Marco says, reaching over to open his door with a mysterious smile. “I have to make sure that you get on the plane just fine.”
I would argue with him, but since he’s already out of the car and I’m still in it, I don’t have much choice. I just get out, following him around to the trunk to start unloading my bags. I’m not looking forward to taking two suitcases through the airport, but that’s the price I have to pay for all of my beautiful new things.
But I stop dead when I reach the trunk, tilting my head in confusion. Because beside my two suitcases is one more, and I’m sure I didn’t pack three, and I don’t even recognize the last one. What is this? One more gift? Is Marco going on a business trip today as well?
“Why is there another suitcase?” I ask, my tongue thick, feeling a strange sensation I don’t recognize.
“Well, it’s mine,” Marco says, beaming at me.
There are pieces of this puzzle that seem to have matching edges, but I can’t quite manage to click them into place. Maybe because I’m too scared of being wrong. “Why do you need a suitcase?”
Marco doesn’t say another word, but chuckles lightly and reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He takes something out that I instantly recognize as a plane ticket, because it’s exactly the same as the way mine looks, with the same airline logo, the same…
The same flight number.
“Marco?” I say, looking up at him with tears in my eyes. I don’t want to be wrong.
“Yes, bella,” he says. “I’m coming home with you. I need to speak to your father so we can do this right.”
All of my questions are answered in that one sentence. I’m so happy I almost feel like I’m floating on air, and I don’t come back down to earth again until the plane does, and I realize this means we’re actually going to have to talk to Dad about the fact that I’ve
