I reluctantly roll over and bounce onto the floor to open the bedroom windows. With the breeze on my face, I lean out to drink in my Midtown East view. I’m darn close to singing when my cell phone rings with an alert from the front desk. I tuck my head back inside and answer it.
The doorman tells me Cristina is here and I ask him to let her up. I hold the door open before she even arrives, hopping in excitement as I hear the elevator getting closer and closer.
She comes into view moments later and barrels into me, screeching and throwing her arms around my shoulders. We hug and yell for a considerable amount of time before letting go. My face hurts from cheesing so hard as she quickly walks into the apartment and I close the door.
“Kara, you look beautiful! Completely Italian!”
“Grazie,” I say, jokingly tossing my new cream-colored pashmina over my shoulder. “You look great too! I’ve missed you so much!”
“I’ve missed you! How do you feel? Are you happy to be home?”
“It’s a little strange,” I admit. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m overjoyed to be back, but it’s still a little weird.”
“I’m seriously so, so happy you’re back. You can never leave me again! Promise you won’t.”
“I wasn’t gone that long,” I say, pulling her over to sit down on the couch.
“What are you talking about? Six months is a lifetime. I latched onto Jason like a barnacle because I missed talking to you so much. He thinks I’m a psycho but that’s what he signed up for.”
“Poor guy.”
“Don’t worry about him! I know you were holding out on me with the details of your trip so I want to hear it all. What was it like? Did you meet anyone? Is it wrong that I secretly hoped you wouldn’t make any new friends?”
“Um, no. Anytime you ever mention another friend I instantly die a little inside.”
“That’s oddly comforting,” she says.
“I’m glad. But still, I’m sure you were fine without me. You’re close with way more people than I am. I could easily be replaced.”
Cristina nearly gasps. “What? Kara, you’re my human diary. I have been going nuts these past six months without you to confide in. With the honeymoon and all the trying for a baby stuff...you’re one of the only people I can talk to without a filter.”
She means every word. She really does tell me everything. It makes me feel selfish and petty for keeping her at an emotional distance for the past few months, but I’m about to repay her in full.
“I missed talking to you, too. I actually put a character like you in the book I’m working on now.”
“I can’t believe that after a year of misery trying to finish your last novel you suddenly pounded out another. I thought you went to Italy to relax.”
“Trust me, this latest manuscript is very much a first draft. Now I get to edit, edit and edit it again as I try not to slowly slip into insanity before I edit it twelve more times.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s wonderful. Your books are always amazing.”
I smile at her encouragement and take a breath. “I’m glad you think so because if you’re up for it, I’d love for you to read this one and tell me what you think.”
“Really?” she asks, seeming shocked. “You’ve never had me do that before.”
“I know, but this one is different and your input means a lot to me. Specifically, you can tell me if you like the direction I went in for the ending.”
Cristina’s surprised expression morphs into a radiant smile. “Of course! This is so exciting! Should I keep notes as I go?”
“Notes are always appreciated but on top of your feedback, I also have one rule. Once you start reading it, you can’t talk to me until you finish it all the way through.”
“What? Why? What if I have a question about something?”
I shake my head. “That’s the rule. Do you accept?”
She thinks about it for a few moments until she says, “Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. But just know that I’m going to fly through this thing in less than a day. I can finally call and see you again and I plan on being your attached-at-the-hip friend/minion for the foreseeable future.”
I smile at the notion. “Same here.”
I go on to tell her a bunch of my stories from Italy and she fills me in on what’s been going on with her, but an hour later, I need to get ready for dinner at my mom’s. As we get up from the couch, I head over to my carry-on bag beside the door and dig out my typed manuscript. I hand over the three hundred and fourteen pages with a nervous smile.
“Happy reading.”
When I walk into the living room of my childhood home, I’m surprised when I don’t find my mom or Jen waiting by the door. I use the unexpected moment of privacy to step farther inside and sit down in my dad’s recliner for the first time in a long time, running my hands across the cool leather of the armrests.
“Italy was amazing, Dad,” I say quietly. “But I’m sure you know that. I felt you there with me all the time.”
In the past, my dad’s absence in this world felt like a numbing ache I could never get accustomed to. An amputated limb I kept trying to use. But something changed after the grief-ridden moment of clarity I had at my dining room table in Italy. From then on, my dad was so obviously present that the feeling of missing him switched from emptiness to a calm sense of warmth—something to reach for instead of something to fear.
“Kara! Is that you?” I hear my mom call.
I push my back into
