Despite my clenching stomach, I can’t help smiling at my father’s invocation of my mother’s favorite expression. Literally translated, Ciao, stronzo means, Bye, asshole. But Mom always said it in a broader sense, not just in relation to people. It was her way of saying “good riddance” or “I’m done with you” to any person, place, or thing, even something as small as a malfunctioning can opener that might have broken her nail.
I look down at my mother’s wedding ring on my hand and hear her feisty voice, telling me to move on from Reed. Ciao, stronzo, she says. He cheated on you, love. He thought he could buy you with that grant.
But it’s no use. My head might be conjuring my mother’s voice to help me move on. But my heart still only wants Reed, despite everything. I could have sworn he was falling in love with me the way I was falling for him this past week. My brain knew it was a long shot, given his renowned womanizing and public declarations of eternal bachelorhood. But, still, my heart felt so sure he was experiencing my exact feelings.
Dad brushes his fingertips against my cheek. “What about your job?”
“What about it?”
“Nobody expected to see your pretty face in the office today? It’s Monday.”
“No. Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m not screwing up at work. I worked on Saturday night, into the early morning hours of Sunday, so Zasu told me to take Sunday and Monday off. I just now texted the office to let them know I’m coming in tomorrow to look through some documents.”
Dad looks relieved.
“Plus, nobody expects to see me at Rock ‘n’ Roll’s offices, just to show my face—not unless I’ve got a specific meeting. They know I’ll be working mostly out of the office this summer. Out in the field, or at home, or at a desk set up for me at River Records.”
“Speaking of home, where is that these days? You never texted me the name of your hotel. You know I like knowing where you are.”
“Oh, yeah. I wound up staying with my co-worker, Zasu, this past week.”
“Oh. How fun. Send me that address, would you?”
“Sure. Of course.”
Crap. I think I might be a sociopath. Over the years, I’ve lied to my father, here and there. Simply because he’s always been crazy-strict with me and girls just wanna have fun. But I’ve never lied to my father about important stuff. And I’ve certainly never told this many lies to him in rapid-fire succession.
I squeeze my father’s hand. “Don’t worry about me, okay? My job is going great. I’m going to be doing a whole bunch of cool interviews of famous artists in the next few weeks. One of them, as early as this Friday in Seattle, if my boss gives me the green light on Wednesday.”
Dad’s face lights up. “Any artists I might know?”
“Remember that show I used to watch: It’s Aloha! on Disney?”
“Oh, sure. You loved that one.”
“Aloha Carmichael is a pop star now, signed to River Records, and I’ll be interviewing her.”
Dad flips out.
“Have you heard of Laila Fitzgerald?”
Dad shakes his head.
“Oh. Well, then I guess you won’t be excited to learn I’m interviewing her, too. How about the rock group 22 Goats?”
Dad shakes his head again. “They’re called ‘22 Goats’? As in, the farm animal?”
“Yep. They’re super popular, Dad. If my boss says yes, I’ll be flying to Seattle on Thursday to interview them on Friday.”
“Are there twenty-two people in the band?”
I chuckle. “No, only three. You know how random band names can be.”
“That’s true. What the hell is a ‘Led Zeppelin’?”
We talk about nonsensical band names for a bit, and, with each passing minute, my mood lifts and brightens.
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I know this job is the chance of a lifetime. I promise I’m not going to blow it. Not for anyone. Least of all, some stupid boy who doesn’t love me back.”
Dad juts his lower lip, making a classic “sad face.” “Aw, I didn’t realize you loved this boy.”
Crap. How did I let that slip? “I thought I did.”
“Aw, honey. I’m sorry.”
I shrug and say nothing. Because... what is there to say? I was a fool to give my heart to Reed Rivers, any way you slice it.
Dad says, “Well, then, this stronzo is obviously more than dumb. He’s crazy.”
“It’s for the best,” I say, trying to convince myself, even more than him. “I should be focusing on my career, not trying to make some dumb, crazy boy fall in love with me.”
“Amen. Focus all your energy on your internship and getting hired for that magazine you’ve always wanted to work for.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I bolt upright. “In fact, I’m going to get back to work right now.” I point to the cardboard box in the corner—the one filled with the three settled lawsuits I got from the courthouse the other day. For some time now, I’ve been meaning to read the third lawsuit Reed settled—the one filed by Troy Eklund for breach of contract, fraud, and assault—but I haven’t had a spare moment to dig into it. “Could you hand me that box? There’s something I’ve been dying to read, and there’s no time like the present.”
“Nope. You’re going to eat something now and read whatever is in that box later.”
“No, I’ll eat later. I want to capitalize on this burst of energy.”
“What have you eaten today, Georgina Marie?”
My middle name, again? “Coffee this morning, when I took Alessandra to the airport. And a banana.”
“And that’s it?”
I nod, grimacing.
“That’s what I thought. Your appetite is always the first thing to go when you’re upset. Well, you’re in luck, Amorina. I’ve been slow-cooking meatballs all day.”
I fist-pump the air, and Dad chuckles. He doesn’t always know how to talk through my feelings with me, though he tries. He doesn’t always know how best to console me when I’m down. But the man sure as hell knows how to feed me.
“I’ll put together meatball sandwiches for us,” Dad says. “While you take a shower and get into some fresh jammies.”
“It’s a date.” I hug him. “Thank you, Daddy. You’re the sweetest.”
Dad kisses my cheek. “I know you wish Mommy were here to talk to you about boy stuff. And I don’t blame you. But I’m here. Any time. If you want to talk.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, shower while I make us dinner.”
“I’ll shower after dinner. I’ve got some texts and voicemails to go through, real quick.”
“All right.” Dad rises from the bed and points at the cardboard box in the corner. “As long as you don’t start reading whatever’s in there. I know how laser-focused you get when you work. Two hours pass without you even realizing it.”
“I’ll deal with my texts and voicemails and come right out.”
“Good girl.”
Dad kisses my forehead and heads out. And the minute the door closes behind him, I grab my phone, steel myself for whatever bullshit explanations and apologies Reed has left me over the past two days, and swipe into his first voicemail.