He’s not hard to find. After a day of running around with his cousin and splashing around in the pool, he’s up on the couch, reading a book. The house is silent, aside from the occasional muffled drill coming from Claudio’s studio.
“Ciao Vanni,” I say to him, sitting beside him on the couch. “What are you reading?”
“Space time continuum,” he says, glancing up at me from behind the book. “Though the author’s voice is a little dry. You ever think about writing about time travel?”
I grin at him. “If I could understand it, maybe. Or I could make it a romance. Like Outlander.”
He makes a face. “I told you. Outlander’s science is all wrong and romance is gross.”
Ah. This might actually make a good segue.
“You say that now Vanni, but in time, it won’t be so gross to you.”
He mumbles something in Italian, and shrugs. Probably the equivalent of whatever.
“I’m serious. One day you’ll fall in love with someone and you won’t find them so gross anymore. You’ll want to spend all day with them. Play all your video games with them. You’ll teach them about space stuff and time travel and they’ll eat it all up, and then they’ll tell you about things you’ll find interesting. And you’ll never want to let them go. You’ll want to spend your life with them.”
“And then marry her?” he adds. “And have a baby? And get divorced? I don’t think so.”
Well, shit. He has me there.
“But that doesn’t always happen.”
“It happened to my father.”
I don’t know how to tell him that his father never loved his mother and I’m not about to. So I just say, “Things happen. But your mother and father are very happy now, just not with each other. They have other people to love. Big careers. They’re happy.”
He shakes his head. “My father is not happy.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I think he is.”
“No,” he says. “He isn’t. The father in Gio’s universe? He is happy. He never divorced. He is in love. And Gio is happy. That’s why this is the darkest timeline. I got stuck in the wrong one. I should have been in the one where my parents are still together.”
Crushed. I feel absolutely crushed. Not just that poor Vanni feels this way, but that the chances of him ever being accepting of me and Claudio have gone out the window. He will never accept us together. He will never understand.
“What if…” I begin, grasping for straws. “What if neither timeline is better than the other? What if there are good things and bad things in each one?”
He stares at me. I have his attention.
I clear my throat and go on. “They say the choices we make every day are the things that influence our life. Our timelines. There are so many choices, though. What to eat, what to wear, where to go. Each of those choices have a direct influence on each other. You know Jurassic Park?”
He sits up. “Which one?”
“Uh, the first one. Jeff Goldblum said that a butterfly flaps its wings in Shanghai and you get rain instead of snow in … some other place. Okay, I don’t remember the quote exactly, but it’s the butterfly effect, right? So, with so many choices influencing our lives, aren’t there infinite timelines and versions of ourselves? And if that’s the case, can’t it be true that at least more than one of them are…happy?”
He stares at me for a moment, and I think I might have gotten through to him.
Then he looks back to his book, shaking his head. “That makes no sense.”
I sigh, giving up. I put my feelers out and the feelers came back saying “good fucking luck.”
I make my way downstairs to give Claudio the bad news.
Twenty-One
Grace
We’re going to Florence.
It was a completely impromptu, last-minute trip, and all Claudio’s idea. After I told him about my talk with Vanni, he said he would talk to him personally and set him straight. Tell him the truth about us. I didn’t want him to hurt Vanni’s feelings in any way, but he’s his father so I know I have to back off and give them space. He knows what’s best.
But Claudio also thought a trip might make the news go down easier.
Plus, his friend I met at the gallery, Lorenzo Ducati, is playing in that weird violent sport thing, and apparently that’s a big deal and something not to be missed.
We’re currently in the Range Rover, zooming down the motorway through verdant hills and small towns, and I’m actually really excited. We’re going for three nights, which Claudio says is just enough to get a taste of the famous city, and that we can always go back for more at any time. Florence is only an hour drive, though we have been making plenty of touristy stops on my behalf. The countryside is just begging to have its photo taken.
“There’s the Duomo!” Vanni yells as the city appears. “Oh wait. That’s another church. There’s a lot of them.”
We hit a bit of traffic and then try to find a parking space outside of the city. The parking situation is very strange and capricious in Florence, and even though the hotel has legal parking, Claudio decides to park elsewhere. I have a feeling he doesn’t trust valets, even with his Range Rover.
Now I’m regretting my decision to pack so much. Claudio grunts as he picks it up, insisting he carry it to the hotel, which I think is just an excuse to complain about it.
Florence is hot as hell and absolutely alive with people. Even though it’s lunchtime, everyone is drunk and wearing shirts in either white or red, beers in hand, shouting and chanting. The atmosphere is electric.
“They are all here for the game, Calcio Storico,” Claudio explains as some guy gets in his face and yells something joyous, before running down the street, drink spilling. “That guy, he’s in a red shirt, so he is cheering for his neighborhood, Santa Maria Novella. The white shirts represent Santo Spirito. Those are the teams that made it to the final.”
“I am upset that San Giovanni isn’t playing,” Vanni says, pouting. “They are my namesake.”
“They are the green team,” Claudio says to me. “You may see some blue or green shirts here anyway, people who refuse to accept they lost.”
“So, it’s different Florentine neighborhoods competing?” I ask, trying to understand.
“That is correct. Each is named after the main church in that neighborhood. Don’t worry. It will all make sense later. I think.”
“Which neighborhood does Lorenzo play for?”
“He is from Santa Maria Novella. Red shirt. Which is fitting, because when he plays, he is out for blood.”
“He’s barbaric,” Vanni whispers to me. “I’ve seen him play on the internet and…” He trails off, shaking his head in quiet disgust.
Okay, this game definitely sounds more interesting now.
Soon we arrive at our hotel, which is the nicest hotel I have ever stepped in. It’s The Savoy, and it feels like you’re walking into a palace. But as much as I want to luxuriate here and hunker down in a beautiful room with a cocktail, we’re on a schedule today. We need to meet up with Lorenzo to get the tickets, then Claudio wants to take us to the famous Duomo, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, all before the parade that starts at four p.m., with the game starting after.