didn’t fit in with the employees. Everyone was nice enough, sure. It wasn’t like school, where I had to worry about how my differences from the other students could cause me problems. But I still didn’t . . . fit. And I didn’t know how to talk to customers. Leo always earned twice as much as me in tips. It was exhausting to be so different. And it was exhausting to pretend that I wasn’t exhausted by it. The only place I didn’t feel that was the classroom.
That’s where I belonged. Where I thrived. The only place where there was no one to live up to, no one to fall behind, because it was my domain. No one in my entire extended family had ever been to college. My grandparents emigrated to the States from Italy a few years after they married. They groomed my mother to take over the restaurant. Dad was a waiter at the restaurant, and she fell for him even though he was older and Nonna didn’t approve. My aunt worked in the restaurant, too. By the time I was in high school, things were going so well that they were thinking about opening a second location.
They wanted Leo and me to help run it. I know they did. But I couldn’t go my entire life trying to belong in the restaurant when there was another place where it felt so natural for me to be. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to learn more, be more. Beyond that, I wanted to go to graduate school, probably get my doctorate. Other kids balked at the idea of more school. I craved it.
All I’ve ever wanted for my future was to live in a world that’s bigger than the one I grew up in. But now I’m realizing that all I did was trade one small, stifled world for another. It’s not right that last night was more interesting than every other night in my life so far combined. I’m torn between wanting more nights like it and going back to my normal routine of class, sleep, and more class just because it’s safer. Easier. Far less terrifying.
But how long can I live with just safe and easy before my life becomes completely devoid of meaning? I’ll have work, sure, but what if I end up not liking it as much as I think I will? For so long, I’ve thought that the most important thing in my life was my career, getting to where I want to be. Finding a place where I fit. But what if it’s not as satisfying as I always thought? What if I got it wrong, and I didn’t like class because I fit there, but because I thrived there? Because it challenged me and pushed me in a way that my childhood in the restaurant never had?
And then the big question is . . . am I thriving here? I’m excelling, certainly. My grades are good. I’m making plans. But I don’t know if that’s the same as thriving. I just don’t know.
I used to think about the future in terms of goals and achievements, and now all I can think of is all the things I might end up regretting. And it’s all this stupid list’s fault. And Dylan’s. And Mateo’s . I was perfectly fine ignoring my doubts until Dylan pointed out how blindly I was pursuing my future, without even exploring any other options.
Does that make me any different from Leo? He stepped right into his position at the restaurant, no hesitation, no thought to any other future because it’s what he’s good at. I’d thought him so naive.
If he was, I guess I am, too.
I rinse off my plate and load it in the dishwasher, and then dial my parents. My mother answers on the fourth ring, and just by the chaos I can hear in the background, I can tell she’s at the restaurant. Probably in the kitchen prepping for the day.
“Antonella?” she says loudly. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, Mammina. I’m here.”
She says something in Italian to someone on her end, something about preparing the bread, and after a few seconds I hear a door shut and the din disappears.
“How are you, passarotta mia ? It’s nice to have you call me for a change.”
My little sparrow. She took to calling me that sometime during high school. She said all I
That’s where I belonged. Where I thrived. The only place where there was no one to live up to, no one to fall behind, because it was my domain. No one in my entire extended family had ever been to college. My grandparents emigrated to the States from Italy a few years after they married. They groomed my mother to take over the restaurant. Dad was a waiter at the restaurant, and she fell for him even though he was older and Nonna didn’t approve. My aunt worked in the restaurant, too. By the time I was in high school, things were going so well that they were thinking about opening a second location.
They wanted Leo and me to help run it. I know they did. But I couldn’t go my entire life trying to belong in the restaurant when there was another place where it felt so natural for me to be. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to learn more, be more. Beyond that, I wanted to go to graduate school, probably get my doctorate. Other kids balked at the idea of more school. I craved it.
All I’ve ever wanted for my future was to live in a world that’s bigger than the one I grew up in. But now I’m realizing that all I did was trade one small, stifled world for another. It’s not right that last night was more interesting than every other night in my life so far combined. I’m torn between wanting more nights like it and going back to my normal routine of class, sleep, and more class just because it’s safer. Easier. Far less terrifying.
But how long can I live with just safe and easy before my life becomes completely devoid of meaning? I’ll have work, sure, but what if I end up not liking it as much as I think I will? For so long, I’ve thought that the most important thing in my life was my career, getting to where I want to be. Finding a place where I fit. But what if it’s not as satisfying as I always thought? What if I got it wrong, and I didn’t like class because I fit there, but because I thrived there? Because it challenged me and pushed me in a way that my childhood in the restaurant never had?
And then the big question is . . . am I thriving here? I’m excelling, certainly. My grades are good. I’m making plans. But I don’t know if that’s the same as thriving. I just don’t know.
I used to think about the future in terms of goals and achievements, and now all I can think of is all the things I might end up regretting. And it’s all this stupid list’s fault. And Dylan’s. And Mateo’s . I was perfectly fine ignoring my doubts until Dylan pointed out how blindly I was pursuing my future, without even exploring any other options.
Does that make me any different from Leo? He stepped right into his position at the restaurant, no hesitation, no thought to any other future because it’s what he’s good at. I’d thought him so naive.
If he was, I guess I am, too.
I rinse off my plate and load it in the dishwasher, and then dial my parents. My mother answers on the fourth ring, and just by the chaos I can hear in the background, I can tell she’s at the restaurant. Probably in the kitchen prepping for the day.
“Antonella?” she says loudly. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, Mammina. I’m here.”
She says something in Italian to someone on her end, something about preparing the bread, and after a few seconds I hear a door shut and the din disappears.
“How are you, passarotta mia ? It’s nice to have you call me for a change.”
My little sparrow. She took to calling me that sometime during high school. She said all I
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