Italian Espresso,” she tells me as she closes her eyes and takes a long gulp. “It’s my version of heaven.”
She looks around. “You need one more thing,” she muses. “Follow me.”
She leads me to another vendor- they have so many here with cute little fold-up carts- and this time, she buys chocolates from an ancient white haired lady with cloudy, scary eyes. The old lady has a bright red silk scarf wrapped around her head and even though it looks like she is blind, she still looks at people straight in the eye. It’s unnerving.
“All will work out for you, young one,” she tells me, looking at me with her creepy eyes. Her fingers are gnarled and they dart out to grab my hand. She feels my palm and slides her wrinkled fingers up to my wrist, where they press against my pulse-point.
“You are strong,” she says, closing her eyes. “Strong enough.”
Mia and I look at each other wide-eyed and I pull my hand away as politely as I can. I can still feel exactly where the old woman’s claw-like fingers were grasping me and I rub at the spot.
“Strong enough for what?” I ask hesitantly as Mia hands me the chocolate that she had just bought from the old woman.
The old lady nods. “Strong enough to protect your heart.”
She closes her eyes and begins humming, oblivious to us now.
Mia looks at me and makes a circle next to her temples with her fingers.
Cuckoo, she mouths to me.
I nod. That’s the only thing that makes any sense. This old lady has lost her marbles. If she ever had them in the first place, which is highly, highly debatable.
We sit on a nearby bench underneath a tree with weeping branches and I decide that it’s the perfect place for me to sit. Poetically perfect because I feel like weeping too.
“Get your chin up,” Mia demands. “I’m serious. Did you screw over your friend? Maybe. But can you do anything about it from thousands of miles away? No. You’ve got to live in the here and now. You’ll fix it when you are able to. You’re a nice person, I can tell. You didn’t purposely hurt anyone. Your friend is being a dumbass.”
I stare at her.
“Was that supposed to be a pep talk?”
Mia laughs. “I’m not that good at pep talks,” she admits with a shrug. “I’m more of a ‘walk it off’ type of person. I don’t dwell on things. Especially things I can’t change.”
“I didn’t screw over Becca,” I tell her. “I had a crush on her boyfriend. I can’t help that, can I? I never acted on it. I never told him. And I don’t have a crush on him anymore. That means something, right?”
Mia nods in agreement as she takes a bite out of her little chocolate mountain. I’m not sure exactly what our candies are, but they look like tiny volcanoes.
“No. You can’t help that. And as far as I’m concerned, you didn’t do anything wrong. Americans are so uptight,” she observes. “You get your panties in a wad over the slightest little thing.”
“You wouldn’t be mad if your best friend had a crush on your boyfriend?” I ask dubiously. Because I don’t believe it. Anyone would be mad, American, British, Caberran, whatever.
She shrugs again. “I don’t know. I don’t have a boyfriend or a best friend. So I can’t reply to that with any amount of accuracy.”
I stare at her as a bite of the sent-from-heaven chocolate volcano lava melts in my mouth.
“You don’t have a best friend?” I ask, dubious once more. Everyone has a best friend.
“Nope.” She shakes her head and honestly doesn’t seem bothered by it. “My father has always been very picky about who I can hang around with. He’s the Minister of Defense for Dante’s father. He’s very picky about image and public relations and being politically correct and all of that ridiculousness. He won’t let me hang out with just anyone. And the people that he will allow, aside from Dante, are all
She looks around. “You need one more thing,” she muses. “Follow me.”
She leads me to another vendor- they have so many here with cute little fold-up carts- and this time, she buys chocolates from an ancient white haired lady with cloudy, scary eyes. The old lady has a bright red silk scarf wrapped around her head and even though it looks like she is blind, she still looks at people straight in the eye. It’s unnerving.
“All will work out for you, young one,” she tells me, looking at me with her creepy eyes. Her fingers are gnarled and they dart out to grab my hand. She feels my palm and slides her wrinkled fingers up to my wrist, where they press against my pulse-point.
“You are strong,” she says, closing her eyes. “Strong enough.”
Mia and I look at each other wide-eyed and I pull my hand away as politely as I can. I can still feel exactly where the old woman’s claw-like fingers were grasping me and I rub at the spot.
“Strong enough for what?” I ask hesitantly as Mia hands me the chocolate that she had just bought from the old woman.
The old lady nods. “Strong enough to protect your heart.”
She closes her eyes and begins humming, oblivious to us now.
Mia looks at me and makes a circle next to her temples with her fingers.
Cuckoo, she mouths to me.
I nod. That’s the only thing that makes any sense. This old lady has lost her marbles. If she ever had them in the first place, which is highly, highly debatable.
We sit on a nearby bench underneath a tree with weeping branches and I decide that it’s the perfect place for me to sit. Poetically perfect because I feel like weeping too.
“Get your chin up,” Mia demands. “I’m serious. Did you screw over your friend? Maybe. But can you do anything about it from thousands of miles away? No. You’ve got to live in the here and now. You’ll fix it when you are able to. You’re a nice person, I can tell. You didn’t purposely hurt anyone. Your friend is being a dumbass.”
I stare at her.
“Was that supposed to be a pep talk?”
Mia laughs. “I’m not that good at pep talks,” she admits with a shrug. “I’m more of a ‘walk it off’ type of person. I don’t dwell on things. Especially things I can’t change.”
“I didn’t screw over Becca,” I tell her. “I had a crush on her boyfriend. I can’t help that, can I? I never acted on it. I never told him. And I don’t have a crush on him anymore. That means something, right?”
Mia nods in agreement as she takes a bite out of her little chocolate mountain. I’m not sure exactly what our candies are, but they look like tiny volcanoes.
“No. You can’t help that. And as far as I’m concerned, you didn’t do anything wrong. Americans are so uptight,” she observes. “You get your panties in a wad over the slightest little thing.”
“You wouldn’t be mad if your best friend had a crush on your boyfriend?” I ask dubiously. Because I don’t believe it. Anyone would be mad, American, British, Caberran, whatever.
She shrugs again. “I don’t know. I don’t have a boyfriend or a best friend. So I can’t reply to that with any amount of accuracy.”
I stare at her as a bite of the sent-from-heaven chocolate volcano lava melts in my mouth.
“You don’t have a best friend?” I ask, dubious once more. Everyone has a best friend.
“Nope.” She shakes her head and honestly doesn’t seem bothered by it. “My father has always been very picky about who I can hang around with. He’s the Minister of Defense for Dante’s father. He’s very picky about image and public relations and being politically correct and all of that ridiculousness. He won’t let me hang out with just anyone. And the people that he will allow, aside from Dante, are all
Similar Books
