Pieces (18 page)

“Everything smells wet,” she whispered, scrunching her nose as Jesse led her to a front desk. An older woman with a sun-weathered, wrinkly face looked up. Her thick white hair was pulled into a loose bun. She smiled when she spotted Jesse, a string of Italian flowing from her mouth as she looked at Naomi and clapped her hands together.

“What is she saying?” Naomi asked through her teeth, not wanting to appear rude. She would have to learn the language here if she was going to survive.

Jesse nodded at the woman and answered her in Italian. His words came out carefully. The woman nodded, motioning to Naomi.

“I speak English, for her sake, your lovely wife.”

Naomi almost choked. “Oh, we’re not married. We’re—”

“Nonsense!” the woman interrupted. “Your Jesse here tell me much about you when he lease apartment. You lovely girl. You love Trastevere!” She opened her arms and raised them high, as if embracing the entire city. Then she lowered them and clasped her soft-looking hands below her chest. “If you not married in two months, I be a’surprised. Come now, let us sign final paperwork so I give you keys.” She tapped the top of the desk and sat down.

Naomi waited beside Jesse as he signed some papers and paid the rest of his deposit to the old woman, who told Naomi to call her Lalia.

“Laa-li-a,” Naomi pronounced, trying to place her accents in the right place.

“That is correct.” The old woman smiled and handed over the apartment keys to Jesse. She wished them both well as they gathered their luggage and trudged up the concrete stairwell to the third floor.

“There’s ... no elevator?” Naomi panted as she dragged her bags up the final set of steps.

“Um, yeah, sorry. It was the most affordable place I could find when I was looking.” He glanced back at her, grinning. “At least every time you come up the stairs you won’t be hauling eighty pounds of luggage.”

“Right,” she gasped. “Well, it’s charming.” They walked down a short hallway to apartment number fifteen. Something inside of Naomi was sparking to life. Everything might have smelled old and ancient, but in her mind it was turning into a good thing—a solid thing so foreign it was almost comforting. Here, away from everything she had ever known, she might be able to truly live for the first time in her life.

Jesse unlocked the door and they both stepped inside. Naomi dropped her luggage. “It’s a lot smaller than in the pictures you showed me.”

He laughed. “I expected that. It’s cozy.” He turned to her, frowning. “If you hate it, I’ve only signed it for three months.”

Naomi slid her gaze over the worn but clean furniture. The couch was upholstered in a yellow-orange color that made her almost giggle it was so hideous. There was a desk near a set of rickety-looking doors leading out to a balcony big enough for one person to stand and hang laundry on the wire strung up between buildings. The kitchen looked manageable, at least, with lots of cupboard space and a refrigerator. There was no dishwasher, no television in the living room, hardly anything modern at all.

“I remember seeing a washer and dryer in the pictures?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Jesse.

“I’m sure we can find them,” he answered, taking her hand and leading her through the front room and down a hallway. He opened a closet door to a tiny room stuffed with a newer-looking washer and dryer. Naomi let out a sigh.

“As long as I don’t have to wash our clothes by hand, I’ll be happy.”

Jesse grunted. “You’ve never lived in anything less than finery. This will take some getting used to, I suppose.”

“Are you saying I’m spoiled?”

“Possibly.” He smiled and twirled her around once again, bumping her against the wall. “Whoops, sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” When she looked into his eyes, she saw life and love and excitement. It seeped into her like a ray of sunshine. With him, everything was possible. She would live in a cave with him if she had to, even if she had to scrub clothes by hand.

“Where’s the bedroom?” she asked in a sultry voice, tracing her finger down his strong, firm chest. She wanted him so much her knees were starting to tremble. “I feel like I’m going to die from jet lag, but I think I need something before I sleep.”

Looking eager, Jesse led her down the hallway. “Can’t be far.”

A
LL NAOMI
did for the next two days was eat at odd hours and sleep. Every time she woke, there was sun peeking through the thin bedroom curtains. Groaning, she threw the blankets back over her head and closed her eyes. Finally, Jesse rolled her out of bed, undressed her, and made her get in the bath.

“There,” he said, looking down at her as she soaked in some hot water scented with salts, “now you can start waking up at the right time.” He looked at his watch. “It’s nine a.m. You’re not allowed to go back to sleep until ten tonight.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed a round jar of bath salts that had appeared in the bathroom the day before. Jesse must have bought them while she was sleeping. For some reason, that made her smile. It was one of the reasons she loved him—the little things he did for her. She lifted the jar to her nose and sniffed. The crystal-like salts smelled rich and mysterious, like a combination of flowers she couldn’t identify.

“I’m sorry!” she laughed, returning the bath salts to the edge of the tub. “I’m not used to this kind of thing. My body thinks it’s been tipped upside down.”

“It’s okay,” he answered, getting on his knees by the tub. He rolled up his sleeves and traced a finger through the water as he studied her nakedness. She blushed a little and touched his fingers.

“So everything is going to work out?” she asked, every nerve in her body awakening as Jesse moved his hand up her arm.

“Of course,” he said, laughing. “Why wouldn’t it work out?”

“I mean, I haven’t told anyone I’ve come here, except Finn—and even then, I never told him for sure I was leaving. I told the school I was moving, but I didn’t say where. Becca thinks I moved back home. Somebody’s going to catch on.”

Jesse winced. “I wish you hadn’t told Finn, even indirectly, but it’s alright. When we’re more settled, you can tell your parents you’ve decided to move here.”

She sat up, bathwater sliding down her shoulders. “Why can’t I tell them now? It’s all over. You’re free. There’s nothing they can do.”

His hand stopped near her elbow. “Let’s wait,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her bare shoulders. She closed her eyes. “Thanksgiving break is barely over and they won’t know anything is wrong for a while.”

“Wrong?”

“Not wrong,” he said, lifting his lips from her skin. “Changed, I guess, is the right word. They’ll need to accept you’re independent now. Let’s give it some time, okay?”

“Okay.” She leaned her head back and Jesse moved his kisses to her neck. “I like the way independent sounds,” she said, her breaths coming faster as she turned her head to give him better access to nibble on her ear. She stared at the bath salts and lifted her hand to scoop some out of the jar. They were rough and smooth at the same time. Jesse moved his way to her cheek and then to her lips. She dropped the salts in her hand. They
plunked
into the water and sifted down around her legs.

“Free,” Jesse said, his lips caressing hers. “Free.”

L
ATER THAT
morning, she and Jesse walked around Trastevere, buying essentials for the kitchen and the bathroom, more blankets and sheets for the bed, and a few books from a shop Jesse didn’t want to leave. With their arms full of bags, they meandered up and down narrow alleys overgrown with vines and low-hanging trees. All the plants seemed limp, as if the humidity in the air made them heavier. The buildings were the colors of the sunset—terracotta browns, deep wines, and honey-yellows. Even on a cloudy day the city seemed alive with color. Tourists were roaming the more popular areas, creating a constant buzz of activity. In the dead of winter the buzz felt almost lazy. Naomi guessed in the summer it would swell and pick up momentum, but she didn’t want that to come. She wanted to wander Rome forever, just as it was, losing herself in quaint restaurants and shops with Jesse by her side. She knew it couldn’t last.

Two days later, Jesse began leaving every morning for work, and Naomi found herself sitting on the couch for hours at a time, staring at the front door. It was painted a soft eggshell blue and had a brown coffee-colored stain along the bottom, shaped like a turtle. She stared at that shape forever, thinking about turtles gliding through a perfect sea of blue. Calm. It was a place in her head where she didn’t have to worry about anything.

Finally, she realized Italy itself was not going to spark her to life. She was going to have to beat down the wall of fear she had built around herself. She would have to begin by leaving the apartment.

Gathering her courage, she walked to the entryway and put out her hand to open the door. There was talking down the hall, the muffled sounds of a couple arguing. She undid the chain, her fingers trembling, and then turned the handle and opened the door. The hallway smelled damp and musty. Whitewashed walls. Weathered wood floor. The man and woman arguing one stairwell down were speaking in Italian, their words like bullets firing at each other in the otherwise quiet atmosphere.

Naomi stepped into the hallway, her pulse pounding in her head. Then she looked down and realized she hadn’t put her shoes on. She needed her purse too. Swallowing, she backed into the apartment and closed the door. She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to walk down the stairs and risk having to see the arguing couple. She fastened the chain and rushed to the couch, grabbing her purse from a nearby end table. Her phone was at the bottom. She wasn’t sure she dared turn it on. It had been off since before she and Jesse had flown here to Italy. The problem was he didn’t know she had a new phone. He had told her he would buy her one here so she could call him once he started working every day, but he had yet to get her one. He didn’t know she had gone behind his back and upgraded to a global plan so she wouldn’t feel cut off from everything she was leaving behind. It was the one secret she had kept from him. It made her feel dirty, as if she was cheating on him. With a phone. How stupid was that? Even keeping Finn’s kiss a secret for so long hadn’t made her feel so terrible. Maybe if she never used the phone, that would make it all better.

Or maybe not.

Glaring at the phone, she almost dropped it back into her purse, then changed her mind and pressed the power button with her thumb. She could at least check to see if anyone had tried to call her from home. She scrolled through the voicemail message list.

Three voicemail messages from Karen Jensen.

One voicemail message from Jason Jensen.

Her heart sank. They knew something was going on. Her father had never left her a voicemail message in his entire life.

Next, she scrolled through her text message list.

Four text messages from Karen Jensen.

That was surprising. She didn’t know her mother even knew how to text. Her finger trembling above the screen, she selected the first message.

Hi, sweetheart, I’m texting because you haven’t answered your phone and I’m a little worried. Please give me a call when you can.

Naomi selected the next message and then the next and the next. They were all similar, each one sounding a little more worried than the other. When she finished, she went back to the voicemail list and dialed the number to listen to the first message.

“Hi, Naomi,” her mother’s voice chirped, “I hope your Thanksgiving went well with—Finn, I think?—but I hope everything was great. Give me a call when you can.”

Naomi saved the message and listened to the next.

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s Mom. Give me a call when you can.”

And the next.

“Give me a call, sweetheart.” She paused. “Did your phone break? Maybe I’ll try texting you.”

Naomi paused before listening to her father’s message. She noticed it had come yesterday, after all the worried-sounding texts from her mother.

“Hi, Naomi, it’s Dad. I’m not sure what’s going on, but we’re a little concerned about you not answering your phone. You understand why we might worry, right? You told Mom you were spending time with someone over Thanksgiving and we haven’t heard back from you, that’s all. I hate to be one of those pushy parents, but give us a call when you can, alright?” His voice got a little muffled, as if he was covering half his mouth with his hand. “If you’re mad at Mom or something, you can call my office ... alright? Don’t let us worry like this.”