It starts with the fact that today is my cute-ass parents’ 25th wedding anniversary.
My dad emails me the slideshow he made as a gift to my mom. It’s composed of photos and clips of them from over the years and he has “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys playing in the background. The melody stabs me in the heart and every picture is more adorable than the last. Their faces squashed together; smiles brimming over; dorky ’80s clothes; honeymoon beach pics; huddled close, cradling little baby me.
My dad tells me he’s made a reservation at their favorite steakhouse. He’s going to have two dozen red roses waiting for my mom at their table.
As if that’s not enough, next, I see a bunch of texts piled up from Kristen and Melissa. While I was sleeping, they were giving me updates on everyone back home. Apparently, a friend of ours got engaged. Oh, and another friend just got married. Did I see the picture of Jon dipping Sarah into a kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower? And isn’t Jessie the cutest pregnant person ever?
I’m shriveling into a bitter old shrew when I accidentally click a sob-worthy Soldier Coming Home video on Instagram and THAT IS ENOUGH.
I CAN ONLY TAKE SO MUCH.
I toss my phone to the bottom of my bed and roll onto my side, staring at my closed door.
Why am I alone? I wonder.
You spend every waking moment focusing your energy on hating Noah.
No, that can’t possibly be it.
I’ve just had bad luck.
Since Jeff, I’ve had exactly zero meet cutes with eligible men. All the elevators I step onto are in perfect working order. Every bakery I visit is owned by some middle-aged mom, not a hunk who quit his big-time attorney job to pursue his love of patisserie. I peruse the aisles at grocery stores and never accidentally reach for the same bunch of bananas as my high school crush who happens to be back home so he can take care of his ailing grandmother. I mean, where’s the justice in this world?
I push aside my blanket and force myself to get up and out of bed.
I can’t just mope around. I’ve got a full day of minding children followed by a torturous double date ahead of me. Could life be more exciting?!
It occurs to me that I could try to get out of going on the double date, but it’d be pretty tricky. I have so few excuses at my disposal. Nothing is going to come up out of the blue. I know exactly zero people in Rome. I’d have to feign illness, and Noah would see right through that.
Maybe an idea will come to me.
I skip breakfast in the dining hall on purpose. I don’t need to see Noah and Gabriella flaunting their new love, and weirdly, I’m not all that eager to see Lorenzo again. I mean, I’ll see him in the afternoon and again tonight. That’s enough, right?
After I get ready for the day and check in with my students, I head out to find coffee and congratulate myself when I succeed in leaving the school without running into any of the other chaperones or Lorenzo. Being on my own on the streets of Rome is freeing. I spend my morning hunched over a little café table, annotating my copy of Where the Red Fern Grows. It’s an old favorite and I find comfort in visiting the familiar characters.
I love sitting alone, reading, and watching everyone come and go. I know you’re supposed to visit a foreign place so you can take yourself out of your comfort zone, see landmarks, and learn about history in a way you can’t at home, but one of my favorite things to do is go somewhere new and pretend I belong there. Being here in a café like this is both familiar and foreign at the same time. I’m experiencing a day in the life of a Roman.
I make my way back to the school slowly and have no plans to stop for lunch until I pass a delicious savory smell that stops me in my tracks. After waiting in line for twenty minutes, I walk out of a bakery shop with a fresh-out-of-the-oven slice of focaccia bread that’s overladen with tomatoes and rosemary. I pair it with mozzarella cheese and an ice-cold San Pellegrino and eat it all leaning against the wall across the street from Basilica Sant'Andrea al Quirinale. The oval-shaped Baroque church was designed by none other than Bernini. People dip inside for guided tours, but I stand out in the shade and read about the church’s history on my phone, happy for the quiet.
My morning is a far cry from the insanity of my afternoon. My solitude is shattered when Lorenzo leads our group to the Roman Forum—a large excavated area of temples, squares, and government buildings dating back over 2,000 years. There’s a lot of ruins still intact and it’s all very interesting, but the site is also completely exposed to the elements and the blazing afternoon sun is trying to show off. Hot enough for you down there?! Every single tourist （us included） is sweating and panting and ripening into a bright red tomato. I wince when a guy in a tank top walks by with what have to be third-degree burns on his shoulders. He’s going to be in a world of hurt later. Fortunately, I applied sunscreen before we left the school and made sure the kids all lathered up too, ignoring their moaning and groaning about it.