“Yeah, sure.” We walked back through the living room and Ren stopped at the front door.
“Hey, do you want to go to a party with me tomorrow?”
“Um . . .” I looked away, then quickly bent to tie my shoelace. It’s just a party. You know, the things normal teenagers go to? Losing my mom had somehow made social events feel like a quick jaunt up Mt. Everest. Also, I was doing an alarming amount of self-talk these days.
“I’ll have to ask Howard,” I finally said, straightening back up.
“Okay. I can pick you up on my scooter. Around eight?”
“Maybe. I’ll call you if I can go.” I reached for the doorknob.
“Wait. You need my number.” He grabbed a pen from a nearby table, then cupped my hand in his, writing his number quickly. His breath was warm, and when he finished, he held my hand for just a second longer.
Oh.
He looked up at me and smiled. “Ciao, Carolina. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Maybe.” I stepped out of the house and left without looking back. I was afraid he’d see the sparkly smile plastered across my face.
Chapter 6
THE WHOLE REN-HAND-HOLDING THING HAD launched a teeny butterfly in my stomach, but all it took was two minutes in the car with Howard for the butterfly to fall flat. It was just so awkward.
Howard had these big comb marks in his freshly showered hair, and he’d changed into a pair of slacks and a nicer shirt. I’d missed the memo on dressing up and was still wearing my T-shirt and sneakers.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
“Well, then off to Florence. You’re going to love the city.” He popped a disc in his CD player (who was still using CDs?) and AC/DC’s “ You Shook Me All Night Long” filled the car. You know, the official soundtrack of Ignore How Uncomfortable Your First Father-Daughter Outing Is.
According to Howard the city was only about seven miles away, but it took us like thirty minutes to get there. The road into town was packed with scooters and miniature cars and every building we passed looked old. Even with the weird atmosphere in the car, excitement started building up in me like steam in a pressure cooker. Maybe the circumstances weren’t ideal, but I was in Florence. How cool was that?
When we got to the city Howard pulled down a narrow, one-way street, then pulled off the most impressive feat of parallel parking I’d ever witnessed. Like he would have made a great driver’s ed teacher, if he weren’t so into the whole cemetery thing.
“Sorry about the long drive,” he said. “Traffic was bad tonight.”
“Not your fault.” I practically had my nose pressed against the window. The street was made of gray crisscrossing square stones and there was a narrow sidewalk on either side. Tall pastel-colored buildings were smashed close together and all the windows had these adorable green shutters. A bike flew past on the sidewalk, practically clipping my side mirror.
Howard looked at me. “Want to take the scenic route? See a little bit of the city?”
“Yes!” I unclicked my seat belt and then jumped out onto the street. It was still hot out, and the city smelled slightly of warm garbage, but everything was so interesting-looking that it was completely okay. Howard started up the sidewalk and I trailed after him.
It was like walking through a scene from an Italian movie. The street was lined with clothing stores and little coffee shops and restaurants, and people kept calling to one another from windows and cars. Halfway down the street a horn beeped politely and everyone cleared out of the street to make way for an entire family crowded onto a scooter. There was even a string of laundry hanging between two buildings, a billowy red housedress flapping right in the middle of it. Any second now a director was going to jump out and yell, Cut!
“There it is.” We turned a corner and Howard pointed to a sliver of a tall building visible at the end of the street.
“There’s what?”
“That’s the Duomo. Florence’s cathedral.”
Duomo. It was like the mother ship. Everyone was funneling into it and we had to slow down even more the closer we got. Finally we were in the middle of a large open space, and I was looking up at a gargantuan building half-lit by the setting sun.
“Wow. That’s really . . .” Big? Beautiful? Impressive? It was all that and more. The cathedral was easily the size of several city blocks and the walls were patterned in detailed carvings of pink, green, and white marble. It was a hundred times prettier and more impressive and grander than any building I’d seen before. Also, I’d never used the word “grander” in my life. Nothing had ever required it before.
“It’s actually called the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, but everyone just calls it the Duomo.”