The guy puts our sandwiches on the counter and Gavin pays, saying, “Merci beaucoup,” with the worst American accent possible, actually pronouncing the silent “p” at the end. The beautiful ferret-faced Andreas smiles at us in his rodent way. I grab our sandwiches, still laughing, and we go outside. Gavin takes the warm, fried chocolate-banana sandwich I hand him with a strange look.
“What was that all about?” Gavin asks me.
“Nothing,” I say, still laughing. But it was everything. To me, anyway. I take a bite of my sandwich. It’s even better than I remembered.
“Dang. These are good,” Gavin says around a mouthful of gooey bananas and melted chocolate.
“Mm-hmm,” I say. We eat on a park bench and watch the world go by. And eventually, we finish our food and have to start talking.
“Thanks for ordering for me,” Gavin says. “And, thanks for, well, you know, for kind of saving my life, even though . . .” His voice trails off. More red blotches creep up over his face.
“Even though what?” I say, admittedly enjoying his discomfort.
“Thanks for saving my life, even though I was kind of a jerk.”
He gets that? I have to ask him about it.
“Why?” I say, looking into his face.
“Why what?” Gavin asks me back. His eyes are wide open. He really doesn’t know what I’m asking? I sigh. Everybody always wants me to say more.
“Why did you make fun of me that first day?” I ask, slowly, inwardly cringing at the sounds and syllables that trip over themselves.
“I guess I didn’t really know how to talk to you,” Gavin says. He pauses to wad up the paper from his sandwich and tosses it into a nearby garbage can. “I didn’t want to come here in the first place with my Dad and his new wife. He left my Mom for her, you know that?” he says, his eyes glittering with anger.
Oh. All the times Gavin called her Valerie. Not Mom. His voice took on a razor’s edge whenever he spoke of her. And I was too wrapped up in my own stupid problems to see what was right in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I know,” Gavin says. “Anyway, this trip is . . . well, it’s their honeymoon,” he adds with a cringe. “But Dad insisted that I come so they dragged me along with them, and it was as miserable as I imagined. Then, one day something good happened. We went into a souvenir shop and this hot girl was there, smiling me.”
Hot girl? I feel a pleasant sensation somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
“So I went to talk to her,” Gavin says, “but when she said her name, it came out a little weird. I guess I reacted without thinking. I so did not expect something like that. I thought for a second that you did it on purpose.” He cringes. “Stupid, I know! I should never have made fun of you.”
“No.” I say simply. But I can’t help smiling a little as I say it.
“You did stuff, too, you know. You dumped your drink on my lap, and you made fun of me when I couldn’t speak French, but I kind of figured I deserved it, after the way I treated you. I really tried to get to know you, Rosemary. I wanted to let you know that it doesn’t matter how you talk.”
He reads my incredulous expression and hurries on.
“I’m serious! I’ve never met someone like you before, and I didn’t really know how to talk to you. So, I’m sorry. Again. I’m sorry for being a jerk. And yesterday when that old lady accused you of taking her stuff, I figured that I owed it to you to help. I was going to pretend that I was the one taking stuff from that apartment.”
There’s so much I want to say right now. But there’s something else I want to do more. So I do.
Gavin kisses me back. Chocolate and bananas taste way better than bubblegum.
Then we talk for a while. Not about anything important. And we don’t talk a lot, either. I’m still not used to having anyone hear how tangled my words are, other than Jada, Mom, and Zander.
A church bell tolls. It’s late, so I stand up. I still don’t know what to do with my hands, so I shove them in my pockets.
“You’re probably gonna be going home, aren’t you?” Gavin asks, rising to walk with me back to Sylvie’s shop.
“Yeah.” It hurts to say it.
“Will you keep in touch?” he asks. He reaches out for my hand so I let him take it. And then I’m holding hands with a boy for the first time in my life . . . It’s weirdly wonderful and confusing all at the same time.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Gavin writes his number on a gum wrapper and gives it to me.
“I gotta go,” he finally says.
I want to kiss him again but by now we’re in front of the shop. I can’t see anyone inside but I feel someone, somewhere, staring.
Gavin gets it. He kisses me on the cheek. I watch him while he walks away until he’s lost in a swarm of buzzing tourists.
A breeze blows through my short hair, bringing with it the scent of the ocean. I close my eyes and pretend that the currents of cool air are pulling some thoughts out of my brain, scattering them over the Mediterranean, making me forget. And putting other thoughts back inside.
I have to learn to do that. I have to forget about some things. How it feels when someone doesn’t understand me. What it’s like when someone makes fun of me. I have to get over it!
Because there are people like Gavin. People who will be patient enough to get to know me. And understand me.