I scoffed. “Oh, please. What would you know?”
“It’s kinda obvious. At the beach he looks at you, like, all the time.”
For a moment I wondered if I should tell him that it was kind of strange for a straight guy like him to notice that, but I gave up on the idea. I decided instead to focus on what I knew about James.
Indeed, I had met his eyes a few times. James was unfairly cute, with his big, blue eyes, blond, curly hair and naturally red lips; he had an innocent expression most of the time, but then his eyes would suddenly sparkle, maybe revealing a mischievous mind. I had never thought he might be interested in me, but if that were the case…
If that were the case, what? I asked myself. A few years ago, I would have tried to hit on him, but I was in an exclusive relationship now. Things with Luca weren’t going well, but I would never cheat on him.
I probably shouldn’t think about James at all. In fact, I should probably care more about what my mother was doing in the kitchen. Judging from the noises, she was cooking something.
“Ma?” I called. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making a tiramisu.”
Marco and I exchanged a look. “Why?” my brother said.
“If the Americans are coming, we don’t want to look bad.”
“You don’t even like them!” Marco remarked.
“It’s not a matter of liking or disliking, it’s a matter of manners.”
◆◆◆
James really came to the barbecue. He brought his whole family, like I had told him to do, and they had a bottle of red wine for us. Marco and I would joke sometimes about the fact that their family looked like it had just come out of some comedy TV show; James’ mother was blond, slim and always well dressed. Her nails were painted red and her hair was in perfect order. His father was more of a nerdy type; at least ten inches shorter than his wife, he had thick black hair, wore huge-framed glasses and I never saw him wearing less than a shirt and shorts, not even at the beach. The youngest of the family, Mary, looked a lot like her father. James, on the other hand, was his mother’s spitting image.
Mr. Troester, the German guy living on the other side of the street, started chatting with James’ father; it almost felt like he had been looking forward to practicing his English with someone. His wife, on the other hand, introduced James’ Mom to my mother and her friends, translating what she said from English into Italian. A small crowd gathered around them, curious to know more about our mysterious American neighbors.
Marco and his friends similarly surrounded Mary and James; some of them actually spoke decent English. I couldn’t help thinking that my brother should really learn something from them. Mary responded to their questions with enthusiasm, holding all the attention. James looked like he was regretting being there instead. Like any other introvert, he was probably looking for a chance to disappear from the spotlight.
I never have problems being around people, but I’m not the type to force anyone into being sociable when they don’t feel like it. I sort of felt bad for putting James into that situation, so I walked over to him and asked him to come with me to the kitchen to get some spare dishes. When I made him sit down at the kitchen counter and got him a hot dog, I could literally see him let out a sigh of relief. I sat on the other side of the counter, in silence. I hadn’t turned on the light when we came in, but the lamps by the window provided enough illumination. For a while, the only sound we could here was the chattering of the people outside.
“I’m sorry, I don’t do well around people,” he told me, his lips pursed into a straight line. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed in the party or in himself.
“No problem. I know Marco’s friends look like a bunch of idiots, but they’re good kids. They must be around your age.”
“I’m nineteen.”
“You’re just two years older, then.”
“And you? How old are you?” he asked me, his big, blue eyes shining with curiosity. It made me want to tease him.
“Can you guess?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Very funny.”
James smirked. Smiling suited him.
“Then I guess… twenty-five,” he concluded after thinking for a little while.
“You were close, I’m twenty-six. What do you want to drink? Is beer okay?” I asked, opening the refrigerator.
“Actually, drinking age in the US is twenty-one.”
I raised my eyebrows and chuckled. “So people really care about that? I guess your TV shows lied to me. What about cola?”
“Sure, thanks.”
I handed him a can. He opened it and took a sip, with his gaze lost in the distance.
“There are exceptions, depending on where you live. But underage drinking laws are just too complicated, so I’d rather not take any chances.”
“And where is that?” I asked. James just looked at me in response, so I rephrased my question. “Where are you from, exactly?”
“Connecticut,” he replied, and he quickly added, “I don’t expect you to know where it is. Let’s say it’s somewhere near New York. Even though my grandfather would kill me if he heard me say that.”
A chuckle escaped my lips. “I know how that feels. I live in Milan, and nobody there has any idea where this town is, so I just say, ‘somewhere between Naples and Sicily.’”
James smiled at the ground and nodded. Then he turned to me and his eyes lingered on my beer for a long moment. I wondered what he was thinking; he clearly had something on his mind.
I took a sip from my can and said, “It’s strange that at sixteen you’re considered mature enough to drive, but you can’t drink until you’re twenty-one.”
“And when do you learn how to drive?”
“At eighteen.”
James let out a short laugh and shook his head. “You get your license on the same year you’re first allowed to drink. That doesn’t sound really smart, you know?”
He had a point. I laughed and moved my eyes to the window. In the backyard, everyone seemed to be having a good time. When I looked back at James, I noticed he was looking at my beer can again, so I handed it to him.
“Wanna share mine? I promise you it won’t make you drunk.”
His blue eyes looked at me with surprise, and his mouth was slightly open. Staring into my eyes, he bit his lower lip.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “We’re in Italy after all.”
JAMES
To be honest, I hated the taste of beer, which I had drunk more often than I’d admit in front of Roberto. But there was no way in hell I could miss the opportunity to share a drink with him. I was going to put my lips where he put his lips. That would be an indirect kiss. Good Lord, I made the right decision when I said I’d go to that barbecue.
I was planning to keep the can. How could I take it back home without him noticing? I could sneak out. After all, I had gotten more than I could ever hope for from that party; it was time to go home and finally be alone for a while. I was tired of being so damn horny all the time. I waited until Roberto was called outside to help his dad at the grill, then made my way to the exit.
I was hoping to leave unnoticed, but a man and a woman of approximately Roberto’s age, probably a couple, were standing right in front of the gate, drinking red wine and chatting. As soon as I got close, I felt the girl’s attention on me. She was short and thin, with long, dark curly hair tied up in a ponytail and big, brown eyes. On her left hand, sparkled a beautiful engagement ring. She smiled at me with a warm, open expression, typical of someone who’s so helplessly happy that they can’t help sharing that joy with everyone they meet.