Free When in Rome by Amabile Giusti Page A

going, and if I do, I’m not bringing Luca.”
    “Why not?”
    “He can’t go. He’s busy.”
    If I attempted to tell her the truth, and if I said I didn’t want to be like Sandra or any of his other ephemeral flings because I couldn’t stand the embarrassment and discomfort that would follow—and that I don’t just want sex from him, but his mind, his soul, his breath, his memories, his future, too—all I’d do is convince her that I’m both crazy and conceited.
    A cab pulls up to the curb, and I’m about to flag it for my mother when Giovanna jumps out of it. She races over and grabs me like a piranha.
    “I told that useless piece of shit Armando to go to hell!” she shrieks before I can say anything. “He kept bringing up all these awful things from last night, saying that my boobs were on display, and that that guy from the bar was staring at me . . . He even told me again I had to get rid of Bear, this time because he wags his tail too loud! And then our make-up sex lasted four—yes, four —minutes total, including foreplay! That’s it! I can’t take it anymore. So I told him that we were through, that he should go buy some Viagra and find someone else to wipe his ass for him! Then he accused me of going out last night basically naked! How dare he!”
    She opens her coat, and I realize that she’s still wearing her outfit from last night. “Do I look naked?” she yells, shaking her boobs for everyone on the sidewalk. A bearded jogger stops dead at the sight. Giovanna closes her coat, disappointing the wide-eyed athlete, and promptly bursts into tears. My mother, on the other hand, looks very satisfied. She’s clearly enjoying this extraordinary morning, so much that I don’t think she’s noticed her breath looks like speech bubbles in the freezing air. She must be storing up gossip to report to the aunts.
    Eventually, I just give Giovanna a hug to get her moving, because I’m freezing and Sandra hasn’t come down yet, which can only mean something bad. Giovanna hails a taxi with her arm outstretched and her coat wide open. A taxi driver slams on his brakes and asks her see-through shirt where he can take it. My mother, wrapped in her fur coat, does not intend to let go of our argument.
    “Anyway, back to Luca,” she says as soon as Giovanna is gone. “I can see he’s got a wild side. I don’t know if you can keep up with him. You should spice things up more! How about a nice outfit like Giovanna’s? Or a padded push-up bra? I have a friend who swears by push-up pantyhose.”
    “Thank you, Mother. I’m sure you’re right, as always. But all of my body parts would thud to the ground when I undressed. And there are noise restrictions in our apartment complex.”
    “You should wear more makeup. You have such a mouth, and your hair—why don’t you ever use a flatiron?”
    “I’ll just make an appointment with the dry cleaner to steam clean my head.” I’m tired and sullen. The cold has permeated every inch of my body, and I’m pretty sure that an icicle will form on the end of my nose any second now. When another taxi finally pulls up to the curb, I pray that it’s not Tony seeking damages for the vomit on his nice shoes. The taxi is empty, but my mother’s still not ready to leave.
    “Oh, I forgot. I also came here to tell you something from your cousin Beatrice. She wants you to be her maid of honor.”
    “Ah . . .” is all I can get out. My reaction obviously horrifies her—she thinks I should be jumping for joy and delighting the passersby with some sidewalk acrobatics. “Thank Beatrice for me, but tell her that I cannot accept.”
    “But you’ve already accepted!”
    “What? When? You heard me actually say yes? I don’t think so.”
    “I accepted for you—I told her you’d love to.”
    “And when were you planning on telling me?”
    “You can’t back out,” my mother says. “She already had the seamstress work on your dress, and your name has been printed