Piazza Bella - Aperitivo: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII
Piazza Bella - Antipasto: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX
Wednesday was always going to be one of the worst days of my life. I woke with an immense weight pressing down hard on my chest, restricting my breathing to the extent I panicked and rolled out of bed, landing awkwardly on my knees, gasping for air.
I struggled to my feet, wobbling while focusing blurry eyes through half-squinted lids.
My head hurt, and I felt an awful pressure surging through the back of my neck, ringing in both ears. When I opened my eyes wider, letting in more light, it hurt, and I realized I’d cried in my sleep because my eyelashes were matted and crusty.
Luca was my first thought, Bella was second, and I felt miserable, so I dove back onto my bed, weeping and screaming into a damp pillow, aggressively thumping the mattress, expelling pent-up emotional energy and my frustration with life’s unfair turn of events.
After fifteen minutes of heart-rending sobbing, I felt better, then worse again when I met Angelo in our apartment kitchen because he was similarly afflicted by sorrow.
“Good morning, Carla.”
“Hi, sweetie. How’s your bruises today? Let me see, please.”
“I am healing but would trade ten thousand beatings for good news about our head chef.”
“Luca knows and appreciates your love, honey.”
“Shall we leave immediately to help Sam at the cafe, please? I’m not in the mood to talk, and I’m not good company and do not wish to upset you or others with a poor attitude.”
“Me neither, but we must try to be cheerful during our shift for the sake of Luca and Bella.”
“I will try, Carla. I promise you.”
Being twenty-four hours away from what might be disastrous news felt far worse than being the same number in minutes. Everyone had an agonizing wait ahead, during which time we must perform at our jobs, cheerfully pretend to socialize, and suffer another night of poor sleep.
After a gloomy breakfast with my family and friends, I walked into our kitchen feeling awkward and somewhat on edge. I suppressed rampant anxiety as far as possible to help boost my sister and her husband’s morale, but it felt like a mammoth exercise in futility.