Once again, I threw myself into my work, turning my academic research into a book on the popular culture of Piemonte: literature, food traditions and the evolution of regional wines. I was still living only in the present, holding my breath until something happened. A visit from Dan? The publication of my book? Something else?
Then the “something” happened. One chilly evening I wandered home after an early dinner at my local café in Piemonte, and there was Lorenzo, on my street corner. Not a dream. Just Lorenzo and me, standing under the streetlight. I let out my long-held breath in a rush and we slowly dissolved into each other’s arms. We went up the stairs together and suddenly nothing else mattered: touching, feeling, as eyes, lips and warm, taut skin met and then melted, releasing us into the perfect delight of being together.
Over breakfast, Lorenzo told me he was setting up his new apartment in nearby Torino for the following semester. He seemed thinner, more tense, edgy. Understandable, given the pressure of a baby, an unbalanced wife, the complete disruption of the course of his life. Yet by the end of the meal we were relaxing in our nearness, and it all felt remarkably right. In the sunlight, his hair and eyes were as golden as ever.
We decided not to talk about the future. Or the past. We decided to seize these few days, before I flew back to US for the holidays with my parents. Lorenzo and I could simply be together. Perhaps talk and plan, perhaps not. But I couldn’t help wondering if this was my real destiny? Would we finally, enduringly, be the couple known as “Renzo and Rebecca” (such lyrical names in Italian) sipping ethereal Moscato d’Asti before dinner together for the rest of our lives?