Never Truth

20

For days after dinner with Nico, I berated myself for revealing the necklace. I’d been so rushed with my little plan to flaunt myself that I’d completely forgotten I was wearing it. The smug bastard probably left the house convinced I still harbored some unrequited affection for him when that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I just happened to like the necklace. It had nothing to do with the man who had given it to me. I wasn’t some love-sick teen clinging to the vestiges of my first love. That was absurd. I was a student of the arts, so I appreciated the cultural significance of Paris in the art world. The Eiffel Tower was merely representative of my love for painting. That was it. How many times would I have to reiterate that argument to believe it? The thoughts had cycled through my mind so many times it was dizzying. They were there all during Sunday dinner at my parents’ house when Alessia brought her new boyfriend, Luca. They’d been present at my first week at work and had been front and center as I accepted my degree today in front of hundreds of spectators. A day that should have been about my accomplishments and the thrill of future endeavors was bogged down by the looming shadows of the past like a nest of gnats I couldn’t escape. Despite the distraction, the ceremony had gone smoothly. I was incredibly proud of what I’d accomplished and the fact that I’d pursued my passion despite the multitude of people who warned me repeatedly about the unemployability of an art degree. Time after time, I had disregarded their proffered advice and stuck to my guns. I was thrilled to be taking the art world into the twenty-first century by bringing art sales and appreciation into the world of social media. I wanted to market myself to art lovers and foster relationships with people who followed my work, rather than rely on an arm’s length transaction through a gallery. I was confident a new era of cultural expansion was waiting to be explored, and I was happy to lead the charge. Until my new business venture took root, I still planned to work in the gallery, but my long-term goal was online sales. I had my degree and the opportunity to pursue my dreams, so I should have been on cloud nine. I wanted to be. Truly, I had tried. If it hadn’t been for those damn thoughts of Nico and the necklace, it would have been a perfect afternoon. By the time the ceremony was over and we had returned to my parents’ house for a private post-graduation celebration, I was physically sick of my own thoughts. Day after day of running on the hamster wheel, and I was no closer to knowing how to handle Nico. I would see him at my party the next night and desperately needed a strategy. My parents and sisters toasted to my accomplishments with champagne, and we all wore smiles and talked about the upcoming party. I tried my best to participate, but the moment the opportunity arose, I slipped out onto the patio overlooking the bay where the crisp evening air could clear my head. You don’t just cross my mind; you live in it. What the hell was he thinking to say that to me? Nico had no right to show up out of the blue and drop a bomb like that. Each time my mind replayed his sultry voice saying those words, my blood warmed me from the inside out like the heated fibers in an electric blanket. I told myself the heat he stirred was purely anger, but I knew deep down it was more. It made me wish I had one more glass of champagne to drown out the thoughts—the ones that whispered what a hypocrite I was. Because as much as I hated liars, I knew I was lying to myself. The heat was somewhat born out of anger, but there was also a much more problematic source. More instinctual. Visceral. I still craved Antonico Conti. How could you move on from someone who was your everything? You didn’t. That person lived inside you whether they were standing next to you or a thousand miles away. The fact that I still wore his necklace, the one he bought for me, wasn’t just evidence that I still cared for him. It was proof that I’d never even tried to move on. It was no wonder I’d had no other boyfriends. I’d told myself I wasn’t interested or that my studies were my priority, rather than boys. But now, I was having to face that it was all a bunch of bullshit. I had turned my back on that part of my life, hoping it would fix itself and was surprised to check in seven years later and discover the abandoned attic of my love life was the same as I’d left it. A few more cobwebs and a layer of dust, but otherwise no different. I could have tried to meet someone new, or at least removed the reminders of Nico from my life. And in the alternative, if I wasn’t going to pull the weed out by the roots, then I should have owned my feelings and fought for what my heart wanted. But now, it wasn’t so simple. Now, things had changed. I had changed, and there was no way I could tell him my secrets. As I stared at the water’s edge, shivering in the cold, I realized that, either way, it had to stop. I couldn’t keep holding a torch for him. It was time to let him go or open myself up to him and risk being devastated all over again. Just the thought made my stomach churn violently. Was that my theoretical “gut” speaking, telling me I should walk away? That thought was almost equally as upsetting. The arguments swirled in an endless whirlpool, getting no closer to any plausible solution. The choppy waters stirred up memories of times when I’d snuck onto that same patio to meet with Nico when he wanted to tell me about his first time driving or how his first day of high school had gone. My dad didn’t allow boys over at the house—I wasn’t allowed to date until I was sixteen—and no matter how much I argued that Nico was just a friend, my parents wouldn’t budge. He didn’t have a cell phone, so we couldn’t text. Sometimes, we settled for talking at school or phone conversations, but every now and then, he showed up at my house unannounced and threw pebbles at my bedroom window until I met him outside. For ten years, from the time I was five until fifteen, Nico was my life. He was good, and pure, and honest. He was my escape from everything I hated about the world. At fifteen, I’d lived more of my life with him than without, and I couldn’t fathom ever losing him.