Beautiful Things Never Last (21 page)

             
I find a small cardboard box in the pantry and fill it with the remaining cookies, and tie a piece of red yarn around it. Amalea will
be able to enjoythe rest of the cookies with
her
cappuccino on Christmas morning.

             
It may not be much, but it’s a small token of how
thankful
I am for Amalea welcoming me into her home, for teaching me how to make amazing dishes, and opening up her past to me as well. I know first-hand how hard it is to admit you’
ve fucked up. I know how hard it is to let people in.
She
was willing to let me
,
of all people
,
in
. A
nd that feels incredible.

             
I’m grateful for my time here in Italy. And right now,
grateful
is the best place to be.

Thirteen

B
EN

I wake up
Christmas
morning with Linney’s head on my shoulder
,
h
er blond hair fuzzy and tickling my nose.
We
’d
f
allen
asleep on the sofa in the basement together after a
long night with a
marathon of holiday movies
,
and
store-bought
cookies
—that were a little disappointing after getting so used to Quinn’s baking. But on the upside, I
got
Caroline
to drink some spiked eggnog with me.

             
Caroline and I
haven’t talked much about what had gone on with
Nick
since we left Fellini’s that afternoon.
I want
her
to know that she’s safe here, and that she can leave all of that behind. I just don’t know how I can be there for her like I want to.
My life is back in California. My job, school, my apartment. And Quinn will be back in a matter of days. I need to call Quinn, but once I talk to her, I don’t know how to hide where I am. And I really don’t want to tell her while she’s still across the world. Not only because I don’t want to ruin
her trip
like Carter warned me about.  I don’t want her to hurt when I’m not there to explain. I know if I could just explain things, what happened with Caroline and
Nick
, so
that even if she’s angry, she’d understand. She has to.

             
I slip a pillow under her head
at the same time that I pull my arm out from under her
and walk quietly up the stairs and into the living room. My mom is sitting
by the tree, coffee cup in hand, like she’s done every Christmas morning since I was a kid. She’ll sit there, waiting for me to open presents, so she can watch my reactions—and where I put the wrapping paper when I’m done.

             
“Morning,” I say, rubbing my hair into an even bigger mess than it probably already was.

             
“Good morning, Ben. Were you down there with Caroline?”

             
I know she already knows the answer to this, and I know her rules.

             
“Yeah, Ma, we fell asleep. N
o big deal.”

             
She pulls her lips into a tight line, but doesn’t argue.
Because it’s Caroline. Because my relationship with my mom would be worlds different if I were in love with Caroline instead of Quinn.

             
I stare at the neatly stacked presents under the tree, hop
ing she didn’t get me anything. A
fter lunch with Caroline the other day, we skipped shopping altogether and I didn’t get my parents a thing.
Dick.

             
Mom plucks a perfectly wrapped package from the stack and hands it to me.

             
“I didn’t know what to get you, we never talk anymore.
” She can’t resist getting a dig in.“
You can return it if you like.”

             
“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

             
“I’m your mother, of course I did.”

             
I stand there awkwardly holding the gift until she nudges my hands.

             
“O
h, o
pen it,
Benny. That’s what gifts are made for,
” Mom says.

             
I obediently slide the twine off of the box and carefully peel back the layer of green wrapping paper, knowing that she’s watching me, scrutinizing how I unwrap the gift.

             
Inside is what at first, looks like a wallet, but after I pull it out, I realize that it’s foldable solar panels.

             
“You can charge your camera batteries on that, if you’re ever in a jam,” Mom says. She tightens her robe and looks down at her coffee cup. This is the first time she’s ever acknowledged what I love to do without ridiculing it in some way.
For years she’s told me what a useless hobby photography is. How my time would be better suited pursuing a worthwhile career. But this catches me off guard in the best way. Because it’s a door opening. One that will allow me to do what I love and not have to hide it. And maybe, it’s leaving a little room to allow
who
I love into the picture, too.

             
“This is incredible. Thank you.”

             
I pull her in for a quick hug
.
I may be grown, but hugging my mom on Christmas still feels pretty damn good.

             
“I’m so
rry I don’t have a gift for you.
I didn’t expect to be here, and…we haven’t talked much
…
” I feel like a world-class asshole right now,
being here
on Christmas morning and not having a single thing for my parents.

             
“The homemade biscotti that Quinn sent was enough,” Mom says, folding a blanket with military precision and tucking it away in the trunk that houses blankets only, no exceptions.

             
My mind is reeling. Quinn sent my parents a gift? Why didn’t she tell me?

             
“The look on your face tells me you didn’t know about that?” Mom says. “It was delicious, came right after Thanksgiving.”

             
“I didn’t know, no.”

             
“
Your father
said I should check it for nails or arsenic.”

             
“Ma—”

             
“Oh, lighten up, Benny, it was
a joke. It was a lovely gesture. P
lease thank her for us.”

             
“Yeah, I will. I’m glad that she did that.”

             
“It shows a lot of maturity that she did without even telling you, you know. It surprises me.”

             
“I think if you got to know her, Ma, a lot about Quinn would surprise you.”

             
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Ben. But I’m glad that you’re here, now. Even if part of me still wishes you were here because you were proposing to that lovely girl in there.” Mom motions into the den where Caroline
has snuck upstairs without me noticing and
is doing a puzzle with my dad.I
t should make me feel good, knowing that she is so comfortable here with my family, but instead, it just makes me angry because Quinn has never had that chance with them.

             
“You know, Ma,” I say. “Part of the reason I loved being with Quinn in the first place is because she was the exact opposite of all of this.”
Because with Quinn, there were no limits.
There weren’t these strict, rigid rules. Because Quinn was everything that my mom couldn’t stand. And even if I didn’t mean to, I fell completely in love with her.

             
“I know that. Of course I know that,” my mom says. “
You don’t think I know that my
micromanaging of your
life
drove you away? And right to that girl? Of course it did. She has problems, Benny. You should have run the opposite direction. But no, it
made you want
to take care of people just as much
as I do
, just in a
totally
different way. My way
is
strict and no-nonsense. But you, Ben, you’ve wanted to take care of people in the way that your heart told you to. I haven’t always agreed with the choices that you’
ve made—”

             
“That’s an understatement, Ma
.
Y
ou made me choose.”
And I’d make the same choice again. Every single time. I love the life Quinn and I have, and my stupid ass insecurities about what she’s doing and experiencing without me
will never
compare to how fiercely I love that woman.

             
And standing here, talking to my mom, seeing Caroline settled into their perfect existence,
I know that I’ve done all I can here. I came to be a friend to Caroline, and I’m glad that I was, but I need to get back to my life with Quinn.

             
“I was wrong to do that. Especially because I knew that
if
I gave you a choice that I’d end up the loser.”

             
“Ma—” I say.
I’m glad she cuts me off. I don’t know how to respond to that. It’s the truth, but it feels like shit to admit it.