Expiration Dating (21 page)

Chapter
Thirty Seven

The week was a blur;
Andrew and I made sure to capitalize on every moment alone we could steal over the course of the week. We remained dressed long enough to sprinkle in a few happy hours and apperitivos with the girls, picking up some souvenirs for our stateside relatives in the process. The time I wasn’t with Andrew I spent either studying for or taking finals. I was getting nervous; time seemed to be slipping through my fingers visibly, like sand in an hourglass.

“You realize this is the first time my things have been in the closet all semester,” I said to Emilia as she tried to shove her heels into one of her three carry-on bags.

“Enjoy.” She grunted with exertion.

“We make a funny group of friends,” I said.

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Andrew says we’re good for each other.”

Emilia sat on the bed. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“Wanna stay friends?” I asked kicking the bedpost. I hated goodbyes.

“Like you have a choice.”

I waited for a moment, knowing she wasn’t done.

Emilia threw up her arms, “Of course I want to stay friends.”

She wrote down something on a piece of paper. “I expect to be the first person you text when you land in America, and I will see you before the year ends.”

I slipped the paper into my wallet.

“Now get dressed, I don’t want to be late to the concert,” Emilia said tossing a dress at me.

The three of us arrived at the venue early in order to hear Andrew play his piano piece in the student showcase. I could tell as soon as I walked through the door that the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The well-dressed, mingling students seemed to be teetering on the edge of emotional overload. Even Megan had bothered to put on a skirt. She looked quite pretty. I watched her exchange American phone numbers with Nick, her curly-haired look alike, before joining us at the table.

As she took
a seat next to me, a hush fell over the room and Andrew began to play. The extraneous noise faded as he pressed the ivory keys, the audience focused on the rapid movements of his fingers, while a pained expression flickered across his face. Andrew’s body swayed and flowed with the beat, the emotion in the music palpable. As I watched, I felt my stomach muscles clench; I was so lucky to have met him. As Andrew’s song wound to a close, the audience stayed still, hoping for more. The vibrations of the final keystroke faded into the air, and the crowd snapped to attention with applause.

I’d never seen such applause for a classical piece; I’m sure it ha
ppened all the time, but these types of concerts weren’t my specialty, and I was amazed at how much I enjoyed watching Andrew’s performance. He stood behind the mahogany bench, flashing his teeth in a smile and giving the crowd a brief wave. Instead of playing another solo, he called up a few classmates and teachers to join him on stage. To my surprise, he introduced them as
the band
that would be playing that evening, and took his post behind a fancy keyboard.

The band began with a
well-known tune, nailing the song with surprising success. Emilia, Megan and I looked around the table exchanging nods of approval. It wasn’t long before everyone was on their feet and clapping their hands. The dancing followed moments later.

One song flowed into the next, a mix of modern songs and older classics. We all crowded together, bobbing our heads and bouncing our knees. I couldn’t draw my eyes away from the stage; I wanted to watch Andrew’s every move.
I could feel the timer ticking.

He
stood and approached the microphone. He thanked everyone for coming out and announced this would be the final piece. I panicked, not wanting the night to end. I forced my attention back to Andrew’s voice and caught the tail end of an announcement; the band was going to switch things up and trade instruments with each other.

Andrew
picked up the guitar and adjusted the microphone situated at the center of the stage; he’d be the lead singer. The drummer shifted positions and a new keyboardist took Andrew’s old place. After a count of four, Andrew began strumming, sounding as flawless as ever. I recognized the song instantly. Emilia saw my eyes watering, and stood close, dampness crowding the corners of her eyes as well. The song had once been popular, but had faded with time. Now, it was one I’d never forget.

Near the middle of the song,
Andrew broke into a guitar solo, belting the lyrics, eyes closed, totally in sync with the music. My eyes were glued to his expressive face. I stood still, though the sea of dancing bodies continued to pulse with the chord changes.

H
e’d be gone within the day.

I
knew it was love. I’d pushed him away for months, and now I had too many emotions, much too late.

Andrew
opened his eyes when the last round of the course hit. The lyrics are embedded into my mind. He looked into the audience, fastened onto my unwavering gaze, and winked as he sang,

“
Closing time, every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

Closing time, open all the doors and let you out into the world.

I know who I want to take me home…

I know who I want to take me home
.”

It was that moment. That i
nstance when I knew I couldn’t stay away from him. I felt like I’d reached an impasse, my emotions had run dry and I could no longer feel sadness. My cheeks were wet, but I hadn’t noticed I was crying. The song finished, I wiped my eyes, the band took their bows and Andrew walked straight out, bee-lining towards me. I couldn’t speak, but our embrace said it all.

“Nice job,
rock star.” My voice came out hoarse.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked.

I nodded. “Let me say my goodbyes.”

I made the rou
nds, starting with the program staff. I took a photo with my Italian teacher, agreed to keep in touch and continued the hugs and promises with other friends and acquaintances. My eyes were blinded by a multitude of cameras. My face hurt after smiling for so many pictures. When I had finally said goodbye to everyone except for Emilia and Megan, I steeled my insides, knowing the hardest part had yet to come.

The three of us
stood in a tight circle. We had already passed out all of our American contact information and tossed around potential plans to meet in Vegas. We had an overlapping winter break between our schools, and it would be a perfect one year reunion of meeting in Milan. So although it was difficult to say goodbye, I knew this wasn’t the end; these were two friends I could never lose. It was the simple fact that gave me hope and eased the pain of saying goodbye.

With a last display of
our adopted Italian culture, I air kissed my closest friends’ cheeks, waved a final goodbye, and walked away from my Italian family. As I glanced over my shoulder, Andrew halted my movements and put his arm around my neck, drawing my gaze forward.

Hand in hand,
we found ourselves pacing the streets of Milan, now more familiar than the back of our hands. Without a car, I had spent more time wandering this city than any other place in the entire world. Maybe that’s why it seemed like more than a city; it was like a childhood home you don’t want to leave, a place of comfort, memories and adventure.

Here I was,
walking through the place I loved with the man I loved, and it pained me to think about the feelings tomorrow would bring. I only hoped the pangs of sadness would dull with time because I couldn’t see a way of avoiding them.

Andrew and I had migrated to the Castello for a last time, each lost in our introspective thoughts. The gates were locked, the grounds empty. The moon, however, lit the grandiose courtyard in its entirety. It was easy to imagine ancient Romans staffed around the Castello, guarding the great fortress.

The silence
was excruciating. I gripped the cold, metal gate with both hands. Andrew turned and put his back against the medieval gate and glanced at me.

“You kno
w, we could either be having a
moment
,” Andrew began, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. I hung onto his words, expecting a kiss, some last minute revelation of his love for me. “Or we could be selling drugs standing around here like this.”

“Well any moment we just
might
have had is now gone,” I said torn between laughter and frustration.

“
Come on, what did you expect when I got your attention with a pick up line that began –
Hey, you’re cute, but I’m broke?
” He was teasing; I could tell the moment was uncomfortable for him. His face cleared, replaced by a serious expression, and he put both arms around my waist.

“Will you miss me?” I asked
in a moment of weakness.

“Of course I’ll miss you
.”

“Can we maybe talk once or twice when we’re in America?” I asked in a small voice. I needed to be reassured more than anything right now.

“Absolutely.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Maybe I’ll even come visit,” I suggested. “I mean I’d be visiting
Emilia, too, obviously.”

“That’d be great,”
Andrew said, with what I assumed was a genuine smile.

“I have a serious proposal to make,” I said.

“OK,” Andrew hesitated. “What is it?”

“I want you to swear to me –
pinky swear
– that we’ll be friends in America. No matter what, even if we never talk again, we’ll always be friends.”

“That’s the easiest promise I’ve ever made,”
Andrew said. He clasped my pinky in his, brought it to his mouth, and kissed his end. I planted a smooch on my thumb as well, and the deal was sealed.

“Now that our pinky promises are out of the way, would you like to give my apartment the sending off it deserves?”
Andrew asked. “Josh already volunteered to sleep on the couch.”

“What a sweet little Muppet.”

Andrew and I left the Castello, hopped on the last metro of the evening and said a very intimate goodbye under the stars shining through his rooftop skylight.

Chapter
Thirty Eight

The morning dawned cloudy and rain
y as Andrew and I lay entangled in the sheets, reluctant to move. The alarm finally went off after we’d lain awake for some time, and we got dressed quickly, making small talk like strangers. I couldn’t think of anything more to say. I pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his lap as I deepened our kiss, hoping I’d be able to express my emotions without words. We drew apart, no longer strangers, the victims of hollow small talk.

We ate a quick brioche at the metro stop, l
ugging our huge suitcases up the impressive staircases. Okay, lugging my huge suitcase and Andrew’s single, economically sized backpack. We stood on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive, yet not wanting the wait to end. We both hung back from the tracks as the mob of Italians crowding for seats seemed out of place and irrelevant –
didn’t they know today was different?

Andrew
was the first to leave, as my flight to the south of Italy wasn’t until much later in the afternoon. The sign blinked, the LED digits clicking into place; the next train would arrive in two minutes. I hugged Andrew, squeezing the breath from his lungs. I couldn’t believe this. It was time; it was real. I was watching the guy who had won me over against
all
of my wishes get on a train and leave without knowing whether or not we’d ever speak again.

My heart seemed to be cracking in half, my stomach binding with
thoughts of regret, my insides sick with remorse that we didn’t have more time together.

The steam of the oncoming train hissed.

The Italians bustled forward, anxious to get to work, to school, going about their daily life as usual. The train rounded the curves, the lights reflecting in Andrew’s eyes. I could see sadness in the gray irises.

“If it’s meant to be,
” I embraced him tighter. “It’s meant to be.”

He kissed me
hard and looked into my eyes.

“Good bye,” he said. “I’
ll miss you.”

Andrew dragged his feet towards the metro and
stepped onto the train before the doors could whoosh shut. There was a second – a fraction of a second that felt like eternity. Andrew stepped onto the car and grabbed the pole for balance. He turned to face me. Our eyes met, and the eye contact seemed to last a year instead of a mere half-second. I saw a flicker of a smile, a mournful expression that managed to capture both happiness and pain.

And then the doors slammed shut, severing our gaze.

I saw him through the window and watched as the train whisked him off to America.

He was gone.

He’d gone home to a different life. A life I wasn’t part of. I plodded up the stairs and back down to the other side of the platform, forcing myself to move. I stepped onto the metro and the train took off, carrying me in the opposite direction.