The waiter came back with cold beers. Fabiano and I had our appetizers while he told me a little bit more about his family. Apparently, his mother was retired. She had him when she was already forty-two and after a very hard life, she was now enjoying her free time helping out at the small chapel ofCastello dell’Fiero. Fabiano made sure his mom had everything she needed and I deeply respected him for that. And then he also pointed out how close he was with his uncle Gennaro, who apparently always treated him like his own son.
“I immediately noticed you guys were close.” I pointed out, emptying my glass of beer.
“Uncle Gennaro is my guardian angel, Daisy. Every time I got in trouble, he was always there. Until this day I can’t understand how he and my dad were brothers.” He admitted with a sigh, and then smiled cheekily. “But since we are getting to know each other, and talking about close bonds… Do you have a boyfriend back home, Daisy?”
I laughed heartily, shaking my hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, no! I’ve been single for the past twelve years!”
His eyebrows knitted. “Twelve years? How old are you?”
“Almost thirty.”
Fabiano blinked. “You don’t look thirty. And yes, it’s a compliment.”
“In that case, thank you very much.” I answered, trying to pull away a slight pang of embarrassment. I cleared my throat. “Fabiano, can I ask something?”
He smirked. “Should I be afraid?”
“Just a little.” I teased, and he nodded, indicating me to go on. “Your boss, Camillo. Why is he always so… uh… cold? Arrogant? A complete asshole?”
Fabiano laughed, and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say that here, Daisy. Someone can hear you and we’ll be both in trouble.”
I leaned over the table, and whispered, “Okay, but why is he that big of an asshole?”
Fabiano sighed and shook his head. “He was not always like that, you see? Don Camillo used to be the typical youngest child. He broke rules, he got himself into trouble, and nobody said anything. He was not to become the boss, so his famiglia never enforced any rules.”
“Who was supposed to be the boss? His brother?”
“Sì. Signor Mario. He was prepared since birth to become the new Padrone.” He explained. “Basically, Signor Mario had to follow many rules. His famiglia expected a lot from him. But Don Camillo was just the younger sibling, who could basically do whatever he wanted to.”
“But nothing went as planned.”
“No.” He confirmed, shaking his head and taking a sip of beer. “Don Camillo was a spoiled boy who believed the world was his oyster. But then the accident happened and he went from having everything, a famiglia, a wife, a granted future, to have nothing. He was forced to grow up.”
I felt a pang of pain in my heart. “It must have been hard…” I muttered.
“For sure. You should have met him before. He was spoiled, but actually a fun guy to be around. Always smiling, always readyto go for drinks. If he is the way he is, we can just blame life for that.”
I simply nodded. I wasn’t going to tell Fabiano, but I could relate to that. Losing those we love, seeing the future we planned crumble before our eyes, changes us forever. Irreversibly.
The rest of dinner passed in small talk, followed by stuffed pasta and finished with cannoli for dessert, filled with a magnificent mascarpone cream. However, I had to admit, they fell short of Donatella Condello's. After too many beers and too much food, we finally left the restaurant and rushed off to some random gelato place, and oh my Gawd.
When tourists said that Italy had the best ice cream, they weren't kidding.
We ate chocolate gelato with wafers sitting on a bench facing the sea. Although I responded to everything Fabiano was saying to me, I allowed the darkness in which we found ourselves to lull me and inhaled the salty sea air. Sicily, on the other side of that sea, was like a fantasy land. A promise of something nameless. To top it off, the sky was clear, peppered with stars as far as the eye could see.
When it was time to return to Castello dell'Fiero, I took in Reggio Calabria one last time. Its relaxed atmosphere, the friendliness of the people, the mystical beauty of the streets, and the scent of the sea. And I realized that, little by little, I was beginning to fall in love with this country that would be my final destination.
We were already halfway back when Fabiano turned down the radio.
“I was just thinking...” he began, his brow furrowed in question. “Daisy is Margherita, isn't it?”
I smiled warmly, nodding. “Yes, Cupcake!” Fabiano's eyes widened at the nickname. “Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Where I come from, it's normal to give people affectionate nicknames. Sugar, cupcake, love... It's nothing unusual. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward!”
“It's not that. I'm just surprised to be called Cupcake. Am I that fat?” He joked, a crooked smile on his handsome face.
My laughter filled the car. “No! But you're a sweetheart. And you paid for dinner... and gelato. If you wanted to win my friendship, congratulations. You succeeded!”
"Well, well, it's been so long since anyone called me a sweetheart! If you hadn't added the dinner and gelato part, I would have believed your affection.“ He teased me, joining in my good mood. ”I think you're a sweetheart too... Margherita. I'm going to call you Margherita from now on, just so you know.” He blurted out. “So, we're friends. It's official.”