"I mean, do you even realize what it means?" I repeat for the tenth time to Romina, brandishing the corkscrew like it's a microphone.
We're in my apartment: tonight is the night of the fateful aperitivo with Fiore that she's been begging for. Outside, the sky is a dark, damp blob threatening rain, while inside, my ancient fan is working overtime against the humidity.
On the table of my tiny '70s kitchen, I've set up a buffet that would make retirees on a day trip jealous: finger sandwiches, ascolane stuffed olives, and every kind of chip imaginable. The beers are in the fridge, but Romina's decided tonight calls for wine.
"Yeah, for the tenth time, I realize apparently Enrico's not as straight as you thought," she shoots back, already holding a bottle of prosecco. "What I don't realize is why you didn't use the chance to tell him you've been crushing on him for four years! You are twenty-five yo for nothing."
"I knooow," I moan, burying my face in my hands like a walking tragedy. "I chickened out."
It's been five days since that night at the Taverna. After Enrico's ex put on her dramatic, offended diva exit, he confessed he's bisexual and that their relationship had been dead for ages. According to him, they'd tried to revive it for years, but no luck. Translation: two teenagers trapped in adult bodies. In the end, all he wanted was a break from everything. We exchanged numbers and said goodbye, and watching him ride off on his bike felt like waking up from a daydream.
"Besides, there was no way I could have just told him that night: 'Oh, great! Since you're on the Eggplant Team too, let's, like… explore this?'"
Romina reaches out. "Come on, hand me the corkscrew—I'm thirsty."I pass it over, and she immediately starts wrestling with the cork.
"And look at you," she goes on. "Surrounded by hotties buzzing around, and you just stand there like a pear tree. Meanwhile, I'm out here doing PR for myself and can't even land half a scrap of a man. Well, at least wine doesn't leave you on read."
With a loud POP, the bottle opens. I hold out my glass, batting my eyelashes like a princess.
"So… what are your intentions with Fiore?" Romina asks, rolling her eyes as she pours—first for me, then for herself.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you want to friendzone him or not? Because from the way you told me the story, it really sounds like he's into you."
"Fiore's not interested. If he's around me so much, it's because…" I freeze. I still haven't told Romina the truth about Fiore. I planned to tonight, but my brain's been stuck on Enrico-is-bisexual mode.
Romina stares at me like a Criminal Minds profiler.
"…because he wants to rekindle the childhood friendship we had, that's all," I blurt, downing another gulp of wine.
"Mh. All right. We'll see if my internal radar confirms it." And in her eyes, that fanatic sparkle of a romance-lover. Romina in hunting mode is more dangerous than a swarm of starving pigeons. I love her for that too.
The doorbell rings. "There he is—must be him. Late again." I trot toward the entrance. But it's Uncle Bruno at the door.
"Milo, everything okay? I brought some watermelon—want some?"
"Uncle! Yeah, gladly. I'm having drinks with Romina. Want to come in?"
"Oh! Sure." He steps inside slowly, like he doesn't want to disturb a single tile. Maybe because this is the house I used to live in with my parents, he treats it like sacred ground. Uncle and I don't talk much, but he's the only real family I have here, besides Romina. Way more than that so-called grandmother who vanished into thin air.
Don't think about that now, Milo.
Romina greets him cheerfully, and they exchange jokes and laughter. I watch them, genuinely happy for this moment of peace.
"What a nice expression." A finger touches my cheek.
"Finally, the latecomer," I say, annoyed and embarrassed. These shōjo-manga moments give me hives.
"Come on, the wine's getting warm." I herd him toward Uncle Bruno and Romina.
The moment Uncle looks up and sees Fiore, his face stiffens. Stone. The air shifts instantly, like autumn has suddenly arrived.
"Bruno." Fiore gives a little wave. My uncle stays frozen, like a statue.
"Uncle…?" I call, my voice tighter than I'd like. What the hell? Do they know each other?
Suddenly, my stomach twists. Anxiety stabs sharp enough to make me almost throw up.
"Uh… I'll get going, Milo," my uncle says quickly, setting the watermelon on the counter, a forced smile on his face."Have a good evening with your friends. Bye, Romina. See you next time."
And he's gone. The door shuts before I can even speak.
I glance at Fiore, shaken. He, on the other hand, looks his usual half-playful, half-ambiguous self. Then he turns to Romina with an influencer smile:
"Finally, I get to meet you, Romina. Milo never stops talking about you."
As if. Sure, Romina's on my mind, but I don't think I've ever mentioned her to him. I look at Romina—she's staring at Fiore like he just landed from another planet, mouth ajar, eyes shining.
"N-nice to meet you! Nice to meet you!" she stammers, shaking his hand like a puppet. "Want some prosecco? I chilled it."
"Gladly," he says, and they head to the kitchen.
I stay in the living room, still unsettled, staring at the door.
What's going on with Uncle Bruno?
I wasn't sure before, but now I know: he knows Fiore.
And probably knows everything about the Veil, the Intuitives. About my grandmother.
But the question is: why has he never said a word?
Feeling a knot of unease, I move toward the kitchen too.