Taste of Italy

C H A P T E R t w e n t y - t w o

                                                                                  . . .

    "How was the trip?" Her mother came out of the mansion, helping her daughter bring the suitcases and duffle bags inside.

Iris gave a few "it was fine's" and "cool's" but she didn't really listen to her. The words that came out of the woman's mouth went through one ear and out the other like Iris wasn't gripping onto the words with everything she had. They just slipped right through her fingers.

Once they got to her bedroom, she walked in and it was like an avalanche swooped in and tackled her. Even though everything was the same as Iris left it, everything felt . . . different.

Iris's mother left, saying something like how she would leave her to put her things away. It was unclear of what she said. But Iris turned to her room again and observed every detail; every nook and cranny. A wave of emotion hit her, causing her heartstrings to rip and tangle within her body.

The young woman yanked her suitcase to the nearby dresser and began putting her clothes away. But like any other person who had just come back from a vacation, it didn't take long for Iris to feel the empty spaces and wish nothing more than to be in Italy again.

It was that "if only" moment that everyone must think about at least once in their lifetimes.

If only she could turn back the clock, go back in time and do it all over again.

If only she could have never met Dante, the man that stole her heart and ripped it to pieces. What was worse was that despite having been told that he wanted to talk to her, she didn't even meet him to get closure. Instead, she shrugged it off like it was nothing and left the country . . . with her heart in his hands.

Though, to be fair, she had his heart as well. She kept it hidden because she didn't want to blurt it aloud, how she still loved him. Somewhere deep inside her, she wanted to forgive him. Staying mad at him wasn't what she desired. But he shouldn't have lied in the first place. Weren't relationships based on honesty and loyalty? How could they be in a relationship if it was based on a lie?

It didn't make any sense.

That was why she hadn't gotten back with him.

But even then, Iris thought that it might have been for the best. Did she love him? Probably. Probably not. She did admire the man for his work like she told herself throughout all those days and times she spent with him, thinking about his books and how she looked up to him based on how he wrote. But did she even love the man, the author himself? Or was she just in love with the idea of him?

It was something that confused her because she didn't know herself. She had to put a little more thought into it.

She knew of one thing, though. That the idea of her situation, her emotions, gave her an idea. Thus, she dropped the clothes into the opened drawer and quickly took out her laptop. Iris opened a new document and began writing whatever came to her mind.

                                                                                          . . . . .

"All right, see you freaks!" said Piper, a waitress, and walked out of the restaurant with her purse on her shoulder. Iris waved to her colleague as she wrapped silverware in cloth napkins with a waiter.

"Man, it feels weird to be back . . ."

"I would think so. You haven't taken a vacation since . . . ever. So of course, it would be weird," Daniel said, tossing another silverware bunch in the bucket. "Did you think of all the terror that goes on here? You know . . . screaming children, rude customers that forced you to pick up their spilled soda?"