Love & Gelato by Jenna Evans Welch

going to the school.”
    I made a noncommittal sound, then took a special interest in a nearby photograph of a woman wearing a tiara and a thick sash. Miss Ravioli 2015?
    â€œI wanted to tell you, if you ever need someone to talk to here—someone other than me or Sonia, of course—I have a friend who lives in town. She’s a social worker and she speaks English really well. She told me she’d be happy to meet with you if you ever need, you know . . .”
    Great. Another counselor. The one I’d seen at home had pretty much just said mm-hmm, mm-hmm, over and over and asked me, How did that make you feel? until I thought my ears were going to melt. The answer was always “terrible.” I felt terrible without my mom. The counselor had told me that things would slowly start to feel better, but so far she was wrong.
    I started tearing up the edges of the paper tablecloth, keeping my eyes off the ring.
    â€œAre you feeling . . . comfortable here?”
    I hesitated. “Yeah.”
    â€œYou know, if you need anything, you can always just ask.”
    â€œI’m fine.” My voice was gravelly, but Howard just nodded.
    After what felt like ten hours, our server finally walked out and set two steaming pizzas in front of us. Each of them was the size of a large dinner plate, and they smelled unbelievable. I cut a piece and took a bite.
    All weirdness evaporated immediately. The power of pizza.
    â€œI think my mouth just exploded,” I said. Or at least that’s what I tried to say. It came out more like “mymogjesesieplod.”
    â€œWhat?” Howard looked up.
    I shoveled in another bite. “This. Is. The. Best.” He was right. This pizza belonged in a completely different universe from the stuff I was used to.
    â€œTold you, Lina. Italy is the perfect place for a hungry runner.” He smiled at me and we both ate ravenously, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” filling in for conversation.
    I had just taken an enormous bite when he said, “You’re probably wondering where I’ve been all this time.”
    I froze, a piece of crust in my hand. Is he asking what I think he is? This couldn’t be the big unveiling moment—you don’t go around telling your children why you weren’t around while stuffing your face with pizza.
    I snuck a glance up. He’d set his fork and knife down and was leaning forward, his mouth set in a serious line. Oh, no.
    I swallowed. “Um, no. I haven’t really wondered.” Lie with a capital L . I stuffed the piece of crust into my mouth but couldn’t taste it.
    â€œDid your mother tell you much about our relationship?”
    I shook my head. “No. Just, uh, funny stories.”
    â€œI see. Well, the truth is, I didn’t know about you.”
    Suddenly it seemed like the whole restaurant got quiet. Except for the Beatles. “The girl that’s driving me mad, is going awaaaayyyy . . . ,” they sang.
    I swallowed hard. I had never even considered that possibility. “Why?”
    â€œThings were . . . complicated between us.”
    Complicated. That was exactly what my mom had said.
    â€œShe got in touch with me around the same time she started getting tested. She knew she was sick, just not with what, and I think she had a feeling. Anyway, I want you to know I would have been there. If I’d known. I just . . .” He rested his hand on the table, palm-side up. “I guess I just want a chance. I’m not expecting miracles. I know this is hard. Your grandmother told me you really didn’t want to come here, and I understand that. I just want you to know that I really appreciate having this chance to get to know you.”
    He met my eyes, and suddenly I wished with all my heart that I could evaporate, like the steam still curling off my pizza.
    I pushed away from the table. “I . . . I need to