Burning The Map. Laura Caldwell

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      Francesco has not called.

      I began watching the clock at approximately 7:30, when Guiseppe exited, amid a flurry of kisses from Kat. Since that time, Lindsey and I have listened to Kat’s play-by-play of every word or action spoken or performed by Guiseppe since their chance meeting at the coffee bar.

      Kat has already forgotten about Poster Boy Alesandro, and has plans to meet Guiseppe tonight at a disco in Trastevere. Wanting nothing to do with Massimo, Sin has also opted for the Trastevere plan.

      “Come with us,” Sin says as she lounges on her bed. Naturally, she’s already dressed for the night, looking cute in trim black pants and a fitted blue halter top. Outside the open French windows, I can hear the low roll of conversation, an occasional burst of laughter, a few lines from a song—Piazza Navona heating up for a Friday night.

      “But I promised Francesco.” I realize how pathetic it sounds. I came on this trip for some girl time, which at least one of my friends is trying to give me. Why am I making such an effort to see some guy I just met, especially when I have a nice enough boyfriend at home?

      No answer comes to mind. To keep myself busy, I refold the clothes in my backpack while I try to decide what to wear. It’s easier than looking at Sin, who is way too good at reading faces, mine in particular.

      “So what if you promised him?” Kat says, coming out of the bathroom in a lacy bra and thong. “Nothing happened last night, right?”

      “No, of course not, but you guys should come with me. What if Alesandro and Massimo are there and expecting you?” Meanwhile, I keep looking at the phone, wondering if Francesco will even want to hang with me after his friends got the cold shoulder last night.

      “I really don’t think they’re dying to see us, and if they do…” Lindsey shrugs “…they won’t find us.”

      I have nothing to say in return. I can’t explain this desire of mine, not even to myself.

      “Go with Francesco if you really want to,” Kat says.

      Sudden panic at the thought. I make my fingers continue folding socks into little balls, but what I’m thinking is that I can’t be alone with Francesco, not without chaperones. For the last two years, the only man I’ve been alone with, other than John, is my dentist.

      I turn and face them. “Come on, you guys. Just come with me for an hour or two. I really want to do this.”

      “Why?” Sin says.

      Great question.

      “Let’s stick together,” Kat says. “This is supposed to be a girls’ vacation, after all.”

      “No shit, Kat. I’m surprised you remembered that.” It flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.

      She freezes, looking like I slapped her.

      Lindsey doesn’t say anything, but she’s watching me.

      “I’m sorry, it’s just that you guys had no problems leaving me last night,” I say.

      “You were going to sleep,” Lindsey says.

      “It’s not like you thought twice about me.” I try to keep my voice light, wondering why I’m arguing, since I may never hear from Francesco again. I’m ready to retreat when I see Lindsey’s face harden.

      “Well,” she says, “you haven’t been setting much of an example lately.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” But I know. Some sick part of me wants to hear her say it, though, because in some fucked-up way it’ll mean she missed me as much as I’ve missed them.

      “Hey,” Kat says, walking toward us. “Let’s not get into this. Not now. Casey, if you want to go with Francesco, do it. Let’s just make it an early one so we can get up tomorrow and do some more sightseeing before we leave for Greece tomorrow night.”

      Neither Sin nor I answer for some time.

      “Yeah,” Sin says, finally breaking the silence. “Just go.” She gives me a lopsided smile with one corner of her mouth, which means she’s trying to be nice.

      “Okay,” I say. “What time should we meet back here?”

      “Midnight,” Kat says. “Will that work?”

      “Sure,” I say, and I give Lindsey a small smile in return.

      Just then the phone rings. I lunge at it.

      “Pronto,” I say.

      “Casey.” Francesco’s voice is so soft that he breathes my name more than he speaks it. “How are you?”

      4

      “I will pick you up at 9:00,” Francesco says, “and we will have a special dinner, as I told you.”

      I push down the flicker of excitement that rises in me, trying not to notice how odd it is, how long it’s been since I’d felt that particular rush. “What about Alesandro and Massimo?”

      “They will not be joining us,” he says, without explanation.

      “Where? I mean, what kind of place are we going? What should I wear?” Something similar to terror replaces my excitement as I realize that this sounds more and more like a date. I know I should protest, explain that I have a boyfriend, and traipse off to Trastevere with my friends, but I can’t. I just can’t get those words out of my mouth.

      “Wear whatever you like,” Francesco says in his liquid-honey voice. “It does not matter.”

      Easy for him to say.

      I immediately begin trying on every article of clothing packed by myself, Kat or Lindsey. They both attempt to offer advice, neither commenting on my obvious anxiety, but their pearls of fashion wisdom do little to calm me. To make matters worse, because of the weight I’ve put on this summer, I can’t wear the majority of their clothes for fear that the seams will explode and take out everyone within a mile radius. This leaves me alone with my meager wardrobe. I can think of fifty outfits in my closet back home that would be perfect for tonight, while I cringe at everything I packed.

      I finally decide on my most slimming skirt and a sleeveless white top with a loose, semi-sheer black shirt over it.

      “Are you nuts?” Kat says. “You can’t wear that black thing. It’s one hundred fucking degrees out.” She gives me a disgusted look while she fastens the diamond studs into her ears.

      I glance at Sin, still on the bed, who notices the same thing and scowls at Kat. Those diamond earrings again.

      “I’m trying to hide my arms,” I say, mumbling as I climb on a spindly wooden chair, where I attempt, unsuccessfully, to get a full-length glimpse of myself in the foot-long mirror above the dresser.

      “Oh, please,” Sin says. “Your arms look fine. What’s gotten into you?”

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