Adriana Trigiani - Very Valentine

“It’s all right,” she says.

I pick up speed on the autostrada and we sail along at a good clip. The highway is ours today, and I take full advantage. When Gram nods off to sleep, I think that it’s better this way. The more she naps, the less she’ll miss Dominic.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and open it.

“Honey?” Roman says.

“You landed?”

“No, I’m in New York.”

“They canceled your flight?” My heart sinks. I hate the airlines!

“No, I didn’t make the flight. And I didn’t want to call you in the middle of the night to tell you.”

“What happened?” I raise my voice.

Gram wakes up. “What’s wrong?”

“We got a tip that the New York Times is coming to review us this week, probably Tuesday night, so I’m going to fly out Wednesday and meet you in Capri. I hope you understand, honey.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A review in the Times could make or break me.”

“A vacation in Capri could make or break us .” I’ve never threatened a man in my life. So much for being adorable; what does Katharine Hepburn know about men anyway? She never dated Roman Falconi.

“This is just a delay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Save it. I’m tired of waiting for you to show up when you say you will. I’m tired of waiting for us to begin. I want you to go on vacation like you promised.”

He raises his voice. “This review is really important to my business. I have to be here. I can’t help it.”

“No you can’t, can you? It shows me what’s important to you. I’m a close second to your osso buco. Or am I even in second place?”

“You’re number one, okay? Please, try and understand. I’ll be there before you know it. You can relax until I get there.”

“I can’t talk to you. I’m about to drive into a tunnel. Good-bye.” I look straight ahead; there is nothing but a clear ribbon of autostrada and blue Italian sky. I snap the phone shut and throw it into my bag.

“What happened?” Gram asks.

“He’s not coming. He’s going to be reviewed by the Times and he has to be there. He said he’d fly over Wednesday, but that hardly gives us any time once he lands, gets to Capri, and gets over the jet lag.” I begin to cry. “And I’m going to turn thirty-four years old alone.”

“On top of everything else-your birthday.” Gram shakes her head.

“I am done with that man. This is it.”

“Don’t be hasty,” Gram says gently. “I’m sure he’d rather be with you than at the restaurant with a critic.”

“He’s unreliable!”

“You know he has a difficult professional life.” Gram keeps her tone even.

“So do I! I’m trying to hold it all together myself. But I needed Capri. I needed a break. I haven’t had a vacation in four years. I could almost face the nightmare back home if I could just rest before I had to deal with Alfred again.”

“I know there’s a lot of pressure on you.”

“A lot? There’s too much pressure. And you aren’t helping.”

“Me?”

“You. Your ambivalence. I half-think you’d like to stay in Arezzo and just forget about Perry Street.”

“You’ve read my mind.”

“Well, guess what? We’re both going home today. I am not going to lose everything because of Roman. At least let me keep my job.”

I fish for my BlackBerry to e-mail our travel agent Dea Marie Kaseta. I pull over on the side of the road. I text her:

Need Second Ticket On Alitalia 16 Today 4 pm to NYC. Urgent.

I pull back onto the road.

“I’ve never seen you this angry,” Gram says quietly.

“Well, get used to it. I’m going to stew all the way home to New York.”

The woman behind the counter at Alitalia looks at me with a lot of understanding, but very little hope. There isn’t an extra seat available on flight 16 from Rome to New York. The best Dea Marie could do was get me a hotel room and a ticket to fly out the following morning.

I put my head down on the stainless-steel desk and weep. Gram pulls me off the line so the impatient passengers behind me can pick up their boarding passes. “I’ll go with you to Capri.”

“Gram, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to go to Capri with you.”

“I understand.”

“Why don’t you go with Dominic? The hotel is all set. And I’ll take your ticket and fly home.”

“But you should have a vacation. And Roman said he’s coming on Wednesday.”

“I don’t want him to come at all.”

“You say that now, but Roman will be here soon and you’ll make up.”

Gram opens her phone and calls Dominic. I survey the long line of passengers. Not one look of understanding or sympathy comes my way. I cry some more. My face begins to itch from the tears. I wipe my face with my sleeve. I remember my father’s words to me: Nothing ever seems to go right for you. You have to work for everything. Well, now I have a new revelation-not only do I have to work for everything, but the work may go totally unrewarded. What is the point?

“We’re all set.”

“Gram, what are you talking about?”

“I’m going to Capri with you now. Dominic will join me there. I will stay with him at his cousin’s home, and you can have the hotel room all to yourself.” Gram takes my arm. “Listen to me. Roman didn’t do this on purpose. He’ll be here on Wednesday, and this way, you can have a little alone time before he gets here.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter as she leads me away from the hellish whirlpool of Alitalia check-in and out into the airport. I follow Gram, who now walks ramrod straight, with a spring in her step as she anticipates her reunion with Dominic. I push our enormous luggage cart forward with the full weight of my body through the Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino International Airport. I arrange for another rental car and pile all the luggage back into the trunk of the new rental while Gram straps into the passenger seat in the front. I e-mail Dea Marie for a credit on Gram’s missed flight, asking her to rebook it for the day of Roman’s and my return. I climb into the car and fasten my seat belt.

“See there? There’s a solution to every problem.” Gram throws my cheap inspirational phrase right back in my face like a slap. “On to Capri!”

When we arrive in Naples, I drop the rental car at a location by the docks. I look around for help with the bags, but there doesn’t seem to be the Italian version of red caps working the pier.

I load up another luggage cart with the bags and push them, like a sherpa, to the pier. Our baggage seems to multiply every time I move it, or maybe the carts are getting smaller, I don’t know, but it’s overwhelming. I’m sweating like a prize fighter, my hair is wet by the time I reach the dock.

Gram stands guard next to the cart while I go and buy the tickets for the boat to Capri. We stand in the line as the boat backs into the harbor. When the attendant lets down the gate, a stampede of anxious tourists beats us up the ramp and onto the boat. I send Gram up the ramp and I follow her, pushing the cart.

Just when I think I may collapse, then be crushed under the wheels of my own cart, the ticket taker takes notice of my dilemma and hollers at a kid working on the deck. Finally, someone comes to my aid! He’s tall, with black hair like Roman, and I can’t help but think I wouldn’t need him if my boyfriend had arrived on time. Inside the ferry, I take a seat next to Gram. As the ferry leaves the harbor, I exhale and look out over the sea. A few minutes go by, and then I see the island.

Capri is jammed into the rolling turquoise waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea, like a party hat. The jagged cliffs, born of volcanic eruptions thousands of years ago, are draped in vivid jewel tones. Fuchsia flowers cascade over the rocks, bursts of purple bougainvillea spill off the cliffs, while the emerald waves along the water’s edge reveal glossy red coral, like the drips of red candle wax on a wine bottle.