"My dear, you seem preoccupied."
Lisa glanced up at Bob in a daze. She'd been staring at the dinner he'd cooked for the past ten minutes trying to think of the kindest way to tell him her news.
"Is it the haricots verts? I was afraid they were a little underdone, but–"
"Cotto a puntino, like always. It's just..."
Bob was looking at her in a way that only made her pain worsen.
"...I've been offered a full ride to Juilliard."
His eyes lit up. "Lisa, that's incredible! Congratulations!"
But Lisa wasn't happy, nor could she understand Bob's reaction.
"Don't you get it? If I accept, I'll move to New York and we won't be able to see each other!"
"Wasn't it your dream to someday leave this nuclear wasteland? You belong with your own kind–global citizens and pioneers of culture!" Bob put his hand on hers sympathetically. "Why stand still now, when your life is just beginning?"
Lisa pulled away. "And what if I decide to study environmental science at Springfield A&M? Would that be such a tragedy?"
Bob's face fell. "Not if you truly felt that was your calling," he began, "but don't shrink away from the height of your musical talent on my account."
Lisa stood up from the table and put on her shoes.
"Lisa, please. You must have seen this coming."
"I need a little space."
Lisa tried not to cry as she took the bike path through the forest. Everyone was so thrilled for her to go to Juilliard–even Bob, who treated her like she was so special, then acted as if her leaving wouldn't matter at all.
Bob glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror and saw a shifty and disheveled man. After his argument with Lisa, he hadn't heard from her for a week. She broke the silence yesterday with a handwritten note on his door:
Pick me up at the airport, June 1, 3:05 PM, Gate 24.
It was a strange request, and she avoided his subsequent questions about where she had gone or why. At this point, he was a little annoyed at Lisa for thinking she could order him to wait for her in the stressful passenger pick up lane of the airport without even telling him–
"Gino?!"
A thin, fluffy haired boy turned and gave Bob a timid smile of recognition. "Hi, Papa."
Bob stumbled out of the car and pulled Gino into a tight embrace.
"Gino! O mio bambino caro! Your papa missed you so much!"
Gino allowed the hug, but grew more and more embarrassed at its length. "Papa, io non sono un bambino."
Bob held his son out at arm's length. At thirteen, he wasn't tall or strong, but he certainly wasn't a bambino.
"No, of course not. You're a fine young man. But to me, you'll always be–"
The traffic piling up behind them began honking aggressively.
"Hey asshole, we all got emotional reunions here!" yelled Carl from his car as an extremely tan Lenny glared from the sidewalk.
"Just a minute! Animals, all of you!" Bob shouted angrily. When he turned back to his son, he saw an amused smile peeking from Gino's face as the boy waited for his father to finish.
"You get the idea. Let's get your things in the car."
Bob could barely keep his eyes on the road the entire way home. Even though it had been less than a year since they'd seen each other, he could tell the boy had gone through a lot.
"I can't believe you're here... did you get my letters?"
"Yes, eventually. Mama kept them from me for a while. I think leaving was very hard on her."
Mention of Francesca silenced Bob for several miles. Despite everything, the memory of her leaving still produced fresh pain. He had loved Francesca deeply and once hoped to spend his life with her. Now, they never spoke.
"So why allow you to visit?"
"Your ragazza kept calling and convinced her to send me here for the summer."
Lisa, Bob understood. This was a lot of information to process. As he helped carry the luggage up the stairs to his apartment, he grew more and more excited about his summer with Gino.
"They finally refinished the soccer stadium after the fan riot, their youth league is very competitive. And the Natural History Museum started an outdoor concert series every first Wednesday, you'd like that."
Gino rolled his eyes. "Papa, isn't it still the same town you say is 'baser than the foulest swamp'?"
"Springfield? Admittedly, it's not perfect, but it's–"
Bob paused, surprised by what he was about to say. "–a fine place to live."
It was a strange realization, but somehow he knew he meant it. He wondered briefly about Lisa's threat to study at Springfield A&M until he noticed something on the kitchen table.
"Does this couch fold out?"
"Certemente," Bob called to Gino from the kitchen. In his hands he held a piece of the Juilliard welcome packet, and on it, two words:
I'm going
