I spent Valentine's Day with the movers. Sure, they were nice guys. And yah, they packed our things with tender loving care. But no matter how delicately another man treats your antique bookcase, it's not quite the same as being with your husband.
The day's real saving grace was the friend who stepped up to the plate and was my co-captain during three days of moving. I had the Italian skills and she had the eye for detail. Her suggestion of "Do you think you might want them to put another layer of padding there?" turned into my Italian version of "Please put some more padding there." This went on for three days and we were a glorious team.
But - and here's where this friend shows her true range of abilities - she was also playing for another team. A sneakier and far more romantic team that had been plotting its next move since early January. And when she left the apartment on February 14 for an Italian language lesson, I suspected nothing.
When she came back and I opened the door to a lush bouquet of beautiful flowers, I was beyond surprised. They were for me from Stefano - and those two had planned the whole thing before he left in January. (She even used part of her Italian lesson to fine tune her flower-buying vocabulary.)
The flowers threw a golden glow on an apartment full of cardboard boxes. And the thought behind the flowers - well, that about cracked my heart in two.
I may have spent the day with the movers, but my heart was in Washington, DC.
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