“Yeah, I was pretty upset when they called to tell me. I’d wanted to be this scintillating talk show host, and I’d really thrown myself into it. Our place, all stuffed with lights and piles of gel sheets and cables. To get it all in there, I had to move the speakers and Barbara’s trunk. And make sure not to scratch anything. I was the one in charge—and I got drunk. I thought maybe I could make some money as a talk show host—but now they’ll think I’m this dumbass, bragging to the director, thinking I could teach him about modern television, inviting him to my home for this completely amateur bullshit I had no control over, and I’d refused to take any notes before the interview…”

My brother repeated: “So, you’re bummed it didn’t work out?”

I looked at Daniela, and she smiled back at me, stuck out her lower lip, and shrugged. “Whatever. Fuck RAI.”

“Yeah,” Barbara said, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Who needs them, anyway.”

It was an unpleasant evening, and all of us got drunk. It was almost Christmas, which we also talked about, how much we didn’t feel like planning anything. Luca was wearing a blue-striped shirt and a cardigan; he’d become a real spin doctor. Blue pants, blue docksiders. We were drinking a falanghina, Daniela and Barbara mostly talking to each other while my brother and I stared at our phones. Barbara asked Daniela about her father—he’d had his first chemotherapy a year ago and had started having fevers again: Daniela rarely mentioned this, so I kept forgetting. There was something inside me that prevented me from internalizing this information and acting on it. Similarly, Barbara’s father had a genetic disorder that we rarely acknowledged, only when she grew pensive and left her food on her plate, her eyes tearing up, and she’d say she didn’t want to lose him.

My brother cleared his throat: “Well, Marcello, I’m really grateful that, for once in your life”—he pointed to me—“you’ve talked about your failures without trying to pass them off as successes. I mean, you haven’t tried to make them sound cool like usual—and I’m really impressed by your honesty, and so I’ve decided to make my own little announcement. I’ve just turned in my resignation.”

I looked at Daniela, her mouth was hanging open.

“I don’t want anything more to do with it. I’m sick of politics.”

Barbara’s eyes were wide, her head tilted toward me, studying Luca with affection, her lips pressed together. (She and Luca had met through me, then found themselves on the same scene, gravitating toward the last regional governor.)

“This is good news—really! I know I’m being a bit dramatic—it’s just time to try something new.”