I paced the kitchen, Bambina watching me from her bed in the living room. Even though the warning was probably deserved, I felt bad for Cilla. She was so young, and she was convinced that she was in love. I was sure her world felt like it was crashing down around her.
I had no family. No mother or father or brothers or sisters (that I knew of). Not even a friend among the fifty or so people who worked at Club D. But I had a dog and a young girl who had become the brightness in my life after I agreed that she could temporarily live with me. Quality over quantity where that was concerned. My cup had runneth over with the both of them.
While Bambina watched, I pulled out some ice cream from the freezer, loaded a few cups with candy, and set some blankets on the sofa in front of the television. Then I turned the stereo on, and getting as close to Cilla’s door as possible, started singing the song as loud as I possibly could.
Bambina ran in circles, not sure what to do with this screeching version of me. I laughed a little while I sang, for the first time in my life feeling completely free and loving it. Right as the lyric sang something about doing Tae Bo to Mozart and my leg shot out, the door to Cilla’s room flew open.
I pointed at her, singing the rest of the lyrics.
She crossed her arms over her chest, but her mouth twitched. “How many shows are you going to do if I don’t come out?”
“There’s no telling,” I sang between lyrics. “I might do five or ten. Maybe even twenty! This is fucking fun!”
She groaned. “I created a monster. All right!” She burst out laughing when I started dancing around her. She cupped my face with her hand and pushed me away. “All right!” She laughed even harder. “What do you want from me, insane-in-the-membraneamica?”
“A girl’s night! Let’s watch movies until the sun comes up, eat so much ice cream and candy that we get sick, and talk about all the things.”
“You are areal girl,” she said in Pinocchio’s voice.
“Sometimes,” I said, doing the robot.
“If I promise to have a girl’s night with you, will you swear to me you’ll never do that again?”
I scrunched my face at her, like I was thinking. “I don’t know. I like the way this dance feels.” I did it again.
She made the same face. “I’m almost scared to tell you no.”
“Deal,” I said on a laugh, putting my arm around her neck and leading her to the sofa. “The ice cream might be melted already.” I nodded to the cartons on the tray filled with junk food. “My moves were sohot.”
Her eyes turned hard. “Okay.” She held her hands up and took a step back. “Who are you and what have you done with Rosalia?”
I laughed, throwing Bambina one of her treats from the tray. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
“No.” She shook her head, swiping a carton of ice cream and sitting on the sofa. “You’re not bad at all. But I’ve never seen you so happy. I’m not sure if I should be excited, too, or appalled that my misery brings you so much pleasure. Is that it? Do you have a Schadenfreude complex?”
I turned to her, TV remote in my hand. Like I could change her channel. “What’s that?”
She burst out laughing. “Your face!” She took a scoop of ice cream. “You look funny when you get confused. Like a ditzy Snow White.” She sighed. “A Schadenfreude complex is when you derive pleasure from other people’s misfortunes.”
“You’re miserable?”
We both knew she was, but she hid it well. I thought it was time she admitted it to me. Maybe we could talk about it.
She took another bite and then set it down. She grabbed a gummy candy from the cup and squished it between her fingers, her eyes drawn to it as she did. “I am,” she whispered. “Everyone around me tries to convince me that I don’t love him. That what we have is nothing. Is wrong. I’msoyoung. He’ssoyoung. It’ll pass. And as far as my Pop is concerned, it doesn’t matter if I love him or not. What’s best for his business comes first.”
I watched her for a minute, giving her time to talk without me interrupting.
“I mean, the thing is, I am young, and so is he, but we’re not too young to know what love is. My heart actually hurts, Rosalia. Did you know that was possible?” She turned her stare from the candy to me.
I shook my head. “No.”
“It is possible. My heart feels like it can’t get enough blood, or it has too much. All I know is that it hurts. It aches, all the time. Like it has a deep cut or a severe bruise that refuses to heal unless he’s close.”
“It’s going to be okay, Cilla,” I whispered.
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“No.” I sat down next to her, putting an arm around her. “It is.”
