The ride to Lovina's apartment building was loud. The trio sang along to the radio and still managed to hold a discussion of their plans in excited voices. By the time Lovina was dropped at the doors of her building, her mood had lifted considerably.
"Okay Bella, alright! I got it, shut up!"
Lovina laughed, stepping away from the open car window. She waved with her free hand, flowers and present tucked under her other arm. Shaking her head happily, she made her way up the sidewalk. Nodding her head at the doorman, she paused to talk to him.
"Good evening, Miss Vargas."
"Ciao, Lee. How was your day?"
"Pleasant. Better than usual. Your sister stopped by. She said she wanted to take care of something for you, so I let her in."
"Alright. Buonanotte, Lee."
He tipped his hat to her, watching as she stepped into the elevator across the lobby. The young woman pressed the button for her floor, then began rummaging through her briefcase's front pocket for the key to her apartment. When the doors dinged, she sighed, shaking hair out of her eyes.
A blue sticky note was stuck to her door, just under the peephole. Lovina ripped it off with the hand she held the key in, skimming over it.
Ciao, sorella! I know you forget to eat a lot, so I stopped by to make your dinner! I let myself in again, but don't worry, I cleaned up after myself and locked the door. You'll never guess what happened today! Remind me to tell you tomorrow, Luddy and I are going out tonight. Oh, I almost forgot! Buon San Valentino, sorella! Silly me, going and forgetting that. I've got to go now, but your meal should still be warm when you get home. I left it on the stove, but it won't burn. Nonno taught me his secret. Oh, but I really need to go now, Luddy's calling! Don't forget to eat, 'cause I made you good food! Love you, sorella! Felicia 3
Lovina sighed. "Damn spastic sister. Can't even write a note like a normal person." She unlocked the door and stepped inside, eyes widening as she was greeted by soft music and the smell of spaghetti. Well, at least it was spaghetti. As good as she was with any type of pasta, spaghetti was Felica's specialty. No one made spaghetti like Felicia.
Lovina slid off her shoes and stepped into the kitchen, letting her bag fall to the floor as she set the box on the counter. The flowers ruffled against the cellophane wrapping as she reached into a cupboard to pull out a vase for them. Her pantyhose slid across the vinyl floor whenever she took a step toward the sink, filling the vase with water. Her cell phone pinged out a text message alert.
I know you probably don't want to hear it, and I'm very out of place in saying it, but… I'm sorry. You must know that…
A frown spread across Lovina's face as she read the message. The number was still foreign to her, but she realized with a jolt that she'd become attached to the mystery texter. In four and a half hours, she'd come to feel close to them. And yet, she still hadn't worked up the courage to answer them. After a moment of indecision, Lovina clicked the reply button.
What have you got to be sorry for? You made today worth suffering through. Thank you.
While waiting for an answer, Lovina served herself a plate of spaghetti and a bit of red wine from the cabinet. A nice, familiar meal. The phone pinged.
You're welcome. I only want to see you happy.
She felt her heart melt, just a bit. Reminding herself firmly that Antonio used to say the same thing, she forced herself to scowl.
You didn't answer my question.
I can't. You'll hate me.
Why? You haven't given me reason to hate you.
The conversation carried on throughout Lovina's meal, often switching topics. By the time she'd washed her dishes, taken care of the leftover spaghetti, and gone to change into more comfortable clothes, it was nearly seven thirty. She'd affectionately dubbed the mystery texter 'Cucciolo', or 'puppy'.
Alright, Cucciolo, you've kept me distracted long enough. Why won't you tell me anything about yourself?
Wait, why am I a puppy?
You act like one. Since when do you speak Italian?
I learned it in highschool.
Fair enough. Now back to my question. You never talk about yourself. Why?
I'm nothing special. You, however, are the sunshine of my life. I need you.
Lovina nearly dropped her cellphone into the bathroom sink at that. She stared at the mirror for a moment, trying to catch up with her thoughts.
"I won't reply," she told her reflection, "I won't. Because if this turns out to be a prank, I'll have believed it. And that… that's just fucking stupid."
Nodding firmly at the reflection, she picked up a hairbrush instead of her phone. After her auburn waves decided to go against her will and become frizzy, she pulled them back into a messy bun. The phone buzzed.
I've upset you, haven't it?
No. I'm a grown-ass woman. I'm not fucking upset, I just remembered that I don't need anyone else in my life.
The phone stayed silent for a good two minutes before Lovina took the initiative to smirk at it. "Take that, bastard."
She congratulated herself inwardly and pulled on an old, grey sweatshirt. During the process of walking back to the kitchen, Lovina felt a sudden pang of loss. The sweatshirt was Antonio's: she'd stolen it just before he left for Spain the last time he visited. That had been June- nearly eight months ago. When they were still happy. Long before the road ended in a cliff.
The young woman sighed, mentally kicking herself for remembering him. Son of a bitch deserved to be forgotten, the way he broke up with her. She grabbed one of the bags of chocolate from the box and ripped it open. While she popped one into her mouth, she scowled at the clock.
"Great. Fucking fantastic. Seven forty-five on Valentine's Day, and I'm wearing pajamas and eating chocolate alone in my kitchen."
Her phone buzzed loudly from the bathroom. She jumped in surprise and nearly dropped the chocolate. Cussing under her breath for flinching, she jogged to the bathroom and snatched the small device off the counter.
I'm twenty-five years old, as of very recently. My favorite color is green, but red sometimes beats it. I love tomatoes- they're the best food ever. I lived in Spain until I was five, then moved here. Other than English, I speak Spanish, French, Italian, and German. And if it counts, I speak Pig Latin. My girlfriend always said I was an idiot and an airhead, but I centered my life around her. I wish I could spend today with her, but she won't allow it.
Lovina let out a shocked noise, fingers flying over the keypad as she answered.
You have a fucking GIRLFRIEND?! Why the fucking hell are you doing all this for me if you're already in a fucking relationship? You're a dick! Che cazzo!
No, no, no! Wait! Please don't judge me! I don't have a girlfriend! Not anymore. I worded that wrong. We broke up. Sometime around a month ago, I think. It's really painful. I made stupid decisions and let other things crowd her from my mind. I'm afraid she hates me now, but I still love her.
Fuck you. I honestly don't blame her. You're a pig. If you love her so damn much, then why the hell are you talking to me?
Because I love you.
I thought you loved your fucking ex.
I do.
But you love me.
Yes.
You make absolutely no sense at all!
I can't explain like this! I have to do this in person.
Before Lovina could send another reply, there was a knock on her door. Still standing in the bathroom, she froze for a moment.
You'd better fucking not be at my door.
What if I am?
You're a stalker and really fucking creepy and I'll slit your throat.
You'll have to let me in first.
If you want to see me so damn badly, let yourself in, fucker.
Fine.
Lovina dropped her phone with a clatter when she heard the sound of a key in the lock. She caught her breath, heart hammering, and moved around the corner of the hallway, peering towards the door. The lock clicked. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. The door opened, and a familiar face appeared, speaking in a familiar voice with a familiar accent.
"…Lovi? You're here, right"