American Vacanza

madison's guilty pleasure • siena

We had just thrown the last of Ethan's boxers from the balcony, (with the help of some tongs from the kitchen) so Madison and I headed back inside to find something to do.

"You know, I wouldn't mind if we stayed here all summer," I sighed, looking out at the bustling city as I  slowly sank into the white leather couch.

"Wouldn't that be a great way to stick it to our parents? Instead of their planned road trip across the country, we went halfway and then stopped in Chicago. If they wanted us to stop using their money to pay for our luxury hotel, they'd have to come get us and take us home," Madison joked.

"Yeah," I replied wistfully, "but this suite would get claustrophobic. And expensive. Even for us."

"Plus, I could never, ever sacrifice my precious Italy for Chicago. No matter how good the pizza is here. Picture this: a giant mansion, even bigger than ours at home, sits on a cliff, overlooking the turquoise sea. You can go cliff diving, or go down the steps to get to the beach part. There's a theater and a quaint little town and a boat and fancy-ass Italian soda and-" I finally cut her off.

"So on that note..." I tried to pick up. "You're saying we should leave?"

"Don't get me wrong," she started, "I'm having the most fun I've had on this trip so far. But we need to get to New York so we can get on that plane to Italy. I, for one, can't wait to get there."

I, for another, couldn't wait either. I was just making a statement about how cool this hotel was, and didn't really have any desire to stay forever. But Madison's made-up plan to stay in Chicago for the summer didn't sound like a bad backup.

"I'll go pack up my suitcase. My clothes are kind of sprawled all around my room," I announced, retiring to my room to pick them up, sit on my suitcase and try my best to zip it up.

"I'll do the same." Madison entered her room to, presumably, do the same. But I was feeling particularly unproductive, so I flipped on my room's TV and got lost in some Spanish language soap opera. A woman was wailing at a man in a coma, something indistinguishable, and I really started to regret taking French instead of Spanish in high school.

And then, just as the man seemed to be rising out of the coma- a pivotal moment in any soap - Madison came into my room. I immediately turned the television off, but the amused smile on her face made me realize that she wasn't mad at me. "Were you just watching Semana Del Amor?"

I felt my eyebrows sink way down. "Uh... not really. Wait, how do you know what it's called? Do you watch it or something?"

Her eyes darted back and forth as she pursed her lips. "Uh, no. I mean, not.... regularly. But I, you know, read online, that Julio's supposed to be waking up today, so I-"

I pressed the power button and turned the TV back on. "Here." I gestured to my bed, which she happily hopped onto and began to watch as I continued to shove everything I could in my bag.

While she was absorbed in the dramatic confessions and outrageous accusations, I finished putting away all of my clothes that had been strewn around the room. When I asked her to sit on my suitcase so I could zip it up, she simply responded with a, "Shhh! Camilla just accidentally told Esteban that the baby she's having is his, not Alejandro's!"

But she sat on my suitcase anyway. It was good, because then I'd have to sit on it myself and that would just be a disaster. I watched on-screen as a man's housekeeper slipped some sort of suspicious liquid into his drink. "So you, like, keep up with this show?"

"No. Not regularly, just... sometimes. I grew up with a housekeeper who watched it like it was her job. She taught me Spanish and now I watch it whenever it happens to be on."

"Ah," I replied. "How come you never told me about her?" Everyone had their guilty pleasure, but I never would've pegged Madison for the soap opera type.

Madison shrugged. "We let Rosario go when my mom passed. I wonder how she's doing, if she's teaching some other privileged white girl how to speak Spanish."

"So, you're like, fluent?" I ask.

"Conversational, I guess. I've lost some of it since she left, plus I only had the speaking skills of a thirteen-year-old in my Spanish-speaking prime."

"I guess that makes sense-"

"But I do speak a lot of Italian, and those two are so damn similar-"

"Wait, how many languages do you speak?" I asked, incredulous. "Between summers in Italy, growing up speaking Spanish, English, and... you take Chinese at school, right?-"

"Four." She smiled proudly at me for half a second, then her eyes flicked back to the TV screen as she folded up a white button-down blouse.

Silence fell as I attempted to zip up my suitcase, finally getting it on the fifth or sixth try.

"You know, I think this trip has brought us closer together. As much as it pains me to say it, our parents were right. Or, step-"

"You know, you don't really have to specify step-parents anymore. I might not like your mom, or approve of you calling my dad your dad, but, like... I get what you mean," Madison said sheepishly.

"Really?" I could feel my face brightening. Or reddening. Without a mirror, it was hard to tell exactly what my ghostly pale skin was doing at the moment. "I wasn't sure if I should say that or not, given how we've both reacted in the past-"

"But that's all in the past, my friend!" she responded, pausing a beat for dramatic effect. "I may not approve of your mom marrying my dad, but at least I've realized on this trip that you're not the problem here. Your mom is."

I laughed, because I wasn't sure if that was a joke or a dig at me, so I decided to call it a joke. "And you," I replied, "might have pink hair, weird clothes and bad taste in boyfriends, but you know how to have fun."

"They don't call me the party girl for nothin'!" she cried, slinging herself off the bed. "I'm going to grab some soda. We're going to put it in fancy glasses, sit on the balcony, and toast to our newfound sisterhood. Then, we pack up and get the hell out of here."

_________________

Madison gripped the steering wheel. That's right, we were back in our red, rusty lemon, taking on the country one city at a time. (Was that a heck of a tagline or what?) And this time, I was sitting shotgun- not that dirtbag Ethan.

"All right. Passin' into Indiana," Madison said. It wasn't that big of an achievement; Chicago was pretty much on the border of Illinois and Indiana. Still, a new state always felt like an achievement; I couldn't imagine the joy we'd feel when we got to the airport in New York.

"Yay," I replied, unsure of my other options for what to respond.

"You're obviously tired. Lean your head down and just relax," she instructed, putting a hand on my thigh. "You're lucky you don't have to drive. Enjoy it while you can."

I giggled back, "No I'm not. I just dont really know how to reply to going into a new state. Like sure, it's a milestone and all that, and we're about three hundred miles closer to New York. Yay!

"No! Three hundred miles. It's three thousand from California to New York. That's ten percent! Every state is about ten more percent!" Madison announced.

"Well, I'm glad to see that AP Calc is treating you well," I retorted.

"Whatever," she said. "We're closer!"