“Always?”
“Always,” Miracle said. “That’s how you know it was true love.” Miracle stood. “Now, let’s dress the part. Broken-heartedness requires costumes and props. Go put your pajamas on and I’ll get the ice cream.”
Zing complied. She put on her gold-with-avocado stripe men’s 1950s pajamas. She’d purchased two sets because the lady at the thrift store said it was a two-for-one sale. The second set was brown with white polka dots. Zing thought they were both very stylish. The sales lady told her they’d been there for a while. She couldn’t imagine why.
When she came out, Miracle studied her pajamas and deemed them perfect. “You can’t get any more depressed lookin’ than that.” Miracle seemed pleased. “I think you should pick out your own flavor of ice cream because Ben and Jerry make a lot of flavors.”
Zing didn’t know who Ben and Jerry were but anyone who made ice cream was awesome in her book. “I love ice cream,” Zing said. She wondered whether ice cream would be even better on donuts.
“Then you’ll love Ben and Jerry’s. It’s heavenly.” Miracle laughed. “I can’t believe I just said heavenly to an angel.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t that where you’re from?”
Zing followed Miracle into the kitchen.
“No, I don’t work in heaven. That’s a separate department. We don’t have wings or play harps. Although, we do have a ukulele player and a clogging troupe.”
Miracle handed Zing a spoon and opened the freezer. It was filled with pints of ice cream. Zing chose a pint at random and read the label. “Chunky Monkey? Is it made from real monkeys?”
Miracle laughed. “Of course not.” She grabbed a pint of Cherry Garcia. “I hope this isn’t made from real Garcia.”
Zing dug up a spoonful of ice cream and tasted it.
“Well?” asked Miracle. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know which one’s better, donuts or ice cream.”
“You can like ‘em both. It’s not an either/or kind of thing. Let’s go sit on the couch and I’ll teach you how to be a Sad Girl,” Miracle said.
They went back to the living room and sat on the couch with their ice cream. Suddenly, Miracle jumped to her feet. “I almost forgot the most important part.”
“What?”
“The sad movie.” Miracle opened the doors on the cabinet the TV sat on.
“Wow. That’s a lot of movies,” Zing said.
Miracle put a DVD into the player. “Prepare to cry,” she warned.
Zing watched the movie and ate her ice cream slowly. She’d learned her lesson from the brain freeze. From the corner of her eye, Zing saw Miracle drip ice cream onto her pajama top. “You spilled on your clothes.”
“It’s okay,” Miracle said. “It just adds to the authenticity of my Sad Girl character.”
Zing looked down at her brand-new pajamas. She didn’t want stains on them.
Miracle intuited what Zing was thinking. “You don’t have to spill on yours if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you. Have you had a lot of experience being heartbroken?” Zing asked.
Miracle nodded. “My love life hasn’t been going well.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zing asked. She tilted her head and lightly touched Miracle’s arm.
“I’m okay,” Miracle said. “But thanks anyway.”
They went back to watching the movie. Miracle sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. Zing found it baffling that anyone would watch something that made them sad when they were already sad. Shouldn’t they watch something that would make them happy?
Miracle paused the movie during the scene where the Debra Winger character was lying in a hospital bed, saying goodbye to her children. She looked at Zing and blubbered, “It was an accident.”
“What was an accident?”
“I accidentally fell in love with the wrong woman, and if it hadn’t been for a stupid parking ticket it never would’ve happened.”
“Parking ticket?”
“Rita was a meter maid. It was her name that hooked me. There’s a Beatle’s song that had Rita the Meter Maid in it. So I was destined to fall for her simply because I adore the Beatles—ever since I was little. My mother used to play them all the time so they are a large part of my memory of her.” Miracle paused. She seemed lost in thought. “I loved her so much.”
“Rita or your mother?”
“Both.”
“But you said Giselle, the yoga lady, broke your heart.”
“That was after Rita. Giselle was not the love of my life—not like Rita. It was Rita who did the real damage. Giselle was just a selfish bitch who wore yoga pants twenty four hours a day.”