We're wading in the pool right near where the shallow end drops off. She drifts to me as I deliberately wait to see how close she'll get.
"How so?" I challenge.
"All the movies I've watched over the years,The Shawshank Redemption, The Notebook, Pretty Woman, they all got their happy ending. Andy escaped prison. Noah and Allie reunited. The escort married the rich guy—"
"Are you comparing your life to that of a convict and prostitute?"
"No," she laughs and sinks under the water again. When she comes up, she's still laughing. "I'm saying movies make it seem like it all works out in the end. What if it doesn't?"
I'm as dumbfounded as she is and shrug my shoulders.
"You're asking the wrong guy. I've never seen a light at the end of my tunnel. Feels like I'm struggling to get out of the dark but I'm constantly being pulled back, almost like I know the brightness would blind me."
"You can go blind in the dark, too."
"Interesting way to put it," I say.
My lips fade into a sincere smile, one she doesn't notice because she isn't looking my way.
"IsThe Shawshank Redemptionyour favorite movie?" I ask.
"Don't make me choose."
"When did your obsession begin?"
"It became my thing with my mom. Before she even got sick. There was nothing like the thrill of going to Blockbuster on a Friday or Saturday night to look at the new releases. We'd watch all the classics, too. Then when she got diagnosed, she couldn't do much at all."
She coughs, but it's an obvious distraction as she musters up some courage to keep her composure.
"You can cry, it's okay." I sympathize with her because it's the same bottled-up emotion I experienced in her room.
We're both silencing our emotions because our parents are happy together, which makes it feel unfair to complain about the past.
"Did I cry the other night?" she asks.
"You did."
"Shit. I hate when people see me cry."
"It's okay, it's really not a big deal. Anything else you need to know about my high school days?"
"Any girls you want me to spill a drink on that were mean to you?"
"That spot is reserved for you."
"Aww," she coos, hand pressed to her heart.
"Are you working Saturday? Do you have enough time to get ready?"
"Yes, I'll be off around noon. Plenty of time."
"Great, maybe tomorrow night we can go over our fake history—"
"Oh, tomorrow I'm actually going on a date."
I start laughing. "Come on, really?"
"With Dylan. He texted me and we're getting dinner tomorrow."
