She does this thing where she tugs at the corner of her shirt collar and hooks her chin into it before letting it fall against her chest. She’s the opposite of the casual business attire that greeted me when I met her at her car. She’s now a loose, more relaxed version of herself in her sweatpants and sleep shirt. Or rather,myshirt that she’s taken full ownership of.
I noticed a small pep in her step as we walked to her door. The plastic bag containing our dinner dangled from her fingertips with a slight swinging motion, making me worry that the contents might spill over, but Grace didn’t seem to care. She just grinned at me while she told me about the ice cream sandwiches she bought over the weekend. Dessert, she claimed. And now, I wish we could somehow delay it. Because afterdessert, it means the night is over, and that’s the last thing I want. I wish there could be some way I could freeze time. Let us live in this moment as if it were infinite.
She pokes her chopsticks at the screen. “So, you’re supposed to watch it backward?”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” I explain. “George Lucas started the story in the middle to create an immersive experience to make it seem as if viewers were joining the story at a pivotal moment.”
“You should hold a localStar Warsseminar,” Grace jokes. She rests her chopsticks on the edge of her bowl. A bundle of noodles pools at the end, but she pauses her meal to peer sideways with a teasing upturned smirk before adding, “Why do you know so much about this?”
I shrug, poking at my own bowl of noodles. “I just liked them as a kid. The movies and figurines and all.”
“You mean ‘toys?’”
“Um, excuse me,” I argue. “I believe ‘action figure’ is the correct term.”
“You know, it’s pretty good,” she confesses. “I’ve never really watched these movie things, and it’s pretty interesting.”
I never realized how sexy it would be to find someone who would actually nerd out with me. And not even half-ass it. I mean fully nerd out without the dismissive comments or deprecatory words, writing me off as some nut job with some weird science fiction obsession. Her eyes haven’t glazed over with boredom, and she hasn’t requested to change it to something more fitting to her taste. And suddenly, I want to nerd out with her just the same. I want to know all the things she loves. The things she obsesses about.
“What kind of movies do you like?”
She’s stirring at her noodles, and she scoops up a mouthful, chews thoughtfully, and considers my question. “I don’t think I have a favorite kind of movie. I watch pretty much anything.”
“But still. You should have a genre or a specific movie that you tend to gravitate to.”
“I guess I used to watch a lot of rom-coms when I was younger,” she explains, still a little unsure of her answer.
I nod, slurping away at my dinner.
“You know,” she continues. “Like the early 2000s movies they don’t make anymore.”
“LikeBridget JonesorPrincess Diaries?”
She drops her chopsticks and scoots her butt to face me. “What do you know aboutBridget Jones?”
“I have a sister. Remember?” A glitch cuts into our moment. A nudge to remind us what we are on the surface. My sister’s best friend. My older sister who would absolutely lose her shit if she found out about us. Her friend who happens to also be a divorcée and almost a decade older than me. Not that any of that matters to me, but I know it matters to Grace. All that superficial outer appearance shit.
She nods, letting the small snag in our dinner settle between us. “Right.”
“We should watch one,” I say, attempting to put us back on track, glitch and all.
“What? Like now?”
I shake my head. “No, maybe…another night.”
She tilts her head, an inquisitive look of interest and curiosity on her face. The corners of her lips tilt upward. A silent demand for my intentions, no matter how innocent I make them out to be.
“What?” I ask when her eyes start to narrow.
“Do you plan on making this a frequent occurrence?”
I shrug. “I mean, we have five more movies to get through,” I say, gesturing to the screen. “Plus a few more sequels and TV shows, etcetera.”
“Do you not have any friends?” she asks, taking a jab at the fact that, after a long day at work, she seems to be the only friend I’m venting to. “Girlfriends?”
I ignore the intentional plural adage to the word “girlfriend” and say, “Uh, no girlfriends, but I have friends.”
“Okay, then why are you here with me and not with them?”
