The lights are dim in Nostalgia, Birch Borough’s old theater. The space holds so much history, including the fact that our friend Rafe has played here a few times over the past couple of years, his first gig booked right after he met Sparrow. While it’s mainly a performance venue these days, when a movie showing is scheduled, the staff pulls out portable theater seats with cupholders. They transform the hall into a makeshift cinema that holds some of my favorite holiday memories, and they all seem to hover around the common theme of the movie It’s a Wonderful Life.
Jimmy Stewart will forever be my incomparable hero in all his black-and-white film glory. There’s such an innocence in the time period, not to mention the magic of the music and the feeling of wanting to both change your life and hold on to what’s familiar. When Jace agreed to go to the showing with me, somehow, my parents bartered a deal out of the owner for two tickets seated together. The event is usually packed on Christmas Eve, so my family is seated a few rows ahead of us, and Jace and I will be cozied up near the top section of the seats. It’s the perfect spot for sneaking kisses or for a general sense of privacy from the town’s inquisitive eyes. Of course, I’m not thinking of the next moment when I can capture his mouth with mine (I totally am).
I’m slowly shuffling my way up the steps to the top section, allowing attendees to find their seats while Jace is at the concession stand getting us snacks. An animated popcorn bucket is dancing on the screen, but with Jace so near, I can’t bring myself to enjoy it as I usually would. There are more exciting things to think about. Just as I lower myself into my seat, I hear shuffling and a hint of a grunt. Gladys is at the end of our row. Jace, who has just stepped up to it, is uncomfortably pushed in front of her. On her face is a wicked grin as she resumes whatever mission she’s given herself tonight.
“That right there is your seat,” she says authoritatively, pointing to the seat next to mine, her countenance all seriousness, if it wasn’t for the giveaway of the sparkle in her eyes.
“I know it’s my seat, Gladys.” Jace looks exasperated, and I hide my laugh behind my hand. “I already have a ticket and planned to sit there . . . with her.” He nods toward the seat since his hands are occupied with popcorn and a box of M&Ms.
“I thought there wasn’t assigned seating tonight?” I ask, looking around and under the tops of the chairs, searching for any sign of a number or row.
“It was on your ticket,” Gladys says sternly. “So, I hope that you are intending to honor your assigned seating and keep this young lady company tonight, young man.”
With a furrowed brow, I pull out my ticket stub because, of course, we still use paper tickets in Birch Borough. I find there’s nothing written on it.
Jace, God bless him, looks as though he couldn’t be more uncomfortable. Although so much has happened between us and the air is laced with uncertainty as to how we should act in public, I can’t decipher if he’s more unsettled by the idea of all the attention suddenly turned on him or the fact that Gladys has gripped his sherpa-lined jacket in a death grip. It’s as if she’s almost daring him to retreat or argue with her.
“Please, let’s just . . .” I motion to the seat next to the one I’ve chosen, pulling together just enough courage to look into his dark-amber eyes. I’ve felt their intense depths focused on me throughout this entire exchange.
Gladys wipes her hands on her coat as Jace sinks into the seat beside me. In an act of audacity that only our resident fairy godmother could pull off, she winks and hurries away.
Jace shifts, trying to fit his very large frame into the small, vintage-inspired movie theater seats. I lean away to avoid his knee that’s taking up most of our collective space, hoping to give him more room. Once I’m settled, I turn back to find him staring ahead at the screen, the glow casting shadows on his face. They make his already devastating features look as though they’re cut from granite. It’s captivating. It’s heartbreaking.
“Are you ready for this?” I say quietly as the lights dim. My words could have another meaning, and I’m not sure if he’ll pick up on my subtlety or not.
“Always,” he says with a grin.
My heart flutters at his reply. Most men I’ve met found it odd that I like classic movies and that some of my favorite stories are displayed in black and white or in other certain hues that give away the fact that the movie was filmed decades before I was born.
As I anticipate sharing this experience with Jace, I watch him reach into his pocket and pull out an eyeglass case. I’ve barely registered what’s happening before he opens it, and a pair of glasses settles on his face. My attraction to him intensifies. “Uh—uh,” I manage to stutter out.
Jace looks toward me, an incredulous look crossing his face. “Oh, this is what’s doing it for you, huh?” he rumbles cheekily. “Just wait until I eat a candy cane while wearing them.” My insides are on fire as he bites his bottom lip, looking away from me toward the blank screen, knowing fully what he just did.
“You have good taste,” I finally say with a grin, and his body melts deeper into the seat next to me.
“I do, especially when it comes to the people with whom I share M&Ms.” He smiles.
I settle in as well, allowing our legs to touch and melt together like they were meant to. Jace lifts the end of the yellow candy box, and a memory resurfaces. “Your sister. Those were her favorites.”
A soft quiet settles between us, but I remember his sweet nickname for Mina. It stuck out, but I hadn’t recalled it until now.
“They were,” he replies. “Now, I always eat them during the holidays. It helps me remember her. Odd, I know.”
“Not odd at all.”
Jace pops a few more of the hard-shelled candies into his mouth. Then he extends his hand toward me, palm face up.Glorious sparks flood my skin as I slide my own palm across his and interlace our fingers.
The lights in the space go completely dark, and I’m riveted by the screen as it begins to play the classical Christmas tale. It’s a heady feeling to watch one of your favorite movies with someone you care about. We’ve shared so much this holiday season, and now this—being here, watching this film together—feels more intimate than most things.
It’s when Jimmy is busy talking to Donna (aka Mary) and telling her that he’d lasso the moon for her that Jace shifts again. He hasn’t touched his popcorn yet, intent on catching every word on the screen. But now he turns to me, and Jace and I make eye contact, finding each other in the darkness.
“Ivy,” he whispers into the staticky space, his breath moving the tiny particles of dust dancing from the light of the machine, finding my ear over the humming of the projector just above us. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it to me and nodding encouragement for me to open it.
When I do, I find the words, lit by the white glow of the screen: I’d lasso the moon for you—J.
He planned this. His nervous energy and the way he hasn’t been snacking make sense. And in the iconic words that bear repeating, I lean close to whisper in his ear. “I’ll take it.”
The flash of his grin causes moonbeams to shoot through my skin, and I finally understand this scene of It’s a Wonderful Life, especially when Jace’s muscular arm lifts to wrap around my shoulders and pull me closer to him. There’s an old wooden divider between us, part of the charm of this place, but it gives me leverage, my elbow resting on it as I lean my head closer to his chest.
