“If you see me crying, no you didn’t.” She grimaced and tried to translate it into a smile, but didn’t quite make it.
Milo chuckled, a genuine smile breaking across that jaw of his.
“Fine, but if you see me crying, yes you did. I fucking love a public cry.”
Hanna groaned, bracing herself for the next ninety minutes as the lights dimmed.
EIGHT
Each one of those ninety minutes passed very, very slowly.
But it wasn’t a waste of time entirely. No, when the credits finally rolled, Hanna had a fresh list of newly discovered medical trauma for Olivia to help her sort through.
Productive.
When she finally checked her phone in the theater lobby while waiting for Chloe to leave the bathroom, she had thirty-two text messages and several missed calls. None of them seemed like anything she wanted to return. As they exited the theater, Chloe rambled on about how much she just loved old movies.
Hanna couldn’t recall a single scene.
“I’m so glad we ran into you, Hanna! This was a great midday break,” Chloe said, throwing her arms around Hanna’s neck.
“Yes,” Hanna said. “Great.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Chloe said to Milo, placing a kiss gently on his cheek before flitting off to wherever manic-pixie-dream-girls went to recharge in San Francisco.
“I am so, so sorry,” Milo said before Chloe was even around the corner. He walked, and Hanna followed. She didn’t care where they went, as long as they were moving.
“It’s okay, she had no idea,” Hanna said, waving her hand. She meant well, as people always did.
“You never actually told me how your mom died.” Milo glanced up and down the street before crossing.
“You never told me how your dad died.”
Milo shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”
Hanna sighed. “Fine. But if I’m going to trauma dump on you, I need to be in a dark, grungy bar, not in direct sunlight where you can see me sad in high definition.”
Milo stopped and thought about that for a second, checking his phone. It was still early in the day, but surely somewhere was open for the depressed.
He started walking again. “There’s a place not far from here I like. Dingy, definitely accustomed to pretty women crying in the booths.”
Hanna gasped dramatically. “You think I’m pretty?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? Gorgeous?” Hanna batted her lashes, enjoying the moment of levity.
“I didn’t say?—”
“Stunning? Breathtaking?”
Milo threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “My god! Enough with the compliments, Milo! You’re making me blush.”
“Jesus Christ, now I need a drink,” he mumbled, leading her around a corner and down another block before stopping abruptly at a thick, wooden door with a small sign in the window that read simply, LOUNGE.
The shift from the bright street to the near-black bar strained her eyes as they adjusted to the row of dim glass fixtures hanging over five crinkled vinyl booths. A shiny bar with ornate carvings on its corners lined the far wall. It looked like it had lived there for a century, and certainly smelled like that was the case too.
