“That’s not your choice,” I say quickly, taking it out of his hand. “I rewatched that last week. The five stars is for Cate Blanchett’s outfits, mostly.”
“So you can overrule fate when necessary. Got it,” he says teasingly. And then he looks at me with such a genuinely tender smile I find myself shrinking further into the sofa. He touches the next card with his fingers.
“But...” He looks at me again, half frowning and half smiling. Then he winces again. “Shit, Mara, every time I look at you I’m reminded ofRocky.”
“Well, thank you, Ash,” I say playfully. And then I nod at the cards in the box, encouraging him. “Rockyis there too, you know.”
“But... you’ve seen them all?”
“I know, but I get to rewatch,” I say, grinning. “If you’ve already seen it, we can pass, okay? But I love it when I’ve seen a film and the other person hasn’t. Don’t you? It’s almost like I get to see it again through their eyes. Also, when I feel down, rewatching a favorite movie is literally the best thing ever. It’s like hanging out with an old friend.”
Rewatching a movie with Charlie is even better. A favorite filmanda best friend. I feel a stab of sadness as I think of her and the gulf that is growing between us. Ash will have to do.
“This is kind of nuts,” he says, and then he shakes his head. “I’ll do it.”
He leans forward and takes the homemade deck out of the box and shuffles. He does it with some skill and then lays the pack on the table next to the pizza box.
“It’s very endearing, this,” he says.
“What did you pick?” I reply, feeling myself blush at the compliment.
He slides the top card off and holds it to his chest; then he peeks at it, chuckling as he does. “Oh no,” he says.
“What is it?”
“The Wedding Singer,” he says, laughing, turning the card to face me.
“Perfect,” I say, clasping my hands together. “Oh God, what a perfect choice. Comedy. Drew. Steve. The eighties. You see? The cards know. Theyknow. Fate always knows how to deliver.”
I quickly find it on one of my dozen streaming services and hitPlay. Then I settle back into the sofa, pulling the throw up to my neck and grabbing a slice of pizza.
“You have a lot of streaming services,” Ash says, slipping his shoes off, and then thoughtfully moving them around to the side of the sofa out of my gaze.
“I get a Netflix login from Mum and Dad. Disney, I pay for. Amazon Prime was a thirtieth birthday present from my brother that I let run over onto another year and he hasn’t noticed yet. Charlie and I share two others.”
“Well, this is good news for me, your flatmate,” he says, laughing.
“Steve Buscemi cameo incoming,” I say, as “You Spin Me Round” in all its eighties glory is sung by Adam Sandler in a mullet.
As the film progresses, I find myself watching Ash more and more. He is one of those people who expresses all emotions exactly as he feels them, just like Charlie. This means he laughs hard at jokes, gasps during plot twists, and feels genuinely upset when Drew Barrymore is disrespected by her on-screen fiancé, Glenn.
“He doesn’t deserve her,” he says, shaking his head and tipping the last of the wine into my glass before he stands and clears away the pizza boxes and replaces them with two bowls of Haribo—one for each of us.
“It’s a hangover from my childhood,” he explains. “Mum couldn’t just put a bag out in front of us kids; there would be bloodshed,” he says, laughing. “They had to be shared. Exact same shapes and colors. Then the trade wars began. A gummy ring is worth two bears, for example. And I always wanted the rings and the cola bottles.”
I giggle. I relate. I can so imagine this same scene unfolding at home with me and my brother, ending with Dad confiscating allthe Haribo and sending us to bed early if we didn’t “sort it out without all the unnecessary drama,Mara.”
He sits down again, and this time his arm lands on my foot, which is sticking out of the end of the throw. I feel myself stiffen and look across at him. I move my foot quickly back, and he lifts his arm immediately as if only just realizing we touched. Or maybe he didn’t mind the contact.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, no. I’m sorry.”
The credits start to roll and he flicks on the side light. I find myself aware now of how I might look to Ash, slobbed out on the sofa, full of pizza and red wine and myRockyeyes. I push my hair behind my ears and move the throw around to try to create a less slovenly figure.
“You look better,” he says.
“What?”
