“Thanks.”
“Can’t enjoy a movie with shoes on, Dollface.”
She pushes the popcorn bowl toward me. I grab a handful and finally look back at the screen.
“Why is there, like, a green tint over it?”
She shakes her head. “No one knows.”
“What’s this girl’s name?”
“Bella.”
We watch in silence for a few more minutes. I’m starting to get into the storyline, but I have so many questions.
“Why doesn’t he like her?”
Dolly pauses the movie. “Are you one of those people who talks and asks questions the entire time?”
“This is confusing. He’s acting like she has BO or something.”
“So, if you’d read the book, you’d already know this, but he can read minds. But he can’t read Bella’s mind, and she’s the first person he’s ever met whose mind he can’t read.” She takes a sip of her wine.
I grab the bottle and top her off. “So, Edward is the vampire, right?”
She nods. “Oh, and Bella’s blood smells better to him than anyone else, so he’s trying to resist her.”
“Doesn’t he kill people when he drinks them? So he’s just dying to rip her throat out?”
She shakes her head. “No, they can feed without killing. But he only feeds on animals. And her blood just makes him really, really hungry, so he’s just sitting next to the juiciest, perfect steak, and he hasn’t eaten in a week, but he can’t have it.”
Now, that I can relate to.
“All right, play it. I’ll shut up now.”
She presses play, leaning into my shoulder and pulling her feet up under her. “I don’t care if you ask questions, Sammy.”
My body goes rigid. Only my mother ever called me Sammy. I try to relax again, adjusting my position on the couch.
She seems to notice the change in me and peers up at my face through her lashes. “Is everything okay?”
I exhale slowly. My instinct is to pull away back into my familiar, isolated shell. But for the first time, I feel the urge to stick my head out and give someone else a chance to see me.
“My mom called me Sammy.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I liked hearing it again.”
I realize when I say it out loud that it’s true. I do love hearing it, specifically from her.
She lays her head back on my shoulder and looks over at the TV. “What was she like?”
I lift my arm to wrap it around her shoulders and pull her to my chest. I pause for several beats, releasing a few steady inhales before speaking again.
“She was always on the move. She didn’t like sitting in one place or being with the same people for very long. I know now she was running from drug dealers or pimps she owed money to. But when I was a kid, she always tried to make it an adventure. She’d tell me that we were exploring the world, finding all the coolest spots to hang out in. We collected postcards from gas stations. We lived in an old camper van that was falling apart. But we drove that damn thing all over the country together.”
The faded memories are starting to filter in. I usually block them out, but I try just letting one or two slip through. Us at an old gas station, waiting for her “friend” to come by and bring her some cash for us to fill up with gas. Us eating greasy curly fries at a food truck in the rain, right off the coast of Oregon. As a kid, it was equal parts scary and exciting.
