“Is it a movie? I don’t get it.”
I groan and sit up on my elbows once more. “Picnic under the stars in a park.”
“Oh right, you’re from Connecticut. We don’t see stars in Philly.”
The pain meds have fully encapsulated my brain in a wave of numbness, so I speak before I realize what I’m doing. “Did you have a girlfriend before all this happened?”
He pauses. “I did.”
“Is she dead?”
“She is.”
“Sorry.”
“How about you?”
I watch his face. Is he really asking me if I was dating a girl? Did he totally miss the “straight guy” comment? “I was single, fortunately... or unfortunately. However you choose to look at it.”
“Fortunately.”
“Should I ask about her?” I know the answer is probably no, but he speaks anyway.
“Her name was Heather. We started dating last April. She died the first week of June. It was still early enough that they released her body for a funeral. A week later and they probably would have dumped her in a mass grave like the rest.” He pauses as Nina continues to sing. “No one else came. It was just her parents and me. Everyone else was either sick or scared of getting sick.”
The image of Jamie sitting alone at this poor girl’s funeral, wearing an ill-fitting suit, breaks my heart.
“I felt bad for them, but afterward I didn’t know what to do so I just didn’t talk to them. They could still be alive. I should have checked onthem before I came out here with my mom.”
I know how he feels. Checking in on people because you feel you owe them something. I think of the address in Alexandria, and guilt washes over me like a tsunami. Maybe I’m getting too comfortable here.
“Sorry,” he says, looking up at me. “Happy thoughts.”
The muddled fog of painkillers helps me hide the guilt. No, not hide. It’s still there, but I can ignore it a bit more. It feels easier to pretend like nothing’s wrong.
“Yes, happy.” I pause and smile as an idea pops into my head. “All right. You’re going to get a crash course in movies that aren’t Marvel.”
“I’veseenother movies.”
“NotMiss Congeniality.”
“Is that the title of the movie?”
Oh my fucking God. He’s hopeless. He is so lucky to have my broke-legged ass right now. “Yes, Jamie. That’s the title. And you have to picture Sandra Bullock when... You do know who Sandra Bullock is, right?”
“The blindfold movie.”
My jaw drops.That’shis Sandra Bullock movie?
“So anyway!Miss Congeniality... Sandra Bullock is in a Russian restaurant, undercover. No, no, wait, there’s totally a flashback with some major character development I have to hit first.”
“This movie is great.”
“Shut up, you’re gonna love it.”
So I tell him the entire movie, from beginning to end. He doesn’tinterrupt me once to tell me it’s stupid or he’s bored, not even when the drugs muddle my memory a bit and I flub the setup for a joke or I have to think a little longer to remember what happens next.
The only issue is, he doesn’t laugh. He smiles or lets out an exhale-chuckle through his nose, but not once does he laugh.
