“This istoogood, Tessie. You drew this all by yourself? I can’t believe all the details you added. My jersey looks just like it does in real life.”
Mom catches my eye and gives me the “wrap it up” gesture, rolling her wrist in a circle. I grab Tessie and put her back on the ground. “Do you mind hanging this up in my room for me? I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in and say goodnight.”
“Yay!” Tessie sprints out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
I take my role in her life very seriously. Our dad preferred to spend his time traveling the world as a freelance journalist rather than parenting in Ohio. He filed for divorce once Tessa was born and returned to his home state of New York. Tessie never knew him, which is for the best. Over the years, my own good memories of Dad have faded into only two: watching Mustangs football together and throwing the pigskin around in the backyard.
We’re doing just fine without him.
As I finish drying the last dish, Mom whispers, “So, tell me what the plan is! What are you going to do about our neighbor girl?”
“I can’t tell her how I feel yet, Mom. It’s too soon after the break up. I want Gracie to know I’m serious about her.”
She nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense. But don’t lose your chance, Daniel. You’ll probably only get one.”
Chapter 20
Danny
This is my chance. I scramble to take a seat on the couch as soon as I hear her footsteps. While Gracie was upstairs getting ready for bed, I was hard at work setting up a surprise in the family room: a classic Danny-Gracie movie night. It’s nearly eleven, but I hope she’s up for extending our time together just a bit before she turns in for the night.
I’m sitting on the couch, eagerly awaiting her reaction. I hear it before I see it.
She cackles. “Die Hard, Danny? Really?”
I swivel my head around and tilt my chin up. She looks cozy in an emerald cropped sweatshirt and joggers. The green brings out the red in those curls I love so much.
“It was the obvious choice, Gracie. It’s been too long since our annual viewing of the best movie on planet earth.”
“Did you make popcorn?”
I playfully scoff. “As if there’s any other appropriate movie snack. And don’t worry, I already mixed in the chocolate chips for you, you weirdo.”
She peers over my shoulder into the bowl of popcorn, no doubt checking to confirm I’ve added enough melted butter.
Gracie was always a fiend for popcorn and a self-proclaimed “slut for melted butter.” One time, during senior year of high school, she put so much butter-flavored topping on her popcorn that two movie theater employees had to replace the butter container. Any normal popcorn consumer might’ve been embarrassed, but not her. My little Orville Redenbacher just stood there, staring at the employees like they should’ve planned for a singular girl to drain them of their butter-flavored topping supply. “How does a movie theater run out of butter?” she had the nerve to whisper to me. I rolled my eyes and responded with,“How does one avoid the noises of you slurping it off your little piggies during the movie?”
“There’s enough butter, I promise,” I say flatly.
She doesn’t look convinced. “How many sticks did you put in?”
“Sticks?! Plural? Gracie, this is one small bag of popcorn. If you want to drink the butter, I’ll get you a funnel and pour it directly down your gullet. If I add any more butter to this, there’s no way I can eat it. It’s popcorn chowder at that point.”
“I don’t see how that’s my problem. In fact, it sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”
“Alright, that’s enough. Sit your ass down and watch the damn movie.”
She grabs the bowl of popcorn, lowers herself to the couch, and sits two feet away from me with her feet pulled up, entirely too far away for my liking. That won’t do. I briefly consider pulling a Danny of Yore move, but I don’t want to do anything she’s uncomfortable with, so I gently place my hands on her ankles and hold them there for a minute. I wait for her reaction before doing anything else. She blushes, the corners of her lips turning up, as she wiggles her toes like she knows what’s coming. As if we’re seventeen again, I swing the ends of her ankles inmy direction and scoot her toward me until her ass touches my thigh.
She giggles as she squeals, “Quit it! I’m going to drop the popcorn!”
I pause but don’t let go of her ankles. All of sudden, I’m feeling comfortable enough to stay right here for the next seven to ten business days. “You know, you’re right. I forgot to put a tarp on the couch to account for all the drippings. I know it will be nearly impossible, but please try to be careful.”
“Oh, fuck you. You’re making me want to get butter all over your couch evenharder, now. And I know you can afford a new one, so don’t try me.”
I laugh as I start gently massaging her feet.
She softly says, “You don’t have to do this,you’reprobably the sore one.”
