I peer up into her face, pinning her with my stare. “What are you saying?”
Her fingers return to their caressing. “I’m saying that sometimes we don’t get the full truth in those scenes. Like throbbing tailbones.”
“They can’t be lies, Rose.”
“They aren’t all a lie. I’m not saying that. I’m saying it’s okay to have real feelings though.” Rose grew up in a house with parents who adored each other—just like the Hunters. It was after I met the Conrads that I came up with the whole romcom remake plan. There were relationships—the kind that I once thought only true on the screen—out there, existing in the world. And Hollywood had basically provided a formula on how to obtain one.
The year I met Rosalie—at age nineteen—I was working and saving money for college. I thought about the Hunters. I knew a love like that was out there. I believed in the gift of true love—movie-like love. But it was after Rosalie and I moved in together, and after I met her loving parents, that I started planning out how to obtain my own love story. I’ve studied romcoms and other romance movies. Last year, my first year of college, I started planning my remakes.
With my eyes closed, I listen to Rosalie’s breathing while words tumble out of me. “Anyway, I invited Paul to Callum’s game tomorrow.”
“Wow,” she says, and I open my eyes to see her expression. She blinks, one brow angled up. “Well, that’s interesting. Putting your two beaus in the same vicinity.”
“While I am not ready to rule Callum out?—”
“Of course you aren’t.”
Of course I’m not! I’ve never had my insides so jumbled as I do when in the presence of Callum Whitaker.
I swallow. “But he says he wants to be friends. Just friends. He even told me I could use the other ticket for a date.” I sigh. “I can’t let this opportunity with Paul pass me by. Can I?”
I wait for Rosalie’s response, but she’s pensive. She doesn’t say anything. So, I’m left to my own devices. Yes, I like Callum. But another remake literally fell in my lap today. I can’t ignore that either.
“So,” I say. “My plan is to ask Callum all the soccer questions I can and impress Paul with all my athletic knowledge.”
“I see,” Rosalie says. “A littleShe’s the Man?”
“Only I’ll be impressing him as me—a woman,” I say. “Not a man and not an athlete.”
“But didn’t you say you didn’t feel attracted to Paul?”
I bite my inner cheek. She has a point, but I’m not going to let that very valid argument win out. Oh no.
“No, I said Fran with bloody knees and a hurt tushy wasn’t attracted to him. I am certain a sane, ready-to-mingle Fran will be fascinated with Paul, who literally saved her life.”
See? My point is valid too.
Rosalie sighs. She is not a believer yet. It’s okay—I’ll convince her. I always do.
“Now, hand me my phone.” I hold out my hand, unwilling to move my head in her lap and my hot water bottle bum pillow.
Rosalie strums through my hair while watching10 Things I Hate About You. Seriously, how has she not seen it yet? She is so lucky she has me.
And I text Callum.
Me: Bringing a date to your game.
Callum Hot Lips Whitaker: Oh yeah? Interesting. Superstar Doug?
“You have to change his name in your phone, Fran. What if someone else—someone like, oh, I don’t know,your datesees that name?”
I hug my phone to my chest. “Please stop your spying, ma’am. This is a private text message.”
“You’re lying in my lap. Privacy is not something you’re privy to right now.”
“Eyes on the screen, ma’am,” I gripe, and wave an arm toward our television.
The hair strumming comes to a quick halt. “Stop calling me ma’am, Frances!”
