The red-lip trance is officially over.
“Are you serious?” I look behind me because it’s possible she’s setting me up. And I’m about to be pranked. Yep, this is all on video, and I am about to go viral along with Paul.
“I’m serious. If I leave something behind—shoe, sweater, purse… he’ll have to return it. But how romantic do you find that?”
I clear my throat. “Fran, are you asking me how romantic I would think finding a random shoe next to my car would be?”
She blows out a sigh, a few of her hairs flying up in the breeze she’s caused. “When you say it like that, it just sounds crazy.”
I refrain from saying that it might be crazy. Instead, because I’ve found that I truly want to know, I ask, “Why do you do all these things? These remakes? Why not just go on a date? Talk? Get to know one another?”
“Oh, we’ll do that too!”
“But why the production? Why do you need to copy something from a movie you’ve seen?”
She glances at the man at the counter, then stands. I watch, certain she won’t be back and that I’ve offended her. She sits on the bar stool next to the older gentleman. “Anything else tonight, Lester?”
“Nope, this is it, sis.”
“Dorothy was sure a lucky lady. I hope she comes around real soon.”
He reaches out a wrinkled hand and pats her wrist. “That’s real sweet of you, Fran.” Then he sets a ten-dollar bill on the counter and stands up to go.
Getting to her feet, she wanders the few yards back to our booth and sits across from me once more. “You really want to know why I do what I do?” she says.
“Yes. We’re friends. I want to understand.”
“Okay, Callum Hot Lips Whitaker, I’ll tell you.”
Hot lips? I am silently praying she never calls me that in front of the guys. They will ditch my Superman nickname and snatch this new one up in an instant.
“My parents never loved each other.” She wrinkles her nose, and her amber eyes go glassy. “It’s not a new or abnormal tale. A lot of kids grow up with loveless parents.”
I’m sure she’s right—but it’s not the life I lived.
“They didn’t love each other, and I’m not convinced they loved me.”
My insides prick with pain. My parents were always loving, always affectionate with one another and us kids. I never actually thought about how lucky that makes me until this very moment—as Fran so plainly tells me that there wasn’t love in her home.
She smooths her red lips together. “They fought a lot. My house was filled with yelling, irritation, and—” She pauses, swallows, and looks right at me.
“Tears?” I supply.
Her lips perk up in a sad smile. “Tears would have meant they were feeling something. Oh, how I wish we’d had tears.” She blows out a tired sigh. “Our house was angry and numb. I hated the numbness, you know?”
I don’t know. But I nod—because I want to understand, and this isn’t what I expected at all.
“I just wanted to feel something else, something more. So, I filled my days with movies. Dramatic movies, funny movies, thrilling movies, but most of all, love stories. Because they made me feel—so much.” She leans back in her booth seat, her eyes flicking to the ceiling for a second. “I was sure that all those movies were a lie. A fabrication of what life isn’t. But I still loved them.” She tilts her head, breathes in like she’s taking it all in—every ounce of emotion. “Five years after my dad walked out, my mom decided to leave too. She took me to a friend’s house and asked her mother if I could hang out there for a few hours.” Fran blows out a shaky breath. “One week later, she came back.”
“Whoa.” I sit up a little straighter. “Fran, that’s… that’s awful.”
“It is. I know it. But that week was the greatest gift my mother ever gave me.”
I don’t follow, but I don’t speak either. I want her to finish.
She wraps her arms around her middle and breathes. “I was sure after that first night that the Hunters would kick me out. That they’d call the police or yell at me and each other.” She shakes her head, her eyes on mine. “But they didn’t do any of that. We played games. Carol Anne and I camped out on the floor of her bedroom. We ate ice cream, watched movies, and we laughed. Those people laughed so much. All of them. Even when Carol Anne and I stayed up too late, and I thought for sure the magic was about to end. They gave their daughter a little scolding, turned out the lights, and the next day—” She looks at me for effect, as if I won’t believe her next words. “No one brought it upagain. We weren’t yelled at or put down again and again and again. They forgave, and they moved on. They were happy, Cal. Carol Anne’s parents were always hugging and looking adoringly at each other and holding one another’s hands. They said nice things to each other, and it was clear they believed them. It wasn’t for show. It was just like all those movies I’d watched. Only this was real. It wasn’t a lie.”
My mouth is dry. For whatever reason, I have been hanging on her every word.
