“It’s fine,” I cut her off. “Really. Emma wants you there, and honestly, she’ll be in a better mood if you come. Plus, you can help me negotiate which movie we’re renting. She always picksThe Little Mermaidand I’m running out of ways to convince her to try something new.”
“I loveThe Little Mermaid!” Emma protests.
“I know you do, Em. We all know you do. The entire island of Manhattan knows you do.”
Annie’s still hesitating, and I can see her weighing it, trying to figure out if this is weird or inappropriate or crossing some line we haven’t defined yet.
“Come on,” I say, and I try to make my voice light, casual. “Unless you reallydohave wild weekend plans. In which case, by all means, don’t let us keep you from your…club-hopping? Raves? Whatever it is people your age do on Friday nights nowadays.”
She laughs at that and some of the tension breaks. “Oh yeah, my wild plans of eating ramen on my couch while watching TV. Very exclusive. Very glamorous.”
“Well, we can offer you pizza instead of ramen. Upgrade your Friday night experience.”
She looks at Emma, who’s giving her the most hopeful, pleading expression I’ve ever seen on a human face, and then back at me.
“Okay,” she says finally. “Sure. Yeah. Okay, I’ll come.”
Emma cheers and throws her arms around Annie’s legs. Annie smiles down at her, that same pretty smile from the park bench photo, while she pats Emma’s head in this absent way that suggests she’s already gotten used to Emma’s particular brand of enthusiasm.
I grab my keys from the hook by the door.
“Alright then,” I say. “Let’s go before Blockbuster runs out of copies ofThe Little Mermaid.”
“They’re not going to run out,” Emma says, rolling her eyes like I’ve said something ridiculous. “Everyone’s already bought the VHS, except for us.”
She’s probably right.
Chapter 11
LEO
Blockbuster was packed when we got there, which is typical for a Friday night but still slightly overwhelming when you’re trying to navigate it with a four-year-old who has the attention span of a goldfish. The fluorescent lights were bright and there was that particular smell that all Blockbusters seem to have—a combination of carpet cleaner, popcorn from the concession stand, and the plastic of a thousand VHS cases.
Families were everywhere. A dad with three kids arguing over whether to getJurassic ParkorMrs. Doubtfire,his wife conspicuously absent, presumably having drawn the short straw and stayed home.A couple in their twenties browsing the new releases, the guy trying to convince the girl that they should watchSpeedinstead ofSleepless in Seattle.An elderly man asking the teenager working the counter where they keep the classic westerns.
Emma was a hummingbird, darting and unpredictable. She’d spot a colorful clamshell, sprint toward it with the single-minded intensity of a missile, examine the cover for precisely two seconds, then abandon it mid-shelf and rocket toward the next aisle. I watched her shoveHome Alone 2into the Horror section and decided to pick my battles.
But Annie was a miracle worker.
Somehow—and I still don’t entirely understand how she did it—she convinced Emma to rentAn American Tailinstead ofThe Little Mermaid. She crouched down in the children’s section, held up the VHS case with the little mouse on the front, and told Emma it was about a mouse who lived in New York City, just like us, who was looking for his family and had all these adventures.
Emma was skeptical at first, her arms crossed, clearly weighing whether this unknown mouse could possibly compete with Ariel.
But then Annie started talking about how Fievel—that’s the mouse’s name, apparently—gets separated from his family and has to be brave and figure out how to survive in a big scary city, and how there’s this really beautiful song about missing someone you love, and how the Statue of Liberty is in it.
“TherealStatue of Liberty?” Emma asked.
“Therealone. The one we can see from Battery Park.”
“Can we go see it?”
“Absolutely. But first we have to watch the movie so you know Fievel’s whole story.”
And just like that, Emma agreed.
I’d leaned in close to Annie while Emma ran ahead to returnThe Little Mermaidto its shelf. “I didn’t realize your favorite movie was about a mouse.”
She’d turned to me, barely suppressing a smile. “I’ve never actually seen it. I just read the back of the VHS cover.”
