“What? Are you serious?”
“I’ve never seen it,” she whispered. “But at this point, anything is better than watching Ariel give up her voice for a man she’s known for three days.”
“I’ve been saying that for months!” I said.
“It’s a terrible message for women of this generation.”
“The worst. Ariel needs to be banned from this household.”
“Preferably forever.”
“At minimum.”
What I noticed, though, throughout the entire Blockbuster experience was the way people kept looking at Annie. Not in the way men usually look at attractive women, though there was undoubtedly some of that too. But more like they were doing double takes. Almost as if they recognized her but couldn’t quite place from where. It happened at least four or five times while we were browsing and again when we were checking out—someone would glance at her, look away, then look back with this confused expression like they were trying to solve a puzzle.
Which wouldn’t be that strange if she’d lived here for a while. New York’s not that big when it comes to certain neighborhoods, and you start recognizing faces after a few months. But she just moved here, according to what little she’s told me. So why did so many people seem to recognize her?
Did she have a mugshot out there I didn’t know about? Was she secretly famous for something? It was starting to make me genuinely curious, which was probably not appropriate given that she’s my employee and her personal life is none of my business, but still.
I’m still turning that over in my head when we get home as I set the pizza box down on the kitchen counter. It’s from Lombardi’s, the place I only go to when we’re in Little Italy because that’s where the closest Blockbuster is, which means a full thirty-minute subway ride each way. The box is still warm, miraculously, and I can smell the garlic and tomato sauce and that particular charred-crust smell that makes my mouth water. Somehow Lombardi’s pizza stays hot and fresh even after being on the subway for half an hour. It actually tastes better, if that’s possible.
Emma’s already kicking off her rain boots, leaving them in the middle of the entryway where they’ll definitely be a tripping hazard later, and struggling out of her jacket.
“I’m ready for pizza!” she announces loudly, like we might have forgotten that was the plan.
Annie and I hadn’t been able to talk much on the subway. On the way there, Annie and Emma sat together and chatted while I stood and offered my seat to a pregnant woman who looked like she might burst into labor at any second based on how she kept adjusting her weight and grimacing. On the way back, I gave my seat to an elderly woman with a cane who told me I was “a good boy” and asked if I was married, which was awkward. Annie and Emma sat next to each other again, Emma showing Annie all the pictures on the VHS case, narrating what she thought was going to happen in the movie based entirely on the mouse’s facial expression.
“Can I help with anything?” Annie asks, hovering near the counter like she’s unsure whether she should be useful or stay out of the way.
Before I can tell her no, that she’s technically off the clock and shouldn’t be helping with anything, Emma cuts in. “You can help me build the pillow fort in the living room!”
Annie looks at Emma, then at me, then back at Emma. “Pillow fort?”
“Yeah! We always watch movies and eat our pizza in a pillow fort in the living room. It’s so fun! And you get to be inside it and it’s like your own little house and nobody can see you except—”
“Maybe this time we could all just sit on the couch,” I try, already knowing it’s a losing battle.
“Nope!” Emma’s already grabbing Annie’s hand, pulling her toward the living room. “Come on, Annie, you’re gonna love it!”
Annie looks back at me over her shoulder and shrugs, likewhat can I do?and I find myself smirking. It’s kind of nice, if I’mbeing honest, not being the sole person responsible for Emma’s entertainment anymore. Not having to be the one who builds the fort and comes up with the games and figures out how to make a normal Friday night feel special.
I can hear them in the living room while I’m getting plates from the cabinet and cutting the pizza into manageable slices.
“Okay so we need all the cushions from the couch,” Emma’s saying, very authoritative, like she’s a general commanding troops.
“All of them?”
“All of them. And then we need the blankets from the basket. The fuzzy ones.”
“These fuzzy ones?”
“Yeah! Perfect! Now we have to make the roof. That’s the hardest part. Daddy usually does it but we can try—”
There’s a sound like something collapsing, followed by Emma’s giggling.
“Okay, maybe we need a different approach,” Annie says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
By the time I walk into the living room with three plates of pizza, they’ve constructed something that technically qualifies as a fort. The couch cushions are arranged in a sort of semi-circle, the throw blankets draped over the top and weighted down with whatever they could find—books, a couple of Emma’s stuffed animals, the TV remote. It’s precarious at best, probably going to collapse at some point during the movie, and very, very small.
