She shimmies in on the other side of me, moving carefully like she’s trying very hard not to touch me. Which is impossible in this space, but she’s giving it an admirable effort. She’s on her side, knees bent, one arm tucked under her head because there’s nowhere else for it to go, and she’s pressed against my shoulderand my hip and basically my entire left side because there is simply not enough room.
She smells like roses. Very faintly, like it’s not perfume but maybe her shampoo or lotion or something. And this close I can see that her bangs brush just below her eyebrows. Usually I think bangs like that on grown women look juvenile, like they’re trying to hold onto being younger than they are. But on Annie it works. It makes her look sophisticated somehow. Elegant. She’d probably look like that no matter what, just by the way she carries herself—that straight posture, the careful way she moves.
Which doesn’t exactly align with the drunk woman I met outside Lucky’s who physically fought me for a taxi cab, but apparently people contain multitudes.
“This is cozy,” Annie says, and her tone is so dry I almost laugh.
“Isn’t it?” Emma says, oblivious to sarcasm. “Now give me my pizza, please!”
I hand Emma her plate and she immediately takes the biggest bite possible, sauce getting on her chin, and then I pass Annie hers and take my own, and we’re all just sitting here—well, lying here—in this ridiculous blanket fort, about to watch a movie about a mouse, and I genuinely don’t know what my life has become.
Emma’s entranced by the movie from the opening scene. She’s completely still, which never happens, her pizza forgotten on her plate after the first few bites. When “Somewhere Out There” starts playing, she actually tries to sing along even though she’s never heard it before, just humming the melody and throwing in random words she thinks might fit.
About halfway through, she leans over to Annie, her voice a loud whisper that defeats the entire purpose of whispering. “I still like Ariel better, but I’m glad we picked this one.”
“Yeah?” Annie whispers back. “Why’s that?”
“Because Ariel I already know everything about. This is new. And new is good sometimes, right?”
“Exactly, Em. It’s good to get outside your comfort zone sometimes.”
Emma tilts her head. “What’s a comfort zone?”
“It’s like…the place where everything feels safe and familiar. Like how you always want to watchThe Little Mermaidbecause you know you love it. But sometimes if you try something new, you might find out you love that, too.”
Emma nods very seriously. “So if I tried broccoli again, that would be getting outside my comfort zone?”
“Technically, yes.”
“But I already know I hate broccoli. I tried it before and it was disgusting.”
“That’s fair.”
“So I think my comfort zone is fine where it is. With no broccoli in it.”
“That’s very logical reasoning.”
“Thank you.” Emma turns her attention back to the screen like that settles it.
By the time the credits roll, Emma’s slumped against my side. She’s finally passed out, her breathing heavy and even, her thumb a permanent fixture in her mouth. The pizza on her plate is half-eaten and one of her hands is still clutching a piece of crust.
Annie notices around the same time I do. She looks down at Emma, then up at me, and there’s something soft in her expression.
“So,” she says quietly, keeping her voice low. “What’s your professional opinion on the movie?”
I tilt my head back and forth, like I’m considering this very seriously. “From a neuroscientific perspective, the depiction of emotional attachment and separation anxiety in rodents issurprisingly accurate. The limbic system response to maternal absence would indeed present similarly to what we observed in the protagonist.”
Annie snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. “You’re so ridiculous.”
“I’m thorough.”
“You seem like the type of person who could be a good movie critic, actually.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you take everything way too seriously. That’s basically what pretentious movie critics do for a living.”
“Are you saying I’m pretentious?”
