Because I’ve never told anyone this.“My mum decided to rent this movie.” She’d made an unexpected and rare cameo one gray Sunday, taking me to the park before we got rained off and rented a DVD.
“What did your mom choose?” he asked politely.
“Independence Day.”
Elliot hesitated. “What – you mean, the alien invasion movie?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Is it embarrassing to say I haven’t seen it?” Elliot said with a wince.
“Downright shameful,” I said. “You’re American, isn’t it written into law that you see that movie?”
“Surprisingly no,” Elliot retorted. “Thank goodness.”
I fought back a wave of frustration. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a philistine who wouldn’t know art if it jumped up and bit her on the arse, you don’t have to say it again.”
Elliot blinked. “That’s not – wow, arse?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his American accent manglingarse. “Independence Daymay not beCitizen Kane, but I love it. It … swept me away. You know that feeling you get when you witness a great story for the first time? It’s like … you’re aware that there is something bigger than yourself out there. And even though I was young I knew that I wanted to be part of something like that, to make people feel like—” I stopped, averting my eyes, very aware that he was staring at me like I was a rambling lunatic.
“Like what?” he said.
“Like things can be better.” I had to force myself to look at him, away from where my fingers were twisting together inmy lap. I expected to see skepticism, maybe even irritation, but Elliot’s eyes were warm with kindness, and it felt like a cloud had shifted to make way for the sun. “So, that’s my origin story, for what it’s worth.”
But it wasn’t the whole story. I didn’t tell him how the movie ran for two hours and twenty-five minutes and that my mother sat by my side from start to finish. That her fingers occasionally brushed mine as we shared popcorn warm from the microwave and that she’d laughed when I laughed and shrieked when I did. My mother, she of perpetual motion, was rendered immobile, if only temporarily, by the wonder of a simple film. For my ten-year-old self, it had been a form of heaven I never knew existed. But, like everything with her and me, it hadn’t lasted. This had been but a fleeting appearance for her and she’d hopped on a flight to Cyprus the next day. The next time she showed up, I was fourteen and fully wise to her shit.
“So, you have your mom to thank for your love of movies?” he said, knocking back more coffee.
“I have nothing to thank her for.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and his eyes widened.
“I see.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize if I said something inappropriate.”
“She wasn’t a good mum. That’s all.” Saying anything else felt like picking at a scab. “So, I told you something real. Now you.”
“What do you mean?” Elliot said.
“Your turn to share,” I explained. “That’s usually how bonding works. Remember? We need to become besties if this is ever going to work. You can start small, like, how did you get that cut on your lip?”
He took a long gulp of his mocha and kept his eyes on the foam. “An accident.”
“What kind of accident?” I asked.
“An unimportant one,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about how—”
I waved a hand, cutting him off. “I told you something really personal, in the spirit of working together,” I retorted. “Why won’t you—”
“I’m not going to talk about the book!” Elliot snapped.
“I wasn’t going to even mention that,” I said. But the guy had a book on alcoholism and a bust lip; anyone would be curious. “It might be none of my business, but you showed up late to work, you’re injured … It might help if you talk to someone about it.”
“You’re right, it’s really not your business.” His voice cracked. “But to be explicitly clear, you don’t need to worry about me having a drinking problem. So why don’t we just drop it?”
“Because we’re meant to be partners,” I said. “And what affects you affects me. What I just told you, about my mum? I don’t talk to anyone about her, certainly not men I barely know, but you asked, and I thought being honest might help.” I shook my head in disdain. “It may not be whatever profound moment of intellectual enlightenment that you went through but that is what happened to me, and I am not ashamed.”
He looked up sharply, his eyes wounded. “I am the last person to tell you what not to be ashamed of.”
“So why won’t you be open with me?” I demanded.
