“How do you know about that movie?”
“She’s All Thatis like the originalO.C.Brittany and I are obsessed with it, which makes this whole thing even more annoying. She should know better!”
“Well, it sounds like you’re a good friend. Brittany’s lucky.”
“You don’t have to say stuff like that,” Lacy says.
“What do you mean?”
“Like you’re my parent.”
Cece is flustered but determined not to let on. The day isn’t even half-finished, and the last thing she needs is for the girl to see just how ill-equipped she is to be trusted with any kind ofsupervision. She needs to maintain the veil of adulthood as long as possible.
Lacy nudges some garbage on the floor with her foot. “Are you my dad’s girlfriend or something?”
Cece can only keep her eyes on the road, mindful not to slam the brakes and send them careening onto the sidewalk. She hears herself say something that doesn’t sound half-bad, confident but not dismissive. “I sure hope not. I already have a boyfriend.”
This piece of irrefutable evidence doesn’t seem to sway Lacy, who seems fixated on the mundane view of underpasses and gas stations outside the car window. “My bad. Forget I said anything.”
Drop it, Cece thinks, take the win, but she can’t help herself. She wants to know. She needs to know. “What made you think I was his girlfriend?”
Lacy’s already back on her phone again. “Just the way he looks at you, I guess.”
Cece is suddenly hyperaware of how she might appear. Hand white-knuckling the gearshift, shoulders hunched forward, strands of hair in the corner of her mouth. Get a hold of yourself, Cece Downing!
The nachos area hit, and to Cece’s relief, they seem to have bought her some cachet with Lacy, which takes the edge off the news that Morgan’s running late. From his intermittent text messages, Cece discerns that all is not going well, and even while her anxiety crescendos at the idea of having to entertain Lacy for a few more hours, she’s determined not to let on about it.
Luckily, Bernard is providing endless amusement. The dog is grateful for the unrelenting attention from Lacy as he spreads himself out on the living room floor, whimpering for more belly rubs. Cece peruses the on-demand movie options. Lacy had suggested they have anO.C.marathon, but Cece thinks the girl can expand her horizons a bit.
After Lacy nixesNotting Hill(too British) andRoman Holiday(too old), they land onYou’ve Got Mail(Tom Hanks, the volleyball guy?). Lacy’s intrigued by the idea of a world when the internet was strange and new. The three of them—Lacy, Bernard, and Cece—settle into the couch. The movie feels older than it should: no cell phones in sight, the Upper West Side void of chain stores, the city itself seemingly exclusively populated by White people. Even so, Lacy seems interested, the times between glances at her phone getting longer and longer. The movie isn’t anything groundbreaking, but Cece welcomes the innocuous distraction from her current life. She doesn’t want to watch something that makes her think too hard. And despite the film’s predictability, Cece finds herself full of loathing for Tom Hanks (even if he’s gallant and dashing) and cursing Greg Kinnear’s ostentatious character. Lacy agrees wholeheartedly. Meg deserves better! They shout in unison at the television screen. It’s been ages since Cece’s seen the movie, and the end catches her off guard, the way it tugs at her heart. She has to turn away and dab at the corners of her eyes with her shirtsleeve to hide her tears. It’s embarrassing. She never used to cry about anything—movies, books, life—but now it seems like anything will send her over the edge.
Lacy doesn’t need encouragement to share her opinions. She has lots of questions about why everyone thought Tom Hankswas attractive back in the nineties. And while she mostly enjoyed the movie, she didn’t like how Tom Hanks’s character hangs out with Meg Ryan’s character multiple times even after he discovers she’s the woman he’s been talking to online. “Think about it,” Lacy says, folding her legs underneath her on the couch. “He basically tricks her into falling in love with him.”
Cece doesn’t see the big problem and chalks it up to a generational divide. Through the living room shades, the sun is setting, and Cece feels lethargy take hold of her. Perhaps nachos as a main course wasn’t the best choice. She goes to the bathroom to freshen up, where she runs the tap and splashes water on her face. In the mirror, Cece looks different, hair lighter from the sun, nose brown. The woman looking back at her—makeup-less and weathered—is foreign to her, and Cece wonders whether Jonathan has noticed this change in her features; she wonders if he’s expecting the old Cece (smart business suits and tidied hair) to appear when they move back in together.
Being in this bathroom again…the medicine cabinet slightly ajar, the bristles of Morgan’s toothbrush stubby and frayed. How different Cece’s circumstances are now. If only she hadn’t snooped around…The doorbell chiming stops Cece from going any further down that road. She dries her hands and turns off the light.
From the front door a muffled conversation. By the time Cece recognizes the voice, she’s halfway into the living room and it’s too late. Lorraine stands in the doorway, hair pulled up in a chaotic bun, pen on a string swinging from her clipboard.
“This lady wants me to sign her petition even though I told her I don’t live here,” Lacy says.
Lorraine scowls at Cece. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.”
Lacy looks between them. “You two know each other?”
“No one here wants to sign your petition,” Cece says, stepping between Lacy and the doorway. She suddenly feels protective of the girl. “And you’re just snooping is all. You know Morgan would never sign anything for your cause.”
“I thought he might have changed his mind. Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
“Now I know who you are,” Lacy says, her voice eerily cheerful and buoyant. “You’re that old, cranky lady who lives down the block.”
Lorraine ignores the girl. “I knew you were desperate, Cece,” she says and peers inside the house, “but this is a cry for help. I can only assume you’ve taken his view on things about Rayburn’s expansion.”
“You’ve got it backward. I recruited him. As an employee of the Rayburn Oyster Company, I was able to make a pretty compelling case.”
Lorraine’s beady brown eyes go wide. “You’re a spy! Richie sent you to live with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Cece says, relishing the words. “It was a complete coincidence, but once I heard you talking bad about him, I kept my mouth shut.”
