26. Henry
26
HENRY
Amelie doesn’t wake up until we reach a gas station, where she spends half my life’s savings on candy.
“I just think,” she says, now curled up in my passenger’s seat, “that there’s a certain sense of responsibility that comes with watching Audrey Hepburn movies. I’ve always felt this way. You can’t sit through Roman Holiday and walk away unchanged, y’know?”
I grin and turn onto our exit. Amelie was closed off at the beginning of this drive, but I’m starting to think she was just annoyed about the coffee spill. As soon as she woke up, she immediately sped into her usual routine of rants, which has now circled back around to Audrey Hepburn movies. I’ve heard this one a few times before, and something about the familiarity is soothing. It gives me the false idea that things haven’t changed.
“Hellooooo,” she sings, waving a hand around my face. Not in front of my eyes, thank goodness—at least she’s smart enough not to get us in the ditch. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I’m listening. I’m trying to make sure this truck doesn’t ram us.”
“If he were to do so, that isn’t your problem. You can sue him.”
“Not if I’m dead.”
She shrugs. “How far are we?”
I look over at her. “Don’t you know?”
“I haven’t been here in years,” she says. “So no, I have no idea. I always slept on the drives. Which I will end up doing again, by the way.”
“Thank you for the heads up.” I take a sip of my coffee, which is now cold and watery. “But before you do that, please give me a run-down on what I should know. Any topics to dodge? I remember the old ones—golf, Margot’s ear…”
“The ear is still a sore subject,” she says, wincing. “But mostly, there’s nothing. We talk about whatever. Just, like, I don’t know. If it gets tense randomly, you’ll know. Like, if you say the word cabbage, and we literally go dead silent, then assume that it’s a bad subject. Obviously.”
“So you don’t even know the sore topics?”
She shrugs. “Not always. I mean, Margot and I haven’t spoken in ages. Anything could be a bad subject. I might say something about a nose job, and she might start crying.”
“Why haven’t you guys spoken?” I ask, curious. I can’t imagine not talking to Liz for a week, let alone years. She’s obnoxious and nosey but she’s my best friend. I don’t think Amelie and Margot ever had that relationship, though, based on what she told me in the past.
Amelie starts picking at her nails, so I quickly add on, “If that’s not off-limits.”
She gives a quiet laugh. “It’s fine. Margot doesn’t like what I do, and I haven’t much liked her since graduation. When I moved away from home, it just…stopped. Everything broke off when Mom stopped handing me the phone to talk to her.”
She sinks lower into her seat and turns toward the window. It’s clear that there’s a lot more there, but I know she won’t tell me right now. I have the urge to try and comfort her, given how uncomfortable she looks at the admission, but I don’t think that’s my place anymore. Nor do I think she’d let me.
Did she break off everything four years ago? Did it all change for her then?
“I think it’ll be okay,” Amelie says. “ I’ll be okay. But I didn’t want to come with nothing to say. Nothing to show. She doesn’t want to hear about my work, and what else have I done?”
“That’s why you lied about having a boyfriend?” I ask cautiously. “Because of her?”
She shrugs. “I wasn’t the one that lied in the first place, but I think it’s why I doubled down on it. Mom seemed overjoyed at the mere idea, and everything was already said, and I just…” She exhales. “I don’t want to be a liar. And yes, I understand that this makes me one. But I couldn’t back out.”
“Well, that’s why I swooped in,” I say, matter-of-factly. “So you didn’t have to.”
“A real gentleman.” Amelie grins and curls her legs to her chest. She’s had the seat warmers on full blast this entire time, and it baffles me that she hasn’t broken into a sweat.
“Thank you for helping me out,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet. “This is an insane thing to do, but thank you for being willing.”
I nod. Swallow. “It’s not a problem.”
“But why are you helping me?” She lays her head on her knees, shifts a little more toward me. “I’ve been wondering since you offered. I’ve given you no reason to.”
“That’s not true,” I say, unable to think of anything else. “Amelie, I’ll always help you.”
She snorts. “I guess that makes me a bad person, then.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because you had to blackmail me to get my help.”
My heart, for some reason, twists at those words. I shake my head and grip the wheel tighter, resisting the urge to say things I know I’ll regret. “I’m sorry, Ames. I never really meant it.”
Her mouth falls open, and she turns her head toward the window. She doesn’t talk again, not until we stop at another gas station for her to get an icee.