Chapter 19 Grace
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Grace
I’ve got the TV on, the flashing lights glaring from a jumble of lightsabers and mythical creatures.
I even have Buster’s attention, his whimpers expressing his discomfort with every loud noise or jump scare.
He responds with a restrained yelp when he sees anything particularly jarring, looking to me for comfort while I myself try to make sense of the movie I chose tonight.
When I put it on, I told myself it was curiosity.
An inquisitiveness that piqued my interest after dipping my toes into the Star Wars franchise.
But now that I’m sitting here, more confused than ever, while wishing Andrew was sitting next to me to answer all my space warfare questions, I realize it was to fill a void I didn’t realize I was missing.
After our diner run-in, we’ve been texting here and there.
Random messages throughout the day. Sometimes things like what my theories are as my interest for the Star Wars saga grows.
But mainly more trivial topics, like what toppings I like on my pizza or if I prefer Pepsi or Coke.
When he asked if I’ve been watering my LEGO roses and giving them enough sunlight, I responded with a sassy “duh” and a picture of a perfectly thriving bouquet of plastic red roses.
My brow furrows as I continue to watch the movie, the scenes unfolding while the questions grow and brew in my head.
I start to wonder if I made a mistake by watching it without Andrew’s commentary.
I don’t have someone in my ear, explaining all the finer details that are invisible to the untrained eye.
With the thought of Andrew fresh in my mind, I pry out my phone from between the couch cushions and prepare to tap out a new message.
Is this thing between Leia and Han an enemies-to-lovers type of situation?
Instead of a response via text, my phone starts buzzing in my hand.
“Hello?”
“Why are you asking me about Leia and Han Solo?”
I smirk a laugh, resisting the urge to taunt and tease him. “I may be watching The Empire Strikes Back.”
“What?” he exclaims. He sounds genuinely shocked, and even a little offended.
“What?” I ask flatly, feigning innocence. “I wanted to know what happens next.”
“And you couldn’t tell me?”
“I have to ask your permission?”
“I mean…yes?”
My giggle rings through my room, drowning out the galactic sounds I’ve turned down coming from my TV. “I’ll make sure to ask you before watching the next one.”
“I think the sound of your laugh just saved my day,” he comments with an exhausted exhale that sounds pained and tense.
I ignore the pang hitting me straight in the chest. Like a weighted medicine ball thrown at me full force. I should feel pleased that my laugh alone lifted his spirits, but I can’t let his morose mood go unnoticed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m at work.”
I pull the phone away from my ear to check the time on the screen. It’s close to nine. “This late? I thought you’d be home by now.”
“I thought so too, but my boss had bigger plans for me.”
“I’m sorry this is how you’re spending your Friday night.”
“Eh,” he says, brushing off my sympathy. “I’ll live.” After a short pause, one that dismisses the stress I can almost see resting on his shoulders, he adds, “What part are you at?”
“Leia and Han just got handed over to Vader by Lando.”
“Ooohh,” he comments, maintaining a mysterious air to his response, but it only eggs on my curiosity.
“Why? What happens?”
“Just watch.”
“No, tell me! Is it bad?”
“Let’s just say it’s one of the greatest cinematic plot twists of all time.”
“Really? Bigger than The Sixth Sense?”
“What happens in The Sixth Sense?”
“You’ve never seen it?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m not going to spoil it for you,” I tell him with playful defiance. “I don’t like this Lando guy, by the way,” I add. “I don’t trust him.”
He laughs. “Just keep watching. You might change your mind.”
“I shall prepare some popcorn then.” I press pause on the TV and walk over the kitchen with my phone still pressed to my ear. “Do you need to get back to your work?”
“I’m good,” he answers. “I’m really not doing anything productive right now. Although I did make a hanger out of a paperclip.”
“To…hang some Barbie clothes on?”
“Huh, that’s actually not a bad idea. I wonder if Mattel will want a patent. I bet I could make millions off something like that.”
“A little ambitious of you, don’t you think?” I toss a flat bag of unpopped popcorn into the microwave and press some buttons before it buzzes to life.
“I’m just thinking of ways to make my first million without putting all my eggs into the lotto ticket in my wallet,” he explains with an exhausted rasp to his voice. “Maybe a game-changing idea like Barbie hangers could be my ticket out.”
“And you say you’re not doing anything productive.” The popcorn finishes popping, and I still have my phone pressed to my ear.
I take the bag at the edges, pinching the corners as the steam slowly filters through the narrow slit.
I curl my feet under my thighs, settling into a comfortable nest of throw blankets and Buster’s warmth.
I’m wearing Andrew’s shirt again. It’s run through a few cycles in the laundry, so his scent has washed off, but it’s still soft and warm whenever I slip it on.
For some reason, it still seems to have a small part of him.
As if his smile and playfulness has been stitched into the fibers.
“Okay,” I finally say, adjusting the popcorn so it’s out of Buster’s reach. “I’ve got my popcorn. I’m ready to continue.” I hear creaking, some movement like he’s settling in, and a groan that usually comes with a long stretch.
“And I’ve got a cup of coffee and a half-eaten Snickers bar.”
I press play on the TV and sit back with Andrew’s voice pressed to my ear.
We share moments of silence, relishing in the fact that we’re enjoying each other’s company without really being in each other’s company.
I blurt out questions and comments—or rather, outbursts—of protest as the movie plays out.
And when the moment he so covertly brought up happens, I gasp.
“Oh my god.”
“Right?”
“Oh my god,” I repeat, my voice a quiet whisper. “So what happens next?”
“I don’t know,” he tells me, the sound of his voice full of pride. “You have to watch the next one to find out.”