7. Sunday
Chapter 7
Sunday
A t eleven a.m., I walk to the address Matt texted me. It's in Chelsea, a short walk from my apartment. I smile as I approach—it's a movie theater. Exactly the classic old-school NYC movie theater Matt told me he'd been looking for. Art deco features throughout, slightly crumbling, and a tiny vestibule box office that sits unmanned. There are no movie titles shown, and the place looks closed.
I move toward the entrance, adjusting my cutoff denim shorts, plain white tank, and oversized cashmere cardigan draped over my shoulders. I've only been here a minute before I see Matt's head pop out from behind the closed doors.
"You're here!" He smiles brightly and pulls me into a tight hug.
"This is very cool. Just what you were looking for, right?" I point at the building.
"Exactly." He reaches for my hand and leads me inside.
"They usually do Sunday matinees, but I convinced the owner to let me borrow the whole place for a few hours."
Which explains why it looks so empty. In the lobby, I take in the vintage movie posters, the worn carpet, the concessions stand. A teenage boy at the counter is boxing up buckets of popcorn, sodas, and half a dozen candy boxes.
"We're doing this right, Jules." He grabs the box of stuff and slides the kid a wad of cash. His enthusiasm is contagious.
I carry the drinks, and we walk back toward the theater.
"Okay, my disclaimer is that there wasn't a ton of variety in movie choices. This place is rad, but it’s limited in selection. I wanted something, like, super classic, black and white, Casablanca or A Streetcar Named Desire . Something like that. But that was out, so then I was like, okay, well, we have to do something romantic, because I am trying to impress you here. But the only choice they had in that genre was Romeo + Juliet , and nothing against Leo, great actor, but that wasn't quite what I was going for. They also didn’t have Sleepless in Seattle or Notting Hill ."
I laugh. "You picking a movie sounds like me picking a drink."
"Yes, very similar."
"So, where does that leave us?"
" Sliding Doors . You know, the movie about how a single decision—or chance, if you will—can lead to parallel lives. And lots of possibilities."
I smile in disbelief.
"Yes, of course. I love Sliding Doors ." My best friend growing up, Meg, and I watched this movie at least a dozen times over Christmas break in the early 2000s. We were so obsessed with Gwyneth Paltrow that Meg convinced her mom to let her cut her hair into a pixie. She pulled it off, but it was a hellacious process to grow back out, which she wanted to do almost immediately.
Matt and I settle into our seats, smack dab in the middle of the empty theater. The same pimply kid from the concessions stand comes in and asks if we need anything else before showing us the exits with his light-up baton. The movie starts, and Matt grabs hold of my hand, interlacing our fingers. Gwyneth's face fills the screen, and I find myself absorbed by the movie the same way I was over twenty years ago. Toward the end of the movie, I feel the anticipation of my favorite part coming—Helen and James kissing wildly, passionately, in the rain.
I feel Matt's eyes on me, and my skin prickles. I turn to face him, and I'm still smiling from the movie scene as Matt tilts his head down to kiss me. As soon as our lips touch, I know this is different than the do-over kiss in my office on Friday.
It is not shy or sweet. It is a continuation of the passionate, bruising kiss at the end that almost had me ripping my clothes off in my place of employment. Matt seems focused, almost possessive. I lift the arm rest between us, and he grabs me by my hips and hoists me onto his lap, my legs straddling him, my chest pressed against him. I hesitate momentarily, glancing around the theater, ensuring we are alone.
"That kid isn't coming back anytime soon," he murmurs against my neck.
He brushes my hair out of my face, his hands caressing my cheeks, my chin, his fingers on my lips, salty from the popcorn. He kisses me more, deeply, hungrily. Me on his lap, my hands in his hair, so thick, easy to hold on to, his hands on my hips, drifting up my back, then back down to my ass—where he grabs me tightly. I gasp and peel away to look at him. He bites his lip and pulls me close. I can feel him underneath me, rock hard. My panties dampen.
Oh my God.
"You are so beautiful. And sexy—and I don't think you have any idea." His voice is low and raspy.
I answer by tilting his chin up to me. I kiss him hard, instinctively moving my hips against him.
It isn't until the theater lights slowly begin to brighten that we pull away from each other. Matt's face is flushed, his lips chapped, eyes blazing, his hair a mess. In that moment, he is the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on.
I start laughing and bend forward to kiss his forehead, his nose, both of his cheeks, and his mouth.
"I don't think I've ever made out with a boy in a movie theater before." I am still straddling him, attempting to brush some of his hair back into its usual coif.
"Isn't that a rite of passage for hot girls?" His hands are warm on my hips.
"I guess I missed that one. And I wasn't always hot. But I bet you’ve done it.”
He laughs. "No, you're forgetting I was a total nerd in high school. I don't even think I took a girl to the movies till I was in my twenties."
"Hmm ... I don't know if I believe that. Even if you were a nerd, you still looked like this. With these lips," I say, tracing them with my finger. "Isn't the thrill of making out at the movies the fact that other people are around? A little exhibitionism."
"Ah, good point." He pats my ass. "Though that was thrilling enough for me." He plants one last kiss on my collarbone. "Next time."
It sends chills down my arms.
I peel myself off his lap and flop back into my seat. I can't help but sneak a peek at his lap, where I see him hard, straining against his jeans. I feel desperate to touch him. So much so it makes my cheeks flush. I look away while he adjusts himself. We stand, and he grabs hold of my hand as we walk out to the lobby, my heart still pounding.
"What did you think of the movie?" he asks.
"I think Gwyneth is lucky her eyebrows recovered from the overplucking nineties era. I’m lucky mine recovered too, honestly. It's just as good as I remember. I've always liked the idea that nothing is too inconsequential."
"That part kind of stresses me out. Seems like a lot of pressure.”
"Really? I think it's empowering. So many times, we think we have to make these grand gestures or these giant changes in our lives for it to feel significant—it can be overwhelming or feel impossible to even start. But the Sliding Doors moments are much easier things to do to facilitate change. Like holding the door open for someone. Picking up an earring. Letting someone go ahead of you in line. Everything matters. Every little kindness has the potential to change the world. Great acts are made up of small deeds."
Matt smiles. "Who is Lao Tzu?"
"Small deeds done are better than great deeds planned."
He squints his eyes, thinking.
"Who is Peter Marshall?" I answer for him.
"Ahh, I like that one."
"What did you think?" I ask.
"I love the part where he says, 'If we're not going to be together, let's make sure it's for the right reason.' I think I have a tendency to overthink why something won't work instead of realizing all the ways it does work. Just a good way to think about it. I also like the serendipity of it all. It had me thinking a lot about you."
"What about me?" I ask.
"What are the chances you were the person assigned to my dad's room on that exact day, at that exact time? What if you got stuck on the subway, or Murphy got off his leash somehow and you were ten minutes later than you normally were, or my dad was on a different floor, or the ambulance took him to a different hospital, or I was in LA instead of New York? Or a million other things happened, and an entirely different reality could've unfolded. Where I never would've met you."
I stop in my tracks, feeling the weight of his words, the butterflies are back.
"I've thought about that, too. And the fact that I don’t often pick up patients on that floor. We just happen to be chronically understaffed. I could've been in a meeting. I so easily could've missed you."
"But you didn't. And I didn't miss you. Which is good, because that just wouldn't work for me. Meeting you this week has been one of the best surprises. I'm so glad you came to the movies with me today, Jules."
I feel rooted to the ground. Frozen. "Thanks for inviting me," I say eventually.
"Will I see you tomorrow? Before Dad goes home?"
"Yes, I'll be there."
"Okay." He leans down to give me one last gentle but full kiss.