Chapter 20
Danny
This is my chance. I scramble to take a seat on the couch as soon as I hear her footsteps.
While Gracie was upstairs getting ready for bed, I was hard at work setting up a surprise in the family room: a classic Danny-Gracie movie night.
It’s nearly eleven, but I hope she’s up for extending our time together just a bit before she turns in for the night.
I’m sitting on the couch, eagerly awaiting her reaction. I hear it before I see it.
She cackles. “Die Hard, Danny? Really?”
I swivel my head around and tilt my chin up. She looks cozy in an emerald cropped sweatshirt and joggers. The green brings out the red in those curls I love so much.
“It was the obvious choice, Gracie. It’s been too long since our annual viewing of the best movie on planet earth.”
“Did you make popcorn?”
I playfully scoff. “As if there’s any other appropriate movie snack. And don’t worry, I already mixed in the chocolate chips for you, you weirdo.”
She peers over my shoulder into the bowl of popcorn, no doubt checking to confirm I’ve added enough melted butter.
Gracie was always a fiend for popcorn and a self-proclaimed “slut for melted butter.” One time, during senior year of high school, she put so much butter-flavored topping on her popcorn that two movie theater employees had to replace the butter container.
Any normal popcorn consumer might’ve been embarrassed, but not her.
My little Orville Redenbacher just stood there, staring at the employees like they should’ve planned for a singular girl to drain them of their butter-flavored topping supply.
“How does a movie theater run out of butter?” she had the nerve to whisper to me.
I rolled my eyes and responded with, “How does one avoid the noises of you slurping it off your little piggies during the movie?”
“There’s enough butter, I promise,” I say flatly.
She doesn’t look convinced. “How many sticks did you put in?”
“Sticks?! Plural? Gracie, this is one small bag of popcorn. If you want to drink the butter, I’ll get you a funnel and pour it directly down your gullet. If I add any more butter to this, there’s no way I can eat it. It’s popcorn chowder at that point.”
“I don’t see how that’s my problem. In fact, it sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”
“Alright, that’s enough. Sit your ass down and watch the damn movie.”
She grabs the bowl of popcorn, lowers herself to the couch, and sits two feet away from me with her feet pulled up, entirely too far away for my liking.
That won’t do. I briefly consider pulling a Danny of Yore move, but I don’t want to do anything she’s uncomfortable with, so I gently place my hands on her ankles and hold them there for a minute.
I wait for her reaction before doing anything else.
She blushes, the corners of her lips turning up, as she wiggles her toes like she knows what’s coming.
As if we’re seventeen again, I swing the ends of her ankles in my direction and scoot her toward me until her ass touches my thigh.
She giggles as she squeals, “Quit it! I’m going to drop the popcorn!”
I pause but don’t let go of her ankles. All of sudden, I’m feeling comfortable enough to stay right here for the next seven to ten business days.
“You know, you’re right. I forgot to put a tarp on the couch to account for all the drippings.
I know it will be nearly impossible, but please try to be careful. ”
“Oh, fuck you. You’re making me want to get butter all over your couch even harder, now. And I know you can afford a new one, so don’t try me.”
I laugh as I start gently massaging her feet.
She softly says, “You don’t have to do this, you’re probably the sore one.”
“I feel perfect,” I reply. The only thing about me that aches is my heart. I’m numb to anything that isn’t Gracie right now.
The title scrolls across the screen and I happily sigh. “Is this not the best? Eating popcorn, being couch potatoes, watching our favorite movie? Even though you give me shit, I’ve missed our conversations.”
I’ve missed you, I want to amend. I’ve been miserable without you. I’m so lonely, Gracie. Have you been lonely, too?
“Well, there’s always more where that came from.”
There’s no hope of me containing my soft smile at the thought of “always.” I keep rubbing her feet to give my hands something to do so they don’t travel higher and take a moment to really soak in the sight of her. God. She steals my breath.
Gracie watches the movie, and I watch her.
I order one more pack of butter through a grocery delivery app an hour into the movie.
The teen delivery driver looks at me with wide, surprised eyes when I intercept him at the door. Probably wondering what sick freak urgently needs butter at midnight. He definitely recognizes me, too. I can already picture tomorrow’s headlines… “DT And His Butter Kink!”
It’s worth it, though, because the little butter monster next to me is gobbling up her second bag, which is effectively extending our time together down here.
“This is better than I remember,” Gracie quips happily through a mouthful of popcorn.
I’m not sure if she’s talking about the movie, the popcorn, or spending time with me, but I’ll take it as a win.
“Plus, you’re definitely a better movie partner than Mae.”
I chuckle. “What makes you say that?”
“You know those people that ask way too many questions during the movie, even in a movie theater?”
I nod. “Yep, my mom toes the line there. I didn’t know Mae’s that kind of person.”
Wiping her butter-coated hands on a napkin, she says, “Oh yeah. It’s always, ‘Who is playing the part of this orange fish? Is it Martin Short?’”
I bite my lower lip. “What is it with her and Martin Short?”
She giggles. “Legend has it that Mae saw him at Big Boy Restaurant once in the nineties. Ever since, any and all animated characters? Voiced by Martin Short. Doesn’t matter if it’s a five-year-old girl. ‘It must be Martin Short!’”
We both dissolve into laughter. God, it’s been years since I’ve heard the sound of Gracie’s real laugh.
I’ve missed the bell-like quality to it and how unrestrained she is when something is really funny.
She breathes through her nose, going completely silent in between laughs, catching her breath.
Her eyes light up, sparkling with easy, childlike joy.
I stare at her with wonder and disbelief that we’re here again. Together.
After a few moments, we try to focus back on the movie, but I can tell Gracie’s mind is elsewhere. She’s biting the inside of her cheek and looking to the right of the screen. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but she speaks before I do.
“Listen, Danny. We should probably discuss why I’m here.”
My stomach drops. I want more time. More opportunities to show her how much I’ve changed over the last ten years. To show her that we belong together. “After the movie, Gracie. We can’t interrupt John McClane like that, it’s disrespectful. I’m in no rush.”
In actuality, two things are warring in my head: I desperately want to know why she’s here, and I desperately want her to stay. But I won’t risk her leaving to satisfy my own curiosity.
She looks torn as she pops another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “I guess it would be pretty awful of us to not give the greatest action hero of all time his due.”
Gracie yawns as she sinks deeper into the cushions.
As the popcorn in the bucket dwindles, so does our stamina.
Her eyes droop lower and lower until she finally drifts asleep before the ending credits scroll.
I pull a cozy, plush blanket up over her body, while keeping her legs on my lap.
I tell myself I’ll head up as soon as the movie is finished.
Instead, I fall asleep next to Gracie.