Chapter Nineteen - A.J. #2
I look her up and down, then pull off my shirt and toss it on the back of the couch. I fix the waistband of my sweatpants and sit down slowly, leaning back and using the shirt as a pillow.
“Think I’m in the mood for something with real people today…”
“‘Real people’?”
“Yeah. I know your mission is to make me watch every animated film in existence, but Maribel’s grandma really pissed me off yesterday,” I grumble, scratching the back of my neck, still annoyed at how Encanto just let that awful woman off the hook in the end.
“Got anything in mind?” she asks, curious and a little eager.
“We could go for a rom-com set in New York…” I offer with a shrug.
“Nope. I always pick. Today’s your turn. I’m grabbing a blanket.” She announces this as she hops off the couch.
“You cold?” I ask, noticing the window fogged up from the freezing temperature outside. “We can turn the heat up.”
“I just wanna snuggle into something. Chill,” she says with a wink, then disappears down the hall.
Alexandra loves rewatching her favorite movies with me. Apparently, it’s all about seeing my reactions. If I miss something important, she rewinds it and shows me.
Me? I hate rewatching movies. I like the first-time feeling – discovering the world with the character, learning everything fresh. So I don’t even ask if she’s seen Wonka . I’m dying to watch it. Alex’s definitely down for a rewatch. I rent it on the streaming app while she’s gone.
When she comes back and sits next to me, already wrapped up in the blanket, she leans her head on my shoulder. And yeah – it’s obvious who grew up in Brazil and who was raised in Canada just by how we handle cold.
I hit play, and we stay quiet. Because once we start talking about movies, we go full sports commentators and don’t shut up. But when I mention how amazing the musical numbers are, I notice Alex’s reaction is… dull. Which is weird.
Then the movie gets funny — like, genuinely hilarious — and I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts. But she barely flinches. So I ask if she’s okay. She nods, still glued to my arm.
It’s only when the movie hits its most emotional moment — the kind she always cries at – and she doesn’t even blink, that I realize what’s going on.
She’s asleep.
Wonka is out there spreading chocolate across the city, proving dreams really do come true, and thinking of his mom while fulfilling his promise… and Alexandra is passed out on my shoulder. Like an angel.
Like the most beautiful, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Her chest rises and falls slowly, her breath steady, her arms wrapped around mine like I’m the safest place in the world. And that tightness in my throat? Yeah, that’s happening. My heart’s racing. Then suddenly… it’s not. It’s going too slow.
I want to push her to the other end of the couch.
Curl up alone.
Pretend none of this is happening.
But I can’t . Because somehow, this moment makes me happy. Because maybe, in some quiet, ridiculous way, it means I’m her safe place.
My hand moves, brushing a curl from her eye. I swear she smiles. I cup her chin, my fingers trailing down her cheek. Her eyes flutter open just as my thumb grazes her bottom lip. Even though she’s startled, I don’t move. Not even a little.
We just look at each other while my thumb finishes its path. Then I smile, and she stretches – shy, almost embarrassed.
“So the blanket was a clue you planned to knock out early?”
“No. But you seemed excited about the movie, and I didn’t wanna ask to watch something else…”
“So what is it, you don’t think Chalamet’s hot, or you just hate musicals?”
“I think he’s so overrated, and I hate live-action musicals. I only like them in, you know, cartoons and stuff,” she says, laughing — and I laugh too. “But I do love movies with music.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Musicals are all dancing and singing and jazz hands. Music movies have music, but they’re not constantly bursting into song.”
“So La La Land is okay? Or more like The Greatest Showman ?”
“I’ll give those a pass. But I prefer movies about music. Like Empire Records . You know?”
“I’m offended you even asked — it’s a classic! And now I know exactly what we’re watching tomorrow!” I say, already planning to make this girl spend the night singing That Thing You Do after we watch The Wonders .
“What are we watching?” she asks, clearly intrigued.
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” I tease, pulling away dramatically.
But she climbs right on top of me.
On. Top. Of. Me.
She’s literally killing me.
“Seriously, Anthony?”
Bingo.
“If you keep calling me that, we will have a problem…”
“That’s your name. What’s so bad about it?” she asks, finally moving off me to sit at the other end of the couch, clearly annoyed.
“I’m a six-foot-something bisexual rockstar.”
“And?”
“And ‘Anthony’ sounds like a forty-five-year-old lawyer on his third divorce with four kids.”
I huff, and she loses it. Laughing so hard I can’t help but smile too.
“Oh my God, that was weirdly specific. You wanna share something?”
“Nope. I’m serious. I hate that name.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, she stands up.
“Alright. Time for bed.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“For you? Always,” she jokes. “C’mon. Walk me to my room.”
She turns and I follow, and when she stops at the door, all wrapped up, I lean in and kiss her forehead.
“You’re done for.”
“And you only have to take three steps now,” she says, and I do – straight into my room.
We close our doors at the same time. I crash into bed, sure I’ll be asleep in seconds.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is Alexandra ’s peaceful face. And it stirs something in me. Something I probably shouldn’t feel. Something I definitely shouldn’t act on.
But it’s there. And it’s not going anywhere.