Page 24 of It's a Love Story

“What happens at minute fifty-four?” I ask. “That can’t be the end when they die in each other’s arms. Which, incidentally, is ridiculous.” It’s freeing to be so far from home, so far from my mom that I can speak this essential truth to strangers.

“Of course you hate it,” Dan says. “The most romantic part.”

“Yeah,” says Marla, pulling a child onto her lap. “What’s annoying about them dying like that?”

“It’s absurd. It’s more likely it was a murder-suicide than they both just spontaneously died,” I say.

Dan turns to me in mock seriousness, but there’s a smile behind his eyes. He likes this debate as much as I do. “She died, and then he died of a broken heart immediately after. It’s true love, Jane. Look it up.” They’re all looking at us, and I wonder if they have any idea how long the two of us can argue about this movie.

“Doesn’t happen. Not a thing.” I take a bite of my salad. “So what happens at minute fifty-four?”

“Noah comes back from the war and sees his dad,” Dan says to his plate.

“Dude, you’re such a wuss,” says Connor. “I don’t know how your fake girlfriend can stand it.” Dan shakes his head while his brothers laugh. He’s on the outside but is somehow fine with it. I look around the table at all of these happy people and know there’s something here that I want.

CHAPTER 11

AS IT TURNS OUT, WE HAVE THREE BEDS. THERE’Sone set of bunk beds and a twin bed next to it, with enough room for one person to stand between them. At the very end of the room is a large dresser with three drawers, and on top of it is a television from back when they invented televisions. Dan and I are standing at the threshold.

“Home sweet home,” he says. “I was totally going to take the other room with the queen-size bed and make you stay in this used-bed warehouse. I guess this serves me right.”

I take two steps forward and sit on the twin bed. “I claim this one.”

He’s looking at me with the shadow of a smile on his face. “It is so weird that you’re here, and even weirder that you’re Janey Jakes.” He looks at the little TV and back at me. “I’m having a sleepover with Janey Jakes.”

“I’m the poor man’s Hailey Soul,” I say and shrug. I want him to think I’m kidding.

Dan looks at me for a beat before saying, “I don’t think so.” It’s a kind thing to say.

He throws his stuff on the bottom bunk and looks around. “The bathroom’s next door, definitely lock the door. No one has any boundaries around here.” He unzips his duffel bag and pulls out a sweatshirt. “I’m going to go hang out for a while.”

“Didn’t they go to bed?”

“Yes, they’re in bed or gone, which is exactly why I’m going to go hang out.”

“You have a lot of brothers,” I say.

“I do. It’s hard to get any peace and quiet. So I’m going to . . .” He motions to the door.

“Okay,” I say. This may be part of his arrogance, but I respect how Dan takes the quiet time he needs.

He doesn’t make any move to leave though. He’s just looking at me.

“I don’t hate the part where Noah comes back from the war and sees his dad—everyone cries at that point,” I say.

His smile is wide and bright, like I’ve just shown him a photo of his favorite thing. “I mean, he sells the house so Noah can buy the old Windsor plantation. How cool was that guy?”

I feel a tiny tug on my heart for that dad. I don’t like this tug, so I deepen my voice and deliver my best Sam Shepard imitation: “I’m gonna live with you, dummy. Gonna help you fix it up.”

Dan doesn’t ask why I can recite a line from a movie I hate. Instead he laughs a real laugh and locks his eyes on mine like he did the first day. I like the sound of his laugh and the way his eyes dance around my face before settling on my eyes. This is an odd thing for me to notice about a person I wanted to punch in the neck as recently as this morning, but something’s different. It could be that we’re on the same inane quest. It could be that I’ve seen his people and none of them seem like they purchase bespoke anything. It’s fine, and even fun, to carelessly make Dan laugh, breaking all dating rules, because that ship has sailed.

“Well, thank you. That almost feels like a peace offering,” he says and turns to go. “You probably know how to get a glass of water and stuff?”

“I can figure that out.”

“Okay,” he says and stands there for a beat. He’s going to say something else, but then he shakes his head and closes the door.

It’s hard for an only child to imagine growing up with all of those people vying for attention and space. And food. Tonight wasn’t a party; it was just his family sitting around the table exchanging good-hearted insults. I try to picture doing that every day for eighteen years. I try to imagine coming home to my very own people. I feel the ghost of a million laughs in this room.

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