Page 108 of Better Than the Movies
“You’re there for everything else, every little thing that doesn’t matter. But, like—are you even going to show for graduation? Am I going to have to walk alone? I don’t know what your deal is.”
“It’s complicated.” It seemed like those two words explained everything about me. I swallowed and tried to make her understand. “I know we weren’t friends when my mom died, but it sucked. Like, of course losing a parent sucks, but itsuck-sucked.Everythingfelt lonely and sad—every single thing. You could’ve given me ice-cream cones at Disney World with Tom Hanks doling out pony rides, and I still would’ve cried every night because she wasn’t there.”
I slid out of my shoes, leaned my head against the cement block wall, and closed my eyes. “But eventually it started getting better. Not quite so terrible. I learned that if I could make it through theday without crying, I could go home and watch her movies, which always made her feel close.”
“I’m sorry, Liz.” She leaned her head on my shoulder and wrapped her arms around my right bicep.
“It all became normal and fine, but lately it’s just… different.”
“Different how?”
I opened my eyes and focused on theOPEN DOOR SLOWLYsticker on the stairwell exit. “I’m a senior. Everything is tagged with ‘last time’ and secretly all wrapped up in family. Last homecoming dance—‘Parents, gather round for pictures of your babies.’ College visits—‘Oh my God, my mom was so embarrassing when we toured the dorms.’ It’smystuff, but every single milestone feels empty without her, so I don’t even feel like doing it.”
She lifted her head and gave me a look. “Dress shopping?”
I took a shaky breath. “Bingo.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” She looked genuinely hurt. “I know I can be quick to judge, but I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I need to you listen to me. You know that, right? That you can always talk to me?”
I nodded and leaned into her, sighing and telling her everything. How I felt when it seemed like she was dismissing my mom’s absence, what Wes had said about my mom and how I lived my life like I was in one of her screenplays.
I said, “I hate to say it, but I think he might be right.”
“Think?” She shook her head and said, “Bennett has you pegged.”
“Right?” I wiped my cheeks and wondered when I’d become such a crier. “I’m so sorry I’ve been such a tool.”
“Well, I’m sorry I’ve been a tool too, and let’s move on. We’ll both do better.” She leaned back on the step and said, “So what’s happening in the ballroom?”
I wanted to hug her and gush, but I was also good with moving on. “I heard Jessica Roberts describing your shoes earlier.”
“Not shocked—they’re incredibly sexy.”
I moved down another step and turned sideways so I could lean against the wall. “So are you having any fun?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m sitting in a deserted stairwell—by choice. Do the math.”
“I’m sorry I ditched you.”
“No worries—this’ll make for a better memory. I mean, my imagination could never have reached far enough to consider a situation where I’d be going to Chili’s in a prom dress with a guy wearing a denim tuxedo.”
I laughed. Charlie was liked by everyone because he was great at football, but he was out there. During sophomore year, he wore suits to school every day because he thought he looked sophisticated. “He took you to Chili’s?”
“In a motherloving jean tux, Liz—you’re missing the most important part.”
“Was he being ironic?”
“Girl, he bought it on Amazon because the model wearing it lookedcool.”She grinned and shook her head. “He doesn’t know the word ‘ironic.’?”
I bit down on my lip to keep from cackling. “At least he’s nice.”
Joss gave me side-eye and said, “He tried to touch my butt—with both hands—the first time we danced.”
“Is he okay? Or did you stuff his body in a janitor’s closet?”
