Page 111 of Better Than the Movies
I sighed. “It doesn’t. It’s… I don’t know, just forget it. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
“Done.” She bit into a chip and said, gesturing at the TV, “This is thebestlove triangle.”
“Um—it’s more of a love square, if it’s a love shape at all.” I chomped on a Pringle and said, “They’re just a foursome who fall apart on their own. None of them have to choose between the others.”
“I’m not talking about the two couples.” Helena pulled the sodas out of her pocket, handed me one, and opened hers. She slurped off the can’s edge and said, “I’m talking about the triangle between Kathleen, her idea of who NY152 is online, and Joe Fox.”
“Wait—what?”
“Think about it. She finds his online persona charming. She likes that he knows about ‘going to the mattresses.’ She envies his ability to verbally slay.” She leaned forward and set her can on the table. “The idea of this man is beautiful, but in practice she thinks Joe Fox’s verbal slaying is mean, and when he goes to the mattresses and puts her out of business, she hates him.”
I blinked and opened my pop. “Holy crap—you’re right.”
“I know.” She grinned and did a little half-bow thing. “Sometimes we get so tied up in our idea of what we think we want that we miss out on the amazingness of what we could actually have.”
She was talking about the movie, but I felt seen. Wes had been right about one thing when he’d talked about my mom issues. It wasn’t intentional, but Ihadbeen living my life like I was one of her characters, like I was trying to act out the parts I thought she would’ve written for me.
I’d pushed him away and gone for the “good guy,” when in reality there weren’t only solid, dependable people and players with questionable intentions in the world. There were Weses out there, guys who broke the mold and blew both of those stereotypes out of the water.
He was so much more than a Mark Darcy or a Daniel Cleaver.
And then there were Helenas—smart, irreverent women who had no idea how to play the piano or tend to a rose garden, but they were always there, just waiting for you to realize you needed them.
“I mean,” Helena said, “she nearly let152 pock marksgo—can you even imagine?”
“Helena.” I blinked fast but it was impossible to clear my eyes. My voice sounded constricted when I said, “I’m so sorry for what I said to you before. For everything. I don’t want to miss out on what we could have. I didn’t mean it when I told you to butt out.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened a little bit and she tilted her head. “It’s totally okay.”
“It’s not.”
She gave me a hug and sniffled. “Just know that I don’t want to take your mom’s place. I only want to be here for you.”
I closed my eyes and feltsomethingas I let her hug surround me.
I felt loved.
And I knew at that moment that my mother would want this. Badly. She would want—above all else—for me to be loved. I said, “I want that too, Helena.”
We were both sniffling, which made us laugh. The momentmelted and we returned to our spots, side by side on the couch. I decided as she wolfed down chips and got crumbs all over her stained hoodie that I was glad she was so different from my mom. It wasnicethat the lines between them could never be blurred.
I cleared my throat. “Do you think it would be okay for me to call you my stepmom now?”
“As long as you don’t add ‘evil’ as a prefix.”
“Why else would I want to say it, though? You have to admit that it’s a powerful title.”
“I suppose it is. And I do love power.”
“See? I knew it.” I glanced toward the sliding glass door by the kitchen, and my mind went to the Secret Area. I turned toward Helena on the couch and said, “So prom. Basically, the bottom line is that I went with the wrong guy.”
“Are you coming with my pop?” I heard my dad run down the stairs before he stepped into the room wearing Peanuts pajama pants and a T-shirt, smiling. Then he looked concerned and said, “Hey, hon, I didn’t know you were home already.”
“Yeah—I just got back.”
Helena pointed at my dad and gave me a look before saying to him, “Shh—she was about to tell me about prom.”
“Pretend I’m not here.” My dad plopped down in the small space between Helena and the sofa’s armrest, and he took a sip of her soda.
