Page 73 of It Couldn't Be You
“Do you want to watch with me?” I proposed.
“Like over the phone?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Like they do in the movie.”
He laughed. “I’d like that.”
I put in my DVD, and Gabe found a way to rent it on his TV. We analyzed the characters, their relationship. We talked over them and rewound important scenes if we’d missed them while making jokes, and when they were on the phone while watchingCasablanca, Gabe cheered, “They’re just like us!”
I heard him popping corn at one point, so I told him what he missed for those three minutes. He shook hot sauce on it, the way he always does, and I judged him for it, the way I always did.
When the credits were rolling, I made a happy sigh from my couch, cuddled up in my fuzzy blue throw blanket.
“I always like the couple interviews best,” he said. “I wish they were longer. It’s always funny to hear how a couple’s story unfolds. Was it right away, or did it take years?”
“I wouldn’t want it to take years,” I said, getting up from the couch and making the tiny trek to my bedroom.
“Me either,” he agreed.
I yawned, climbing into my bed. “I should let you go to sleep, sleepyhead. You have work in a few hours,” he said.
“I know. I’m opening the shop tomorrow, too.”
“Maybe I’ll come by for some morning joe.”
“Ooh, I’ve figured out how to craft the perfect mocha with just the right amount of dark chocolate. I have to make you one.”
“On the house?”
“Ha.” I clicked off my lamp.
“Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you in the morning for my mocha. Sleep tight, Hot Valentine’s Date.”
“Goodnight, Hot Valentine’s Date.” I turned off my phone and snuggled into my pillow. For a moment, all felt right with the world.
Twenty-Five
I’d never been able to pinpoint a specific age, time, or season when my feelings for Gabe became the messy, consuming thing it was now. But there were undeniable moments of significance. And one of those was when I was thirteen years old.
At thirteen, I started wearing mascara, I wrote through five journals, I went to the Grand Canyon for the summer…and Gabriel got his first girlfriend, Michelle.
Michelle Chung was older than Katie and me. She was one of our high school’s track stars, with long glossy black hair and eyes the color of chestnuts. I would spot them outside sitting on the back porch, and she would laugh at the things Gabe said, her head tossed back, her long hair shimmering, and her laugh admittedly sweet like windchimes.
I would think,What does he like about her?Not in a spiteful or angry way, but genuinely curious in the way one might wonder where secret treasure was buried.Where can I find this?
I found out about Michelle and Gabriel’s romance while I was eating dinner with the Hernandezes. We were in the living room with an opened box of pizza sitting on the little coffee table between all of us, a few slices left.
“How’s Michelle?” Victor had asked Gabriel in a suggestive voice, drawing out her name all sing-song.
Gabriel didn’t respond and all his siblings started jeering at him. Everyone was in on the joke, except me.
“Who’s Michelle?” I asked the group, holding my gooey slice in front of me.
“Oh, didn’t Gabe tell you? That’s hisgirlfriend!” Luis said, jazzed to be the one sharing this juicy gossip. Gabe threw a pillow at him.
Tanya asked, “What, you don’t want Emma to know?” Her voice was just as suggestive.
“I don’t care if she knows. I just don’t want everyone making fun of me!” Gabe said, grabbing another slice of pizza from the box.
