Page 56 of Hang the Moon
“Why? Because it was over?”
She threw her head back and laughed. “No. I liked that he got on the plane with her. That part was sweet.”
“I’m sensing abuthere.”
“But, after watching the whole movie, I can safely say my initial impression of the boom box scene stands. If I broke up with someone—regardless of why—and they stood outside my window playing the song we listened to after having sex, I’d be seriously creeped out. Even factoring in the teenage angst, no thanks.” Annie shivered. “But before you get all bent out of shape about it, I feel that way about, like, ninety-nine percent of grand gestures in movies.”
“And this is because...?”
“Most of the time, they’re performative and add pressure to something that should be private.”
“You know, for someone who claimed romance is dead on her first day in town, you’re sure a proponent of looking at love through a... practical lens.”
Which he wasn’t too proud to admit confused him greatly.
Her brows rose. “No, I simply don’t view it through rose-colored glasses, and I never said anything about being happy that romance is dead. Only that I feel it is.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I guess if you define romance as public proposals and kisses on Jumbotrons, crashing weddings and interrupting once-in-a-lifetime interviews so you can declare your love at the worst possible time, then sure, I seem practical by comparison.” Annie shrugged. “All of that looks great on-screen, I guess. It’s cinematic. Flashy. But at the expense of intimacy and... I don’t know, I always wonder what happens after the screen goes black and the credits roll.”
“What do you mean?”
“And they lived happily ever after.” She snorted. “What does that even mean?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No. I just mean, you never see what happens after the credits roll, because I guess no one wants to watch a movie about a couple filing their taxes or bickering about who was supposed to take out the trash or how to pay for their kids’ dance lessons.” Annie laughed. “That would be boring, granted. But I guess that’s my point. Getting together is different than staying together. It’s not all fireworks and sunshine and roses and splashygrand gestures. What happens after the kiss in the rain? The proposal at Fenway Park in front of the supposed love of your life and a thousand of your closest friends?” She rolled her eyes. “Am I really supposed to believe any of those couples have staying power? That those relationships have longevity?” She made a soft noise of disbelief. “You can bet your bottom dollar all that wooing comes to a screeching standstill as soon as the love interest is a sure thing.”
“Okay, but the whole point of these movies is to show two characters falling in love and then, despite the odds, despite the fact that the circumstances conspiring to keep them apart are seemingly insurmountable, they surmount those obstacles. The storm they weather shows they can handle whatever else life will throw at them down the road. Taxes or trash or dance lessons, true love conquers all. And the right person? They wouldn’t stop showing you how much they love you every day.”
Annie scoffed softly, staring out the window. “I’m going to have to go with seeing is believing on that one.”
He didn’t know what to say to that; Annie’s despondency was in direct opposition to his own optimistic outlook. Rather than potentially put his foot in his mouth, he turned up the radio, letting his acoustic playlist serve as background noise as they zipped down the highway. Ten minutes of near silence later, Brendon made a left, pulling into the lot for the ferry terminal. The booth was dim and the attendant was missing. He frowned, searching for an automated ticket dispenser.
“Um, Brendon?” Annie pointed at the Plexiglas partition above the booth’s window, where the ferry’s schedule and fares were posted.
He squinted. The last ferry to Seattle ran at ten thirty. Which was fine. It was only—
Ten forty.
His head thudded against the headrest.
Fuck.
***
“On the bright side, they have a TV?”
Brendon flipped the dead bolt and slumped against the door. That was the only bright side.
Between the missed ferry and the fifteen miles they’d had to drive out of their way to find a hotel that wasn’t totally booked for the night, this trip had turned into a comedy of errors, heavy on the errors and light on the comedy. “True.”
“And the place looks... clean.”
Cleanwas generous. The industrial carpeting was the color of wine, probably chosen for its ability to disguise stains. The walls appeared to have once been white, but time and nicotine had stained them a dingy shade of cream.
“The bed looks... comfy. Oh, and look.” Annie flourished her hand near the headboard. “Four pillows. Housekeeping was generous.”
Bed. As in, just the one. The mustard-yellow duvet coverappearedfree of mysterious stains, but he wouldn’t have wanted to search the place with a black light.
He darted a glance at the stiff-looking armchair wedged into the corner of the room. Stuffing spilled out from one of the arms like beige cotton candy.
