Page 38 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“I think so.”
“Okay. Beware, though, I’m gonna be coming in pretty hot.”
I tell her that I’m fully prepared, and it strikes me that I’m a little nervous. Her face looks so close to the screen, and I see in the corner of my phone that to her my face must look close, too, like we’re just inches apart.
She lowers her gaze. “Okay, so I was looking down, right, at his bill. I had to play it off like I was arranging the pen on the little pad. Then I looked up at him like this.”
I watch as Grace does exactly as described. The bite is just enough to slightly change the angle of her lower lip. She smiles next, subtle at the corners of her mouth. She must be looking at the little camera dot on her phone because it’s like she’s staring into my eyes. The sum of these parts makes me skip a breath. After a long second, she breaks character and settles back onto her pillow.
It takes me a second to say something, because I’m stuck mid-swallow, like I’ve forgotten how my mouth works. “Wow,” I say. “Holy shit.”
“You like?” she asks. “My secret weapon when I was younger.”
“I can see why it worked.”
She’s tired again—slowing, slumping—like right before she zonked out duringThe Family Stone.
“Hey, what are you doing tomorrow at ninea.m.?”she asks.
I go over my typical morning routine in my head. Wake up. Walk to get coffee. Stare at animatronic Santa for a few minutes. WatchThe View. “I’m pretty open, why?”
“Do you wanna go running and screaming with me?”
“What’s that?”
She keeps her phone pointed at herself as she rolls onto her side and lays her head on her pillow. “It’s when I jog at Lake Roland for like a mile and a half and then scream into a man-made waterfall.”
“Oh,” I say. “So, it’sliterallyrunning and screaming.”
“It is. There’s not much subtext with me, Henry.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
“I read about it on my website for sad people,” she says. “The rush of endorphins followed by the release from screaming is surprisingly therapeutic. I’ve done it twice.”
“Okay, yeah. I’m in.”
Her eyes are at a full droop now. She tells me she’ll text me the address and that I should stretch first, and I tell her that I haven’t stretched since junior high rec league basketball.
“See ya, Henry.”
“Good night, Grace.”
Running through the woods feels like it should be a me thing, not a we thing, but here we are. I’m a little self-conscious right now because I’m not exactly an Olympic athlete. However, nothing boosts your confidence quite like someone who can’t keep up with you and keeps stumbling over tree roots.
“I thought you said jogging!” he shouts from somewhere behind me in his gym shorts and hoodie.
“Don’t be such a bitch!” I shout back.
I hate running as much as anyone, but this kind of pain is addictive because it’s strictly physical, and I can make it stop whenever I want, like when you see idiots on the internet dunking themselves in ice baths.
“How are you so fast? Your legs are half as long as mine!”
“I’m a liberal American woman, Henry! I’m fueled by rage!”
I’m in a fluffy quarter zip and my Costco sweats. It’s supposed to get warm again later, into the fifties, but it’s that biting kind of morning cold right now that I love because the faster I go, the more the air hurts against my face. Dead leaves crunch and crunch under my sneakers.
“If anyone sees us, they’re gonna think I’m chasing you!”
