Page 63 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
Grace stands, steps into her Crocs. “No, I’m good. Or, yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I’ll be right back.”
And then she runs up the stairs, leaving Harry Styles and me alone on the couch.
There’s a powder room off the kitchen downstairs, but I went for the bathroom in my bedroom instead because the lighting is killer up here and because, well…I needed a minute.
A chain of events just occurred in the TV room. First, I watched one of the most romantic, swoony goddamn scenes in the history of movies. How did I not remember Winona Ryder sliding into Johnny Depp’s arms like a gorgeous, tragic angel? I looked at Henry then to see if he was swooning, too, because…do guys swoon? But when I did I saw that his eyes were all over my body, and I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to climb on top of him.
I can’t speak for Henry. I mean, maybe he was just admiring the surprisingly posh quality of my Costco yoga-pants-and-lounge-sweater combo. But for me, this is what it might feel like to finally no longer be sexually dead inside.
Fine, Ruth. Dammit, you win.
I look at myself in the mirror now. I’m tired, yeah, obviously, but I look okay otherwise, all things considered. I pull my hair out and let it fall, but it’s too kinky to deal with so I put it right back up. I squirt a dab of toothpaste on my finger and put it on my tongue because Iran out of mouthwash yesterday and god only knows what’s going on with my breath.
For argument’s sake, let’s say Henry does want to kiss me. Great. I’ve known him long enough, though, to doubt that he’d do so of his own volition. So, I’m going to go back downstairs right now andI’mgoing to kisshim,because I really want to.
I take a deep breath, rinse, and spit in the sink. I take another deep breath and close my eyes.
But I thought you said you weren’t lonely, Gracey.
Tim’s reflection is beside mine in the mirror now, and for a moment I can’t move. He looks so sad—skinny and drawn, hollowed out and ashen—like he did during our last few “When I’m Gone” strategy sessions.
I know. But I think I might be.
He used to quietly nod when he didn’t know what to say—when I’d become a mystery to him. He does that now.
Are you sure you’re ready, though?
I don’t know. Maybe.
He touches my shoulder, and I close my eyes again.Okay. But…but what ifI’mnot ready, Gracey? I mean, I want you to be happy, because I love you. But…I don’t think I’m ready for you to be with someone else.
My eyes burn, so I sit on the edge of the tub and blink away tears.
He’s right. Maybe I’m ready to kiss Henry. Maybe he’s ready to kiss me. Maybe we’d ultimately hurt each other because we both basically have scissors for hands. Or maybe we wouldn’t, and we’d be happy. But me kissing Henry tonight in our house would hurt Tim, and I’m not ready to do that.
Okay.
He’s gone again, though. It’s just me in our mirror.
Downstairs, Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder are frozen in time, and Henry is waiting for me on the couch. “You were a little unclear about wanting another beer,” he says, “so I made an executive decision and got you one.”
My plan is to sit back down and push Play, finish the movie, and send Henry on his way. Harry Styles hops off the couch to greet me, though, and as I step around him, the fat toe of my right Croc catchesthe floor, and I stumble, which is just fucking perfect. Henry is quick to catch my arm, but he kicks the coffee table, which sends our phones flying.
“Oops,” he says, and I say, “Shit.”
He picks up my phone and sets it back on the table. When I pick up his, it lights up from being jostled, and I see a lovely, smiling blond woman on his home screen. “Oh, is this…?”
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s Brynn.”
I sit beside him again and look at his dead wife. Her smile in the picture is one of those perfect smiles that happens right as you’re about to laugh. “She was beautiful, Henry,” I say. And then he gets a text message. I don’t mean to read it, but I can’t help it because I’m looking at his screen.
I now realize how forward and weird that was. Sorry! If you ever want to get a drink sometime though, let me know, okay?
“Um, Henry?” I say.
He aims the TV remote atEdward Scissorhands. “Hmm?”
“I think somebody’s asking you on a date.”
