Page 94 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“Hey, Nadine,” I say.
“Whoa. What happened to you? Get in a fight?”
The bandage above my right eyebrow is just a glorified Band-Aid, but it’s big enough to demand an explanation. “Nah,” I say. “Housework gone wrong.”
Nadine laughs, and I ask if Grace is home. “I texted her, but she didn’t get back to me.”
I tried to say all that casually, but it came out anything but, andnow Nadine is looking at me with suspicion. “Mhm,” she says. “Just got home a bit ago.”
“Great. I just wanted to…run something by her.”
Nadine smiles and touches my hair, smoothing some bits at the top. “Wind’s got you looking wild.”
I tell her thanks, then she nods back at the front door.
“You go on in. Maybe be careful, though. Hasn’t been herself last couple days.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“All right,” she says, “if I don’t see you, Mouse Man, Merry Christmas.”
I’m not hiding in my bedroom. I’m doing legitimate things up here: straightening, cleaning my bathroom mirror, dewrinkling the duvet cover.
My plan was to keep doing these legitimate things until Henry left. I saw him pull in and say hi to Nadine. Ian and Bella sounded excited to see him when he came inside. Harry Styles was excited, too, so much so that he ditched me up here and bolted down the stairs like a little traitor. That was fifteen minutes ago, though, and I can still hear him down there laughing and chatting away with the kids.
Henry is my friend. Last month, in my parents’ yard, I told him that he basically had to be because no one we knew had any idea what it was like to be us. I could tell him about Tim and Lauren Maxwell, because that’s what friends do. I could tell him how confusing it is to be mad at a dead person and how it makes me wonder if that dead person loved me as much as I thought he did. The fact is, though, I don’t want to tell Henry about any of it because the whole thing makes me feel like a fool.
Love is cruel. Love is unkind. Love is, once again, a down payment on heartbreak. It’s all those shitty things and more. Ultimately, though, love is just really fucking humiliating.
Unfortunately, Henry doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, so, finally, I take a breath and try to twist my face into a pleasant expression. What I find downstairs, frankly, is a lot. Harry Styles is standing on the coffee table next to two mice in the trap watching Henry and Bella playMario Karton our TV. Ian is standing on the couch cushions asking when it’ll be his turn. There’s popcorn fish on the floor. No one notices me for what seems like too long. Harry Styles finally comes over and headbutts my shin.
“Oh, hi, Mom,” says Ian.
“Look, Mommy,” says Bella. “Henry gave us a really old game.”
“Whoa there,” says Henry. “It’s notthatold.”
I’m mentally logging my daughter’s bright smile when I see the bandage on Henry’s forehead. “What happened to you?” I ask.
“He electrocuted himself,” says Bella.
“What?”
“He got seven stiches,” says Ian. “He doesn’t have a concussion, though.”
“Wait, what? Really?”
Apparently, Bella just won the game because she’s cheering now while Henry pretends to be mad.
“Let me play now,” says Ian.
“Ian, don’t stand on the couch,” I say.
Bella hands her brother the controller. “Bet you can’t beat him, too.”
“Actually, guys,” Henry says. “I was hoping I could talk to your mom for a sec.”
The kids go blank-faced.
