Page 87 of The Goat in the Bedroom
Everything was fine. Nice. Polite.
Wrong.
The previews started, and all I could think about was movie nights with Gryff. How he'd make up ridiculous alternate plotsfor every trailer. How we'd share Twizzlers and argue about whether they counted as real licorice. How his hand would always end up on my knee, not romantically, just naturally, like it belonged there.
Tyson's hand was on the armrest between us, clearly available for holding. I didn't take it.
The movie started, and if anyone could distract me from this disaster it should be, Fox Daws driving fast cars unnecessarily shirtless, and I tried to focus. But Tyson was sitting so properly, watching so intently. Gryff would have been making quiet comments about the plot holes by now. Would have been stealing my popcorn even though he had his own. Would have been existing in my space in that way that felt like breathing.
Then, about twenty minutes in, I heard a familiar snort-laugh from somewhere behind us.
No.
I turned slightly, and there, three rows back, was Jules in the world's worst disguise. Sunglasses indoors, a baseball cap that said “INCONSPICUOUS” (where did she even find that?), and what looked like a fake mustache that was coming unstuck on one side.
Next to her, slouched down like he was trying to disappear into his seat, was Gryff.
Our eyes met across the dark theater, and even in the flickering light from the screen, I could see everything written on his face. Longing. Regret. Something that looked a lot like love.
“Is that Gryff?” Tyson whispered, following my gaze.
“Unfortunately.”
“And his sister?”
“Apparently.”
Jules chose that moment to throw popcorn at the screen, shouting, “That's not how physics works!”
Several people shushed her. Gryff sank lower in his seat.
“Do you want to... move?” Tyson asked.
“No,” I said, because even having Gryff here being ridiculous was better than him not being here at all. “They'll get bored eventually.”
They did not get bored.
Jules provided running commentary through the entire film. During the romantic subplot, when the leads finally kissed, Gryff had a coughing fit that lasted so long someone offered him a lozenge.
“Your friend seems...” Tyson paused, clearly searching for a polite word.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “He really does.”
But the thing was, even with all the ridiculous sabotage, having Gryff there made everything better. I found myself waiting for his reactions, turning slightly to catch his expression during the good parts. When the hero made a terrible decision, I heard Gryff's frustrated sigh and had to bite back a smile.
This was what was missing with Tyson. This connection. This knowing. This feeling like even watching a stupid action movie was better when Gryff was involved, even if he was three rows back being an absolute disaster.
When the movie ended and the lights came up, Jules and Gryff were already gone. Probably fled the scene of the crime.
I caught Tyson checking his phone with what looked like a small smirk as we walked to the car.
“I had a nice time,” he said, though his smile was a bit too knowing. “Despite the... interruptions.”
“Tyson, I?—“
“You're in love with your roommate,” he said simply, not unkindly.
I opened my mouth to deny it, then closed it again.
