Page 104 of Sharkbait
“Huh?” he says.
“You said, ‘Can I mention something I’ve noticed about you’?”
“Oh, right. You’re, um, well—”
“Spit it out, sir.”
“You’re usually a bit all or nothing in your thinking.”
“I am? Wait. How do you mean?”
“Like when you said someone can’t be a single parent and be in a relationship.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did. But listen, I just don’t believe in a world where we always have to pick and choose. What if—sometimes—we really can have it all?”
“I simply said that I would never date someone with a kid. Which is my prerogative and not something I should be judged for.”
“Nope, not judging you.” He puts his hands up. “I just think the universe can surprise us when we open our thinking a bit. Take 1980s Tom Hanks, for example! If you asked him directly, ‘Hey, Tom Hanks, would you like to have sex with a mermaid?’ He’d probably tell you no.”
“His character name in the movie is Allen, and are you so sure about that? I bet if we polled men in their twenties and thirties on whether or not they’d like the opportunity to have sex with a mermaid, most—if not all of them—would say yes.”
“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example.” He scrubs a frustrated hand over his head. “What I’m getting at is—on paper—Madison and Allen weren’t the best fit for each other. But they still found their way to each other in the end.”
I pause the movie and smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a merman?”
“Ha, no.” He takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Surrrrrre.”
Movie night is starting to feel like some kind of grand inquisition.
“What do you want out of life?” he asks.
“What do I want out of life?” I repeat.
“Yeah. In general, I find it’s helpful to focus on what I do want instead of what I don’t want. So… what do you want?”
“I don’t know. All the regular things.”
I appreciate that he’s trying to get to know me, but why? Why is he digging so deep when he’s out of here in a few months? When there’s no future for us.
“What are ‘the regular things’?” he asks.
I sigh and put the remote on the table. Clearly, we’re not watching this movie anytime soon. “You’re difficult to talk to sometimes, you know that?”
“Me?” He slaps a hand to his chest.
“Yeah!”
“How? How am I difficult?”
“Just the way you’re always…” I struggle to find the words. “I dunno, listening to what I say and and and... asking follow-up questions to make sure you understand, and you’re so ugh, you’re so… interested in how I feel and what I want and—”
“Yeah, I can see how that would be very irritating for you,” he says with a scoff.
“Did you just scoff at me?”
