Girl Online(57)

? ? ?

When Sadie Lee and I get back home, Mum is playing an elaborate game of princesses with Bella in the living room, and Dad and Noah are in the kitchen, preparing some veggies for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. They’re laughing their heads off as we come in. This is good—very good.

“I thought I’d make us something light for dinner tonight,” Sadie Lee says, putting on her apron. “Don’t want to overdo it before the feast tomorrow.”

“Good plan,” Dad says. “Just let me know if I can help with anything.”

“That would be lovely,” Sadie Lee says. “I was thinking of making a chicken Caesar salad.”

“That happens to be one of my specialities,” Dad says proudly.

“It is,” I say. “Can’t wait.”

“Oh no,” Sadie Lee says, turning to me. “I’m afraid you won’t be eating with us.”

“That’s right,” Noah says.

“What?” I look from Sadie Lee to Dad to Noah. They’re all grinning at me like they’re in on a private joke. “Why won’t I be eating with you?”

“We don’t want you ruining your appetite before the big day,” Noah says.

“We thought it would be best if you went on a fast for the next twenty-four hours,” Dad says.

“What?!”

Noah starts laughing his head off. “Don’t look so stressed. You won’t be having dinner because we are going to be having Picnic Round Two.”

“Is it all ready?” Sadie Lee asks him.

Noah nods and takes hold of my hand. “So, if you’d like to come with me, ma’am, I shall accompany you to your picnic blanket.”

I look at them all and laugh. “Oh my God, that was so mean!”

I follow Noah out into the hallway and down a flight of stairs into the basement of the house.

The basement is like our living room back at home, with a really relaxed and laid-back vibe. There are two squishy sofas covered with cushions and throws and a huge flat-screen TV on the wall. Two brightly colored lava lamps are bubbling away on side tables, casting the room in an orangey glow. The basement’s way bigger than our living room, though, stretching back the entire length of the house. At the very far end, I can just make out a pool table. The tartan blanket is laid out in front of the sofas, covered in plates of the most amazing picnic food.

“This looks fantastic!” I say, turning to Noah.

“Well, I figured after yesterday I needed to pull out all the stops,” he says with a grin.

We both sit down on either side of the blanket.

“So, did your friend get back OK?” Noah asks.

I suddenly realize that I haven’t bothered to check my phone since I got here. Elliot should have landed by now. I think of my phone upstairs in my bag and I contemplate going to get it, but I really don’t want to disrupt the picnic for a second time, especially when Noah’s gone to so much trouble.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good.” Noah glances up at the TV before looking back at me. “I was wondering . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s just that when my parents were alive we had this tradition on Christmas Eve and I’d really like to do it again—with you.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“We’d always watch the movie It’s a Wonderful Life together.”

As It’s a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies of all time, this is a total no-brainer. “I’d love to!”

So Noah puts the movie on and we sit on the floor, leaning against the sofa, with the picnic spread out before us.

I’ve always loved black-and-white movies. Just like black-and-white photos they seem so atmospheric, and much more dramatic. Noah shuffles up right next to me until our shoulders are touching. I don’t think it would be possible to feel any more content.

And it stays like this right until the bit toward the end of the movie when James Stewart is on the bridge calling out to his guardian angel that he doesn’t want to die; that he wants to live again and see his wife and kids. Suddenly I feel Noah pull away from me. I turn to look at him. In the flickering light of the TV screen, I see that his cheek is wet—as if he’s shed a tear.

“Noah? Are you OK?”

He quickly wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, of course. I guess I must have got something in my eye.”

I sit frozen, unsure of what to do or say. Then it hits me: how much this film must mean to Noah.

I crawl around so that I’m facing him. “Is it . . . are you thinking about your parents?”

Noah is motionless for a second, but then he nods, looking down into his lap. “Geez, way to impress a girl, Noah,” he mutters, “start crying all over them.”

I’m not sure what to do. Then his eyes flick up and he gives me a half smile. But almost as soon as our eyes meet, he looks away again, embarrassed. I want to give him a hug but I don’t know if that’s what he would want.

“It’s OK, honestly,” I say, gently placing my hands on his arms.

“I thought I’d be all right,” Noah says, his head still down. “I thought it would be nice, watching it again . . .”

“Is this the first time you’ve watched it, since . . . ?”