You've Reached Sam (39)

* * *



We find a pink table in the corner of the ice cream shop. The place is a little empty. Oliver hangs his jacket behind his chair before sitting down. Both of us picked cups instead of cones. Oliver eats slowly, swirling the whipped cream with his spoon.

“Thanks for coming,” he says after a while.

“What made you want ice cream?” I ask.

“It’s Thursday.”

“What about it?”

Oliver points at the window behind me. There’s a poster of a crudely drawn cow with discounts painted over cartoon udders. THURSDAY: FREE TOPPINGS! The image is a bit disturbing, if you ask me. I turn back around and try to erase it from my mind.

I take another bite of ice cream.

“Sam used to get pistachio,” Oliver says.

“I know.”

“Except he preferred a cone.”

“I know that, too.”

Oliver doesn’t say anything. He stares at his spoon, looking sad all of a sudden. Maybe I should be more sensitive.

“Just so you know, I’m not mad at you,” I decide to tell him. “It’s your friends I don’t care for.”

Oliver nods. “That’s fair. They kinda suck.”

“Then why do you hang out with them?”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “But my best friend’s dead.”

My face turns to stone.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t—” He swallows.

I reach out a hand to calm him, and say, “No it’s alright, Oliver. Really.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

I pick up my spoon and we resume eating ice cream. Although neither of us is in the mood anymore.

“Sorry to bring him up,” Oliver says again, some guilt in his voice. “I didn’t mean to make this depressing.”

“It’s okay … I don’t mind talking about Sam.”

“That’s good to know.”

A half hour passes and we finish our ice cream. I check the time. It’s a quarter past four. “I should probably get going.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit tired,” I say as I rise from the table.

“You don’t want to, I don’t know, see a movie or something?” Oliver asks out of nowhere.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Sam told me you like musicals,” he says randomly. “It’s iconic musical month at the theater. It’s right down the street.”

“I don’t know, Oliver…” I say, trying to let him down easy. “What are they even playing?”

“It changes every week,” Oliver says. He checks his phone. “Tonight is … Little Shop of Horrors. Have you heard of it?”

“Of course I have. It’s one of my favorite musicals.”

“Mine too.”

“I’ve seen it a dozen times.”

“Same.”

“You know, I even tried making Sam watch it with me,” I say, sitting down again. “But he wouldn’t. He said it sounded scary.”

Oliver laughs. “It’s not supposed to be scary!”

I lean into the table. “I know! But you know Sam. He doesn’t like musicals.”

“Oh my god—that was so annoying about him,” Oliver says with an eye roll.

“It really was!”

For a moment, it’s like we forgot what happened. Then Oliver stops smiling as we both remember again. Things turn quiet. I try to bring us back to the conversation. “Is there even a showing right now?” I ask.

Oliver checks his phone again. “There’s one in ten minutes…” He looks at me with puppy dog eyes.

I tap my fingers on the table, trying to decide.

After a moment or so, Oliver says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”



* * *



The ticket booth manager scowls as we burst out of the theater in song. The ushers had basically kicked us out for disrupting the lobby with all our laughter. The movie was as wonderful as I remembered! Maybe it’s because I’ve heard it a million times, but I’m singing it in my head as we’re leaving. I never thought I’d have so much fun with Oliver. He kept throwing popcorn at the screen and singing along to the musical numbers. Thankfully we were the only ones in there watching. I’m so glad I decided to see it again with him. Then I remember Sam. There’s an ache of guilt in my chest. He always wanted Oliver and me to be friends someday. He should have been here to enjoy the movie with us, even if he hated musicals. The three of us, finally together.

It’s already dark out. The neon lights of the marquee illuminate the streets as we begin our walk home. I see the songs are stuck in Oliver’s head, too. He grabs a streetlamp and swings around it like Don Lockwood in Singin’ in the Rain, as he sings out loud.

“Suddenly Seymour, is standing beside you…”

Another time I might be embarrassed, but I can’t help smiling as Oliver keeps singing.

“You don’t need no makeup, don’t have to pretend…”