The Way You Make Me Feel(48)

“Finally!” she exclaimed when she saw us. “It’s been murder trying to hold this spot.” Her eyes darted over to a group of men behind her. “Do you think they’ll be pissed if you guys get in?”

I assessed them in less than half a second. Not a threat. “It’s just the two of us, and you were holding a place in line. We’re not cutting.” I raised my voice, challenging the bespectacled and short-shorted to have a problem with that. None of them said a word. Sometimes teenagers really scared the crap out of hipsters. It was like their tenuous hold on “cool” was exposed around the truly young.

Hamlet hastily stepped into line, then gave Rose a bear hug. “Happy birthday!”

She smiled, a little sheepish. “Thanks. Sorry to crash your date.” Both of us protested with scoffs and waving hands, and it was a bit much.

“I had no idea you’d be here like an hour early to get a spot in line,” I said, poking fun to mask feeling guilty about it.

“Did you actually think I would be able to relax knowing this was a first-come first-served deal?” Rose asked, her voice harried. “I’d rather be here yesterday than have to wonder if we’d get a good spot!”

I put my hand on her shoulder and replied, “I’m sorry for your life.” Then I held up a huge shopping bag. “Despite that, we have some birthday goodies for you. Get excited.”

Her eyes lit up. “You didn’t have to! My family already did this whole birthday extravaganza earlier.”

“What’s a birthday extravaganza? Americans take birthdays so seriously,” Hamlet said while reaching out for my hand. Instinctively and comfortably. There was some movement at the gate, and Rose craned her neck to check it out before responding. “Oh, we went to get crepes at my favorite brunch spot and then my mom took me shopping. Then we got home to…” She trailed off for a second. “To uh, watch the Rose Birthday Movie.”

I stopped chewing my gum. “What? What is the Rose Birthday Movie?”

The line moved ahead and I handed the tickets to the agent, still looking expectantly at Rose.

“Calm down, Clara. It’s just a little movie my parents make every year—they make one for my brother, too—a compilation of videos taken of me over the years.”

Hamlet took Rose’s unwieldy lawn chair from her, a tiny chivalrous move that would normally irritate me, but I knew Hamlet would do that for a fellow male, too. For anyone. He said, “That sounds amazing. You guys are like a TV family.”

“Thanks,” she said. “For holding the chair, I mean. We’re not a TV family, but I know it always sounds like that.”

“To be honest, I was expecting something worse,” I said as I shifted the shopping bag on my shoulder. “Two points to the Carver family for not being more embarrassing. In fact, that sounds sorta great.” Rose looked pleased, and I was pleased she was pleased.

We moved into the cemetery, currently the only place in the city with lush green grass. There was a winding path that took us to our destination, lit in intervals by torches. We wove between various tombstones—some modest brass plates laid into the earth, others ostentatious sculptures made of shiny black marble, and even the occasional cherub fountain marking the final resting place of some old rich person or another.

Rose glanced around. “This is really strange, you know. Watching movies around all these dead people.”

“Hey, the dead need to be entertained, too,” I said.

We arrived at a big grassy lawn spread out in front of a giant wall where the movie would be projected. I beelined for a good spot in the center and tossed a couple of blankets down. People started mad-dashing around us for spots. These movie screenings were like Black Friday sales for movie buffs—sometimes I feared for my life. If I died by Converse stampede, I’d be one pissed-off ghost.

I pulled out some miniature party hats the size of shot glasses. “We have to wear these.”

Rose laughed and picked a mint green one with gold glitter trim. “Yes!”

I put a purple one on Hamlet, adjusting the gold elastic behind his ears. “So handsome.”

“Wait, I want to wear the pink one,” he said, reaching for it in the bag. “It matches my outfit better.” He was wearing an oatmeal-colored shirt flecked with pastel fibers and dark brown shorts. I was learning that Hamlet was quite the fussy dresser.

Unlike me. I gestured down at my black denim cutoffs and ratty striped tank. “Give me that one, then. Purple will be stunning on me.”

Once we were properly outfitted with tiny hats, I held up party blowers. “We have to get this out of our system now, or people will kill us during the movie.” After handing them to Rose and Hamlet, I blew so hard into mine that the honk echoed throughout the lawn. People threw dirty looks at us.

“You love it!” I blew again.

Rose hid her face behind her hand. “Oh my God.”

Hamlet blew into his, but at a moderate volume. “I don’t want to get in trouble,” he said apologetically.

I blew hard again. Rose flinched and sank down into her chair, separating her entire being from me. Hamlet laughed, and I honked and hummed in rapid succession along to “Happy Birthday.”

Rose sank lower and lower into her chair, but Hamlet was laughing so hard his face matched the color of his tiny pink hat.