Lunar Love (30)

“Great choices. You could be in the love business.” Bennett grabs a handful of popcorn. “So you prefer the rom-com classics?” he asks before I have to respond.

I run my hand along the edge of the striped blanket and nod. “I do. The humor was wittier, less vulgar.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Movies now have to involve capes and powers or over-the-top visuals to be a hit. Is it too much to ask to watch regular people trying to figure out life?”

“Movies now are a literal escape from reality. But to me, love stories are the best escape. What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, taking a sip of slushie.

“Don’t laugh, but it’s Big,” Bennett reveals.

“Why Big?” I ask, assuming it’s because he’s in such a hurry to get to the end destination.

Bennett sits back against the driver’s seat, placing his arm up on the window. “I watched that movie so many times, thinking about how cool it would be to turn into an adult overnight. All I wanted to do was grow up.”

“Were you trying to grow up to impress a girl and ride on the adult roller coasters like Tom Hanks did in the movie?” I prod. “Or were you trying to rush to the finish line? It would be very Rat-like of you.”

Bennett rests his free hand on the steering wheel. “Yes, it’s true, the Rat won the Great Race.”

“The Rat played tricks on the other animals to secure his first-place spot. He got his free ride on the backs of others—”

“Like the Ox who helped him cross the river,” Bennett interjects.

“Um, yes, that’s right,” I say, surprised by how much he actually does know. “Then he jumped onto land before the Ox could move fast enough to get to the finish line. I googled this out of curiosity.”

“Uh-huh. Well, sounds like a smart animal to me,” Bennett says, smiling. “You don’t think that’s all a myth?”

“I like to believe there’s a tiny bit of truth to it,” I say. “Whether it’s legend or the zodiac itself, these are bigger concepts for people to believe in. To find comfort and reasons for why things are the way they are. A way to make sense of the world.”

He quickly blinks a few times. “And you think Big being my favorite movie has something to do with…the Great Race somehow?”

I shrug. “You tell me.”

Bennett raises his left eyebrow. “I wanted to be bigger because I had a pretty tough childhood. I became obsessed with anything that promised an escape,” he explains, a wave of sadness seemingly washing over him. He clears his throat. “My mom died when I was six.”

“Oh,” I whisper, my pulse quickening. I redden with shame for all the assumptions I carelessly made. For the conclusions I jumped to in my article. So much for Vent Drafting. “I’m so sorry, Bennett. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.”

Bennett speaks toward the screen, the creases between his eyebrows deepening. With his profile facing me, I can look at him for as long as I want. “When I’d ask my dad about her, he’d just get sad and change the subject. He couldn’t feel his way through the pain to teach me. I grew up wanting to know who she was, what her favorite flower was, what kind of music she listened to when she did the laundry…would she be proud of the man I’ve become?” He grunts softly.

“I’m sure she’d be proud of you,” I say. Even with the slushie, my throat feels dry when I swallow. My heart pounds so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it burst its way through my chest and flung itself over the convertible’s windshield. His honesty only reminds me of my own lies. The weight of my secret is like a rolling snowball gathering more and more snow. I can’t keep pushing off telling him who I am. He needs to know the truth.

Bennett glances over at me with sad eyes. “Everyone handles their grief differently. That was his way,” he says, justifying his father’s actions.

I stay quiet, listening to him open up.

“I was so mad that she was taken away from us,” he continues. “Taken away from me and that I knew nothing about her. I felt like I lost control.” Bennett keeps his tone steady. “I spent weekends at the library learning everything I could about my culture so I could feel like she was a little more familiar. A little less gone. I took back control.”

“Which is how you know so much about the zodiac,” I say, more to myself than to him.

“I only experienced it through Lunar New Year parties and children’s books up until I was six, but that was so long ago I hardly remember. I taught myself the rest. I’m still learning.” Bennett’s expression is unreadable. “I became obsessed with things that were tangible, in my hands or in my mind.”

“Like data,” I say.

Bennett dips his head. “Numbers don’t lie to you; they don’t make fun of you. They’re reliable.” He laughs somberly. “A few years ago, I found my mom’s diaries.”

“And you read them?” I ask.

“I did,” he says, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face.

“I’d do the same,” I confess. “I have a theory that people write diaries so that their children discover and read them. It’s a way of documenting history and to be seen when time has wiped the memories of us away.”