Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(24)

“That’s fine. We can be friends.” His voice is soft, and he averts his eyes. But otherwise, he takes the hit very well. I’m a little surprised, in fact. I sorta wanted him to be a tad more broken up about it. Maybe MMA fighters also train in emotional resilience. I’m picturing Lawson with a grizzled old man in a porkpie hat standing in his corner while he’s fighting, screaming about the importance of self-care.

“I’m totally down to be friends. I just didn’t want to lead you on,” I say.

“All good. So, guess I’ll see you later?” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No sarcasm. No hint of a sense of thwarted entitlement. I’ve had a more pleasant time telling this dude I wouldn’t date him than I had actually dating some of my exes.

“Yeah.” I open my door and start to get out.

“You need a dancer for the show next week?”

I pause halfway out of the truck. “We can always put you to work. You good with wearing a skeleton costume?”

“What’s dignity worth anyway?”

I laugh. “Right? Okay, bye for real. Thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Bye.” There’s a melancholy in his eyes. He has nice eyes.

I feel him watching to make sure I get into my house safely. I turn and wave as I go inside, and he waves back before driving off.

Why do I suddenly feel like he and I were grappling, and I was winning, and without my even noticing, he gained the upper hand? More importantly, why am I so unbothered by it?

I go to my room, flop on my bed, and stare out the window.

Friday-night sky. Look at that.





Mom and I recline on opposite ends of the couch with our legs entwined between us, our standard movie-watching position. My phone buzzes. I should ignore it so that I’m not texting during the movie, but I’m too anxious and wound up tonight to let anything go.

Josie: What’s up? You good?

Me: I’m okay. I feel weird. Watching a movie with Mom. Oh, btw, my dad changed his name, no biggie.

Josie: ARE YOU SERIOUS.

Me: Yep.

Josie: Is he on the run from the law or something?

Me: Or he’s a secret agent. I hope it’s that and he wasn’t just trying to make sure I’d never find him. How was your trip to Corntown with karate guy?

Josie: It wasn’t bad. It was fine.

Me: ???

Josie: I had to be all “we’re not gonna get together” at the end.

Me: Oof.

Josie: I needed to tell him sooner than later. He was throwing vibe.

Me: You’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it.

Josie: He liked my jokes though.

Me: That’s big. I read this great essay on Dollywould about how lots of guys don’t like girls who are funnier than them.

Josie: Right?? Or who are funny at all. Speaking of, wanna hear something hilarious I was gonna tell you earlier?

Me: Duh.

Josie: I’ve never read Frankenstein.

Me: Um, how am I just NOW learning this? Tell me what you think it’s about.

Josie: Uhhhhh, the doctor builds a Frankenstein in his basement and the Frankenstein wants a girlfriend so he goes bonkers and tears up the countryside and whatnot until the villagers kill him with pitchforks. The end.

Me: NOPE.

Josie: Close?

Me: Literally LOL, you are so not even close. OMG let’s do a segment on the show where you tell what you think Frankenstein is about.

Josie: [selfie of her flipping me off]

Me: Cooooooooome oooooooon Josie: Speaking of the show I told Karate Kid he could come help next week.

Me: LEADING HIM OOOOOOOOON.

Josie: Totally not!!!!

Me: JK. We’ll figure something out for him to do.

Josie: Maybe he could break boards or something?

Me: I literally can’t imagine any show on television that wouldn’t be improved by a martial arts demo break. I gotta go, I’m watching a movie with my mom and being rude.

Josie: K, talk later. Love you, DeeDeeBooBoo.

Me: Love you, JoJoBee.

“You gonna watch this movie with me or text Josie?”

“I already told her I was being rude.” I lean over with a soft grunt and toss my phone gently onto the coffee table.

“This isn’t as good as the original,” Mom murmurs, staring at the TV.

I grab another Twizzler from the big plastic jar Mom set on the floor beside the couch. “Do you think Rob Zombie’s ever like, ‘Please, Mr. Zombie was my father’s name. Call me Rob’?”

“I bet Zombie isn’t even his real name.”

“Maybe he changed it for the stage like some actors do. Like he used to be Robin Zombiertalli or something.”

“Natalie Portman used to be Natalie Hershlag,” Mom says.

“Is that true?”

“I swear.”

“How do you even know that?”

“I don’t remember.”

The movie ends. Mom picks up the remote and turns off the TV, and we sit motionless for a few moments, listening to our trailer tick and settle around us.

I sit up and stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. I’m proud of how well I pretended like everything was fine. “I’m going to bed.”

“Wait,” Mom says.

I look at her.

“You gonna tell me why you seem off tonight?” she asks. Sometimes I wonder if her gift is just being really empathetic and attuned to what people are feeling. Feeling the pain of others might partially account for how much of my childhood she spent sad.