Page 96 of The Difference Between

“Mini golf?” I parrot. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“They play it in the movie.”

Is there mini golf? Other than Goldie Hawn swimming in a dress, I don’t remember a single thing from the movie.

Addie doesn’t care about being an actress, she wants to be in the movie Overboard. Because she’s a kid. With a celebrity crush.

And wants to play miniature golf.

I thumb through the script to do a quick scan of the lines then drop it on the table and stand. “I want to show you something.”

She follows me to my bedroom where we both lie on my bed and look at the poster on the ceiling.

“That’s Joshua Jackson,” I explain. “He was Pacey Witter in my favorite TV show called Dawson’s Creek when I was a teenager.” I roll my head to look at Addie. “Your mom watched it too.” I smile a little, so does she, and I let myself get swept into a riptide of nostalgia. Amanda and I watched the show every week then called each other from house phones when it was over to dissect every minute, scandalized by it all.

I’m pretty sure Pacey had sex with a teacher at one point. Whose age difference was similar to mine and Gavin’s.

Except Gavin isn’t seventeen.

And we aren’t having sex.

I clear my throat and look back at the poster. “Anyway, I thought maybe you’d like to see it.”

Addie says, “I like Kurt Russell better.”

I laugh.

“Fair. And Pacey didn’t play mini golf. He got into trouble.” Near the end, he might have been an unethical stockbroker, if my memory’s right.

Addie looks at the poster as I look at her. Her soft profile and light hair. Her glasses snug to her face and freckles dotting her cheeks. I bet Amanda could have stared at her forever and never felt like it was long enough.

“Have you ever played miniature golf?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Have you?”

I think of Matt’s invitation to Big Mini Putt Club on my last day of work. Before my vacation, as that dickface put it, then all the other invitations there that I never accepted because I was too busy.

Addie would love that place; I’d love to take her.

“Sure,” I tell her. “When I was a kid.”

All people change—kids change to adults—but right now I wish I wouldn’t have. I’ve always been driven, and it’s never been hard for me to skip out on fun in the name of getting ahead—but I didn’t always skip out on it. I’m pissed I missed that happy hour and don’t have a fun story about a rogue hole in one to tell Addie about.

“Should we watch Overboard?” I ask, pulling her gaze to mine.

Her eager nod sends us to the living room.

My mom, who has been pretending to be busy but hovering like a fly on shit, magically appears with a declaration of the need for popcorn.

The three of us sit on the couch and my mom laughs as Addie recites every line of the movie.

In it, Goldie Hawn is a wealthy brat who gets amnesia and is then tricked by Kurt Russell—a blue-collared widower with grubby kids—into believing she’s his wife. We quickly learn that he’s one thing on the surface but, beneath the grime and rough edges, has a dream to own a crazy miniature golf course.

Addie, of course, fully supports this.

By the end, Goldie Hawn becomes exactly the wife and mom she was tricked into being, even after her memory comes back.

Why I get choked up when Kurt Russell’s character says, “Baby, we like you,” I’ll never know.