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She’s cooking and swaying to the sound of something I cannot hear, occasionally breaking into off-key singing in the direction of Hedgie, who keeps on frolicking in a bowl of dry kitten food.
It’s a lot of chaotic energy. Even for her.
When I step closer, she takes out one AirPod and grins. “Found ten bucks on the bathroom floor of Boylston Hall and went to the supermarket, baby! We’re having tartiflette, but with no bacon and extra cheese—”
“I need to tell you something.”
Her smile stays in place. “Shoot!”
“It’ll take a few minutes.”
“Okay.” She takes out the other pod. “Shoot!”
I open my mouth and...
Nothing happens. Air comes in, doesn’t go back out. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“No need to shoot if you don’t want to.” There’s a tinge of worry in her voice. A line between her eyes. “You could fire or discharge or—”
“I want to. It’s just...”I’m not motorically able to.
Which Cece might know, because she crosses her arms, tilts her head in that compassionate way of hers, and tells me, “Maybe if you say it in a funny accent, it’ll be easier? May I suggest Australian? Not to be culturally insensitive, but those closede’s are just—”
“I hatedIn the Mood for Love,” I blurt out. “And I find very little enjoyment in Wong Kar-wai’s filmography.”
Cece startles. Physically. Spiritually. “But... but they areamazing.”
“I know. Well—Idon’tknow. Theylooklike I should find them amazing, but to me they’re just sad and kinda slow. Still better than the Russian ones from the seventies, which feel like rubbing brambles against my eyeballs, and Ireallythink producers should stop giving money to Lars von Trier and instead pick a good charity. Even just flush it down the garbage disposal, honestly. And don’t get me started about2001: A Space Odyssey—”
She gasps like this is a theater play. “You said youlovedit!”
“I... Maybe. I mostly repeated things I found online.”
She frowns at the backsplash tiles. “Your reviewdidsound very similar to Roger Ebert’s,” she mumbles to herself.
“I hate all auteur-style movies.” My mouth feels like a desert.
Then it gets evendrierwhen Cece asks me with a scowl, “What do you like, then?”
I try to swallow. Fail. “Twilight’s my favorite.”
Cece’s eyes bug out. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it. Closes it. Opens it one last time. “Which one?” she asks, sounding constipated.
“I don’t know.” I wince. “All of them. The fourth?”
Is that a whimper? Maybe. Yeah. And I don’t know what I expected her reaction would be, but it was not this one. Not her glaring at me and then something hitting me hard on the forehead. And then again. And then—
“Is this—” I lift my hands and take a protective step back. “Are you throwing cheddar cubes at—”
“DamnrightI am!” She takes a two-second break to turn off the stove and starts again. With improved aim and vigor. I back down till the counter stops me. “Iknewyou weren’t watching hentai porn that time! IknewI saw that shovel-face guy on the screen, I knew it, I knew it, I—”
