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“Okay.” He grabs the remote and sits next to me, near but nonthreatening. Not close enough to touch, but the cushion shifts, and the air around me is warmer. Denser.
“I cannot believe you own aTwilightbox set.”
“I needed to see what the fuss is about.”
“You bought the Blu-rays. Who buys Blu-rays?”
“People who can’t find the VHS.”
I study him. His odd, beautiful eyes. “How old are you, precisely?”
“Seventy-three.”
I laugh. “No, for real.”
“Seventeen.”
“You’re thirty-three, aren’t you? Thirty-two. Thirty-four?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Give me a hint. What do you remember most from your childhood? Slime? The DSL dial tone? Butterfly hair clips? People dying of the bubonic plague?”
“You can shit on myTwilight Foreverbox set all you want—I’ve seen the way you’re eyeing it.”
“With polite but detached interest?”
“With shameless, covetous lust for the ‘Edward Goes to Italy’ featurette.”
I laugh again. It’s nice, being here where it’s warm. “So what do you know about the movies?”
He drums his fingers on his knee. “They have a bloodcurdling CGI kid named Elizabelle—”
“Renesmee.”
“—and something about sparkly dermatology? Spider monkeys?”
“There’s also vampire baseball.”
“Encouraging.”
“Okay, real talk.” I turn a little toward him. “Are you going to hate this?”
“Probably. But no more than2001: A Space Odyssey.”
“What doyoulike?”
“Physics-defying car chases, mostly. People climbing buildings. Space monsters.” He shrugs. “George calls them my ‘white male rage’ movies.”
“Okay, well, we can watch one of those.Avengers’ Infinity Endgameor something with The Rock. I mean, what about whatyouwant?”
“What about that?”
“We never focus on that.”
“That’s because I have no issues asking for what I want.”
“That felt like a backdoor brag,” I mumble resentfully.
