“Jerkface. You almost made me spill our drinks.”
I stopped as she disappeared into the living room, my heart leaping high like it had hurtled over an offensive lineman headed for the sack. These easy, fun moments made it hard to imagine my life without her. The thought of losing our Thursday movie nights was like a spike to my brain.
I sat beside her on the couch with the bowl overflowing with popcorn. “How about Aliens?”
She picked up the spilled popcorn from my legs and the couch. “I see someone doesn’t want my nails embedded in their arm tonight.”
“I’d like to be able to block properly at the game on Saturday.”
“Oh, do you have a game coming up? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here with all of us gone?” Worries drummed inside my head. Chris. Her being alone. Her deciding to cook.
She shoved her hand into the bowl of popcorn on my lap. “It’s no big deal. Nix brought over that giant catering tray of chicken fettuccini, so I’m good with food.”
“Didn’t he bring that a week ago?”
“Yeah, what’s the problem?” She shoveled the popcorn into her mouth.
“Iron Stomach Marisa.”
“The pasta will be two weeks old, max. It’s fine.”
“Please don’t end up in the hospital with food poisoning.”
“When have I ever?”
True, she’d only nearly sent everyone in the house to the hospital. She could choke down anything. I’d pick up some lunch meat before I left, or ask Nix if he could drop off some more food for her.
“Enough talking, let’s watch!” She jammed her finger into the remote and the dreary, dark mining vessel holding one of the most badass action heroines in history—Ellen Ripley—came on the screen.
Marisa hid behind my arm when the aliens crawled through the vents toward our totally screwed main characters. She linked her arm through mine when Newt fell into the water, completely surrounded by aliens.
The front door banged open at the exact moment the queen popped back up on screen. Marisa screamed and flung her empty cup in the direction of the noise.
Keyton popped his head in.
She clutched the front of her shirt and I paused the movie, laughing hard until she shoved my arm.
“How many times have you seen this movie? Did you think the queen alien was here?”
“Shut up, I was into the movie.”
Keyton chuckled and walked over, handing her the cup.
“Did you want to stay for Thursday movie night?”
“I’m good. It’s almost over anyway. I’ll let you guys finish your movie.” He offered up a weak smile, picked up a bag from beside the front door, and took off up the stairs.
Marisa ducked her head. “Was that a guitar case?”
“I think so.”
She dropped her hand into the empty bowl and it sent the vibrations straight to my dick. “One day you’re going to have to ask him what the hell that’s about, because as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even play.”
I willed my semi to deflate. “Maybe. Let’s finish the movie.”
She relocked her arm with her feet curled beside her on the couch.
When the credits rolled, I didn’t want our movie night to end.
She yawned covering her mouth and shook out the last bits of popcorn into her hand.
“Do you want to watch another one?”
Rubbing her eyes and stifling another yawn, she nodded. “Sure, let’s do this.”
“Do you want to pick?”
“You go. I won’t make you suffer through one of my picks.”
“Who are you and what’s gotten into you?”
She shot me a sleepy smile. “You’ll be gone for four days. I’ll have plenty of time to binge on all my terrible faves while you’re gone.”
I popped another bag of popcorn and Marisa got the drinks. We sat back and the metal cadence of the Terminator theme accompanied us into a desolate dystopian future.
Her yawns got closer together.
“We can stop.”
She shook her head and opened her eyes horror-movie wide. “No, I’m good. It’s a great movie.” Another yawn.
Not wanting to move either, I propped my feet up on the coffee table.
Her head drooped throughout the movie, until it rested on my shoulder.
I may or may not have wiped away a tear as Arnold lowered himself into the vat of molten metal. At least no one else was around to witness it.
“Risa.” I lifted my shoulder, nudging her head.
She made a sound between a growl and a grumble and burrowed deeper against me.
“Marisa, we need to go upstairs.”
“Don’t want to. Carry me.” She kept her eyes closed, her voice soaked in a sleepy half-yawn. Her fingers brushed across my stomach and I sucked in a sharp breath.
She wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning. I’d had more than a few full conversations with her sleep talking so convincingly, I’d thought she was faking it. Mostly, they’d been about needing to buy sprinkles in the morning or finding a badger in the washing machine. Tomorrow, whatever was said between us would be met with a blank stare.
I would take a moment, just one, to admire her. I brushed her wavy black strands away from her face. The curve of her nose had long ago been committed to my memory. It was so burnt into my brain that, from halfway across campus, I could pick out the slight upturn at the end and small dent in the side from when she was eight and fell out of a tree in my backyard.
Standing, I draped her arm over my shoulder and shifted mine behind her back and under her legs. I lifted her off the couch and took care of her head, while walking up the stairs.
“I’m going to miss you when I go to Michigan. I wish you could come with me, but it’s going to be cold as balls. The time is slipping away so quickly, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you go to Venice for two years. I’ll miss you even more.”
I set her down on her bed and dragged the blankets down, tucking her under.
She grumbled and hugged her pillow to her chest.
“Night, Marisa.” I flicked off the light and walked to my room next door. Dragging my fingers through my hair, I sat on the edge of my bed.
If she got accepted for her Venice fellowship, I’d hate myself for losing this time with her. Her dad would probably murder me if we started dating. She’d probably scream it from the rooftops just to piss him off.
I punched my pillow and slammed my head back onto it. The path to my future was diverging and I was holding onto both possibilities, trying to stop the passing of time through sheer will alone.
12
Marisa
The intern office in the museum was an alcove of a space off the larger curation offices. Temperature controlled, the air carried the perfect blend of humidity, hundred-year-old canvases, and paper, right along with the French press coffee blend everyone nursed throughout the day.
Everyone else had gone to lunch, almost like they’d sensed the incoming storm and had run without giving me a heads-up.
Usually within these walls I felt part of something bigger. I felt a part of history. Now I felt like I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than stay on the phone a minute longer.