#PastelPrincess

Chapter Eight

Heading to our theater in the back of the huge AMC, I hold my Freestyle raspberry Sprite with one hand and box of Bunch-A-Crunch in the other, “You sure you want to see Crazy Rich Asians instead of The Hate U Give?”

Chris nods with a smile, our large extra-butter popcorn to share against his chest. “I think a comedy would be just our speed.”

I smirk and c**k a brow, “A romantic comedy?”

His shoulders wiggle in a mini shrug as he leans back against the theater door to open it, “This is a date, isn’t it?”

Instead of looking at him with reproach, thinking how he didn’t deserve his handsome features, I feel those same little butterflies I did in seventh grade. It really is easy to like him, even after all these years now that his presence doesn’t make my skin crawl. With shared memories, inside jokes, the same general likes in movies and literature, we’re similar enough to be compatible romantically without being exactly the same people.

It is nice, as well, to have someone by my side who understands the ever-existence of Ivan and making sure not to do anything unseemly in public. To be polite, to smile, to use petty cash instead of big bills or cards, to be patient and kind, and never demand or expect special treatment. Unlike quite a few of our classmates, we use a town car that is parked in a garage instead of a limo dropped off at a valet.

Whether it’s the respectable Englishman in him or the American side that values the earned dollar, it’s a relief to be on a date with someone who understands. Understands I rather dress comfortably and see a movie and go to a decently priced place for dinner rather than arguing we should dress up, go somewhere too nice, and call the paparazzi on ourselves. It is also surprisingly easy to b***h and complain and laugh at stories about our former dates or significant others or friends who do all the money-means-nothing nonsense. A lot of time has passed since the beginning of eighth grade and there’s a lot for us to catch up on.

Cozy in our seats, it’s easy to forget that Ivan and Noah are two rows behind us. It’s also easy to get very comfortable because there’s almost no one in this theater given the movie being about two months old (a tricked we both learned in the trial-by-error dating adventure of being a teen like us in Massachusetts). Armrest up between us, I slide over so it feels like we’re sitting on a couch. I also wiggle myself down, resting my boots against the bar ahead of us.

Just before turning off my phone, I stare at my f*******: feed, the ‘What’s on your mind?’ taunting me. Before I can second guess myself, I click it, click for my used-often emoji’s, add a purple heart to the white space, tag Chris, check-in at the AMC, and add the activity of watching Crazy Rich Asians. I had already added a photo of my flowers, our clasped hands in the car, our tickets with the out-of-focus background of treats to my i********: but very specifically didn’t tag Chris in it…. Now though, now seemed a good time to let the cat out of the bag and let the notifications explode while our phones were off. Looking up into the previews, I ease into my seat and let the anticipation of what will be said go. That’s chaos for future me to handle.

*

“Oh. My. God. My phone has been buzzing for what, three minutes now?”

Chris chuckles as he throws all our movie-theater trash away. “That’s what you get for having the entire school roster on your friends list.”

I look at him before entering the women’s restroom. “Just you wait until you turn your phone on,” and I can’t stop myself from laughing as I hear him groan, “You tagged me, didn’t you?”

After washing my hands and freshening my makeup, I pull out my roller baller of rose and vanilla perfume and apply it strategically. I was careful not to spill anything on my shirt and hope I’m lucky enough to get through dinner without my clumsiness coming back with a vengeance. Out of the bathroom, I take my black peacoat from Ivan, and we head down the long hallway to the escalator.

Shaking his head, Chris is still thumbing through his phone. “Lord have mercy, Lori.”

I double-check he’s smiling. I nudge his arm, “Com’on then, what did you except?”

His smile is so wide I can see the ghost of the dimples he had when he was younger. “Well, I think it’s only fair we take a selfie together, hm?” and he tucks his arm around my waist, pulling me under an angled light of a movie poster.

The first one is perfect, a rare feat, and I send it to him before posting to both my i********: and f*******:. Editing it slowly I follow him over to the escalator. He turns to look up at me, his eyes passionate behind his thick-framed glasses, “You know, we’re breaching into, like, official-couple territory.”

I make a face down at him but giggle, “I haven’t changed my relationship f*******: status yet, have I?”

At the bottom, his offers his hand, which I take, and we walk towards the exit into the parking garage. “Still hungry for Amelia’s?”

I nod. “Are you?”

“‘That’s my secret, Cap, I’m always’ hungry.”

A squeeze of his hand and I smile, “You’re such a dork.”

Parking garages seem to always be empty of people which automatically makes them creepy. Stepping closer to Chris, I look to Ivan on my left, anxiety rising just a little. Maybe it’s my social status, maybe it’s my family’s wealth, maybe it’s my age… but most definitely because of my gender that makes me automatically uncomfortable in places known for horrible situations. Quick to get into the car, I see Ivan stand outside of the door until Noah is in the driver’s seat and Chris has closed the door. I lock my door manually and tug my coat sleeves into my fist. I see Ivan nod at me from the passenger seat and I smile softly at him.

“You all right?” Chris asks softly after the privacy glass is raised.

I pull out my phone and think to respond to the three musketeer’s group chat. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Even though the car is moving, Chris moves into the middle seat and drapes his arm over my shoulders. “It’s Sophia… isn’t it? Is she… ah, all right?”

God, did everyone know? Of course… daughter of a Governor r***d…. I sigh and close my eyes tight. “She has David. She has David and me… me with Ivan. It was hard getting her out of the house those first few months, not that I pushed her at all.

“But I think so… not that she’s over it – I don’t think that’s something anyone can get over. But she’s… she’s passed it, I think. She started dating again about two months ago and Eric is really nice. Patient, kind, really respectful… she’s able to talk to him the way she talks to me so….” But I don’t have much else to add.

“My aunt tried to call her parents after it happened… to offer her services. I don’t know if she ever took her up on it?” his statement coming out more a question.

“She’s a wonderful therapist,” I reply indirectly.

“I’m sure you’ve been the most help.”

I finish out a text asking if they want to come over after dinner, “I hope so. I’ve never been through anything like that… but I tried. I keep sort of being that voice of reason, that it’s something that happened to her… not who she is. And when she was talking about quitting cheerleading, I was the first to argue back.”

A quietness spreads, only the sounds of the car passing us. Watching the streetlights flick by the window, I lean into Chris a little more. There are a lot of ugly things in this world, and it’s been my fight to see the good. The good in people, in things, in actions, in… everything.

The good in myself, too – holding on to that more than anything… let myself like myself, love myself, celebrate myself. I try and rally behind myself just as much as I do Sophia and Macen… just as much as Mama or Papa. And now, after having talked things out with Chris… after letting myself relax, have some perspective, and spend time with him one-on-one I realize he’s someone that not only I can easily rally behind, but he’s someone who will be there for me as well. He’s a good one to have in my corner and though it’ll still take some time for the transformation between us to happen in its entirety, I’m ready to make the commitment.