Sweet (True Believers #2)(33)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“Some drama about slums.”

“No.” My hands came out to emphasize my feelings on that one.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to cry.” I hated crying, which is why I tried to never do it.

“So what does that leave us? Action/adventure and comedy of the Adam Sandler variety.”

“I’ll take action/adventure. I like to see things blow up.”

“And you say Rory is brutal.” But he read a movie description to me. “This starts in forty minutes, so we can make it.”

“Okay, I need my purse.”

Riley followed me to the doorway of my room. “So, uh, why were you buttoning your shorts up exactly?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Really? I grabbed my hoodie and purse and shot him a look over my shoulder. This was going over what we’d already gone over, as far as I was concerned. “Because I was changing. I made him close his eyes.”

He looked pained. “Damn it. I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

“Then you shouldn’t ask.” I crowded him in the doorway. “Because despite the fact that I’m lying to my parents about where I am, I try to be honest about my behavior.”

“You know he looked. I would.”

“If you’re going to be jealous, we’re going to have a problem. So try to keep it under control.” Then because the beard scruff on his chin was so cute, I ran my fingers through it like you do with a cat behind its ears. “But I won’t give you any reason to be jealous from here on out, since we’re doing this thing, whatever it is, and whatever we’re calling it. Cool?”

“Cool.” Then he pretended to bite my finger.

I laughed.

When we went outside, I winced at the blinding sun and pulled my sunglasses out of my purse. As I was pushing them onto my face, I saw the neighbor to the left sitting on his front step, shirtless, his gray grizzled beard meeting the rounded bare belly. He eyed me boldly, then let a stream of brown tobacco juice fly from his mouth onto the hard-packed dirt and grass of his yard. He didn’t acknowledge Riley and likewise.

“Good afternoon,” I said, with a cheerful wave. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was to be fake friendly with the neighbors. My mother had it down to a science.

“Christ,” Riley muttered as he got in the car.

But the extra from Duck Dynasty actually lifted his hand and waved, calling back, “Hot as hell today, but you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Thanks. Have a great day.” I climbed in the passenger seat.

“I didn’t even know that guy could talk,” Riley said. “In two years he’s never said a word.”

“A smile goes a long way.”

He snorted. “Yeah, if you’re a blond chick with long legs. If I smile at him we’re going to end up swinging punches.”

“Hm. I might need some guidance on social dynamics in your neighborhood, then. In my neighborhood, everyone kisses up to each other. It’s a finely tuned ritual of hypocrisy and envy. They’ll congratulate you on your son’s acceptance to an Ivy League school, then trash him behind your back, mocking his looks or his intelligence, or yours. Or your new landscaping, or your vacation, or your Botox, whatever has recently been done.”

“Maybe that’s the difference here. No one envies anyone else, so there’s no point in conversation.”

That was an interesting viewpoint. I was still contemplating it when we pulled into the movie theater. There was an honesty in Riley’s neighborhood. No one gave a shit about anyone else, and that was clear, whereas in my parent’s neighborhood, everyone pretended to care, but they didn’t really either. I wondered if there was anywhere that people did care, and looked out for each other, or if that was some small town ideal that didn’t exist. It was a depressing thought.

But then I remembered when a church member’s young son had died of cancer, and the outpouring of help, both emotional and financial, for that family. There had been thousands of people at the memorial service, and that had been genuine sympathy, a real desire to ease a grief that was unimaginable. So maybe there was such a thing as community.

Maybe it was the weird, melancholy thoughts, but when Riley pressed me to see the horror movie instead of the action one, I actually agreed, for whatever reason. Maybe the scary that wasn’t real could supersede the fear of the scary that was real—and what was more scary than feeling that everything is one big cynical joke?

Riley pulled out his wallet to pay for the tickets and I scrambled to get out my debit card. “Don’t pay for me.”

“I got it,” he told me. “You don’t even want to see this movie, the least I can do is pay for it.”

“But . . .” I wanted to say I knew he didn’t have a lot of money, but that would sound so patronizing and elitist, no matter what my intention was, that I cut myself off.

“But nothing.” He handed the girl behind the counter a twenty and got his change and our tickets. “You just spent a ton of money making my house less of a shithole. I can take you to the movies.”

“That was different. I only spent eighty bucks. That’s like rent for the week I’ve been staying with you.”

“Rent?” Riley shot me an amused look as we moved into the lobby area. “That’s hilarious.”

I started toward the ticket attendant to enter, but he said, “Hold up. I need popcorn.”

He bought a tub of popcorn that was basically the size of a beer keg. And a soft drink equally as insane. “Want a drink?” he asked as he encouraged the employee to pump more oil or fake butter or whatever that was on his popcorn.

“I’ll just share yours. It looks like you’ll have plenty.” Especially considering his snacks cost as much as the tickets themselves.

Riley had to sit in the middle, both of the theater and in the aisle, so we climbed over a couple in their fifties. We settled in, and he slumped down, his legs wide, turning off his phone and then proceeding to throw giant handfuls of popcorn into his mouth.

My own mouth watered. I hadn’t eaten lunch and that looked good. It smelled good.

“Aren’t you going to have any?” he asked.

I took one piece and put it in my mouth. Damn. That was some buttery goodness. Fake butter or not, it tasted like victory in my mouth. Like triumph and glory and the finish line. I chewed slowly, afraid I was going to reach out and just bury my face in the tub.