Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“See? That’s acceptable retching. You can retch over Tom Hanks lying anytime.”
“And I will. Because I have a lot to say on this topic. His character is a multiple liar. He lied when he stood her up on the date. Lied to her when she had the flu. And lied to her when he was courting her.”
“You know who that makes him? He’s the original catfisher,” River declares, shaking his head in disgust.
“Right? Plus, the movie made me hate Tom Hanks, and that’s not fair.”
River gives a knowing smirk. “See? Paul Rudd is looking more attractive, isn’t he?”
I roll my eyes. “You went on that rant to trick me into liking Paul Rudd’s character?”
“Admit he’s better than Tom Hanks’s character,” River says, insistent. “Just admit it.”
“No contest. Of course he is. But that’s like saying chocolate peanut butter cake is better than coconut cake with cream cheese frosting. Of course it is, River,” I say.
“So you admit it,” he says, gotcha style.
I laugh, from the bottom of my funny bone this time, nothing forced. I’m enjoying this. I’m enjoying him. I always have. Even when I’m all twisted up inside and tormented by my feelings. “I literally just admitted it. We are on the same page.”
“Ah,” he says, like a detective solving a crime. “That’s what threw me off. You and me agreeing.”
“Every once in a while it happens.”
“So, let me see if I have this right. We didn’t entirely agree on the Harry and Sally rules. We somewhat agree on the lessons of Clueless and we definitely agree on the wrongness of You’ve Got Mail.”
“But that’s the most important one to agree on,” I say. “Because cheating and lying are the worst.”
River’s expression turns serious, and his energy calms. “They are. It’s awful when it happens,” he says, his voice a little soft, maybe a touch of hurt in the set of his jaw over the reminder.
River was good to me when we talked about my ex. I can do the same for him.
I take another chance, setting a hand on his shoulder. This feels important to say for many reasons. “I still hate what Hayden did to you,” I say, gently. “I know you’re over it. I know it was a long time ago. But I want you to know that just like you hate Ezra, I hate Hayden.”
Now that I’ve voiced that, it’s like I’m speaking another language. Maybe an interpreter can translate for me: I don’t like your ex because he took you away from me, and treated you badly, and I would never treat you like that. If you gave me a chance, I’d be incredible to you.
Can River decipher the sentence?
The corner of his lips twitches. “You do?”
“I do,” I say, then squeeze his shoulder. Touching him feels so good. Maybe it does to him too, since he breathes out harder, and I hope that the same sensations running down my arm are running down his as well.
River jerks his face to me, locking our eyes for a few seconds, before he returns to the road. “Look at us, hating each other’s exes through all the years.”
All the years.
Yup, that’s what we have. So many years between us. So many pasts.
And the future of our friendship.
That’s the risk.
But I believe in the reward. I want the reward. I hope he does too.
“That’s what friends do,” I say, letting go of him.
“That’s definitely what they do. Friends,” River says, adding the last word maybe for emphasis, but it comes out a little wistful.
A little lonely too.
I want to tell River that if he’d let me be his lover, I’d be his friend as well. I don’t think I could abandon him ever.
I don’t have it in me.
Our conversation slows, then fades to silence as River focuses on the road. The sky turns whiter, the clouds swell, and the hint of snow is hardly a hint anymore—more like a damn billboard, flashing against the sky. White blankets the horizon. I check my weather app once more as a green sign looms on the side of the road. Markleeville—twenty miles.
My glasses slide down my nose, and I push them higher, peering at the forecast.
The weather says one thing and one thing only.
“So . . .” I begin.
“Yes?” River asks.
“The forecast calls for snow. And more snow. And then some more.”
He goes to that quiet place again, the one where I’m left guessing. The place I’m spending a lot of time in today.
And in this quiet spot, my mind operates as a train depot too, returning to Clueless and all the lessons from it.
I suppose the biggest one is when Alicia Silverstone sees what’s been in front of her all along in Paul Rudd.
My chest swells with new hope.
The hope that River will see that too.
The guy who’s been in front of him all along.