That stuns him and he leans forward to make sure he didn’t mishear her. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Bianca?” he says, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips, swallowing against a very dry throat.
“Yeah?”
“You know how we said we weren’t gonna . . . that we wouldn’t . . .” He trails off, not even able to verbalize it, because if he says the words, he’s probably going to launch himself across the couch and pull her into his lap and . . . when did they get so close together? His knee is nearly touching hers, and if he shifts his weight just a little bit, she might slide off her cushion onto his and then . . .
She sits back, eyes wide, and nods, her hands gripping her thighs, which he can’t look at now because all he wants to dois replace her hands with his. “Right, yeah, we . . . need a distraction. What about . . . a movie?”
She’s up off the couch and away from him, the space beside him suddenly empty.
“A movie . . .” he manages to choke out, “yeah, that should . . . yeah, should get us through. Wait, is that a VHS player?”
“Oh my God, of course, you haven’t seen their collection.”
“Their collection?”
Across the room, there are massive cabinets framing the huge TV that is hung on the wall. She swings open the cabinet doors and there, from almost floor to ceiling, are the pillars of his childhood. Large, almost bubbly white boxes made of plastic, the colorful spines listing the movie title, nostalgically familiar, igniting memories that he hadn’t even realized he’d stored away.
“Holy shit.”
“Right? Some of them are from when Erik was a kid, but they’ve tracked down a ton more.”
“Is thatOliver & Company?” he asks, squinting, but recognizing the color palette almost instantly, like you would an old friend across a crowded room.
“Oh my God, yes,” she says, “my underrated favorite.”
“Myactualfavorite.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, easily. Why, what’s yours?”
“Robin Hood, obviously.”
“That’s obvious?”
“Have youseenRobin Hood?”
“Of course I have.”
“Not the movie, thecharacter.He is by far the hottest Disney character ever.”
“Bianca, are you a secret furry?”
She snorts and laughs, that deep throaty sound she makes when she really finds something funny.
“Uh, no, he is hotdespitehis species.”
“You’re serious?”
“Oh yeah. I mean, first, he’s fighting the good fight against an unjust ruler. He’s a little bit arrogant maybe, but his sheer competence outweighs that and he’s just . . . he’s just so unashamedly in love with Marian. He doesn’t play it cool or pretend at all. He respects her and he’s completely devoted to her and doesn’t care who knows it. It’s incredibly sexy.”
And thus, forty-five minutes later, full of nostalgia and quoting the movie as they go along, each settled into their own corners of the couch again, she gestures wildly at the screen.
“See! Look at him. He’s just so unapologetic about it. There’s no grandstanding; none of that confession is about him. He loves her and he thinks he’s about to die, so he just tells her, as simply and as earnestly as he can. It’s beautiful.”
