How long has it been?” Beau peers at me over the tub of buttered popcorn on the armrest between us.
“Ages. Our last official date was twenty-three days ago. But who’s counting?” I take a breath and a slurp of my large soda and regret how I declined the gigantic refillable option. “Though it occurred to me that maybe you had broken up with me and hadn’t had time to officially tell me.” My hand reaches for yet another mound of artificial yellow kernels.
His face turns toward me and his lips move but a blast of surroundsound obscures his statement. The vertical crease between his eyebrows suggests it was not a reciprocated laughable comment.
I pull the tub toward me and clear our speaking space. While the pop cans and licorice ropes are dancing on the screen, Beau leans in. “I meant since we started going out. This is our nine-month anniversary.” He shakes his head.
“Oh. I knew that. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I marked it on my calendar at work. You can check. Circled in red. Right there on the seventeenth of June.”
It is no use. I have killed his effort at romance with my surly comment about our nonexistent dating pattern.
The movie begins. The movie I have been so excited to see that I circled its preview date in red months ago is now running on the screen before me. I cannot hear the intense dialogue about how a very unnatural disaster is about to hit the coast of Florida. I cannot enjoy the handsomely square jaw and brilliant blue eyes of the lead male. Even the fake butter flavoring turns to battery acid in my mouth. I have squelched Beau’s attempt to get our love life back on track.
It isn’t until much later—until the leading man and leading lady are flying in a helicopter over debris and see a limping golden retriever and they brilliantly land on the precarious roof of a former post office to rescue the dog that Beau grabs my hand in his long enough to calm my racing thoughts but briefly enough to keep them revved.
I cross my legs rather than go to the restroom because I don’t want to leave his side. Not until we have resolved this. I regret my tendency toward one-liners, but surely by now the guy’s nervous system is immune to my under-the-breath musings, my offhand remarks.
Twice I catch Beau looking over at me. There is a touch of regret in his eyes. Is it a reflection of my own or all his?
Credits are running by the time I get the nerve to nudge his elbow. He mouths, “Sorry” and closes his eyes. Placing the tub down between my feet so there is nothing between us, I lean in and kiss him.
The kiss is so great I wish we had started cliché movie date kissing earlier.
“Did you really remember it was our ninth anniversary?” he asks.
How to answer. How to answer. “Yes.” Pause. “After you mentioned it. But I loved the movie. Who knew Aftermath would be that ever-so-special combination of thriller, disaster movie, and big-screen romance?”
He laughs and I know it is safe to offer him the unopened Milk Duds—the gesture I was afraid he would reject earlier.
“I want us to spend more time together, Mari. I know that I have been selfishly caught up in the program. Let’s find a way to get back to our old way.”
“Should people have an old way to do anything at nine months?”
“We can,” he says optimistically.
I try to focus on his positive attitude rather than the depressing thought that we are at a place in our relationship when we need to strive for, work toward, hope beyond hope for connection to reemerge.
Maybe I need to readjust my version of relationship. Maybe real love never measures up to romance in the movies—even disaster movies.