That night, Bennett picks me up from Lucky Monkey as promised. He drives us out past Pasadena in his old Ford Mustang convertible that looks like it should still be in the shop with its half-painted and patchy body.
“Is this car road-safe?” I ask, gripping the front of my seat. My waved hair lifts in the wind as we fly down the highway.
“Of course it’s road-safe,” Bennett says. “Just remember when you eject through the windshield, you want to go headfirst. You don’t want to slow things down because then there’s a chance you might survive. And you don’t want to survive something like that.”
I tighten my seat belt over my lap.
“That’s just to keep up appearances,” he jokes.
I run my hand over the cream-colored leather seat. “The article from earlier,” I say tentatively, “I’m sorry about that. That was a lot.”
Bennett casts his eyes in my direction and shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Another article, a good one, came out shortly after, so in a way they kind of cancel each other out, I guess.”
“I’m glad,” I say, staring straight ahead at the stream of glowing red taillights.
We’ve passed three different exits when I start shouting out clues on traffic signs for where we might be going, but Bennett refuses to answer my guesses. Maybe he figures out what ideas to steal at a dumpling restaurant in the San Gabriel Valley or at an art museum. At this hour, though, museums are closing. I lean back against the car seat and search for stars against the October night sky. I only find the quiet appearance of the moon with a glowing half halo, its illumination gaining strength as the minutes pass.
Bennett taps his hand against his leg to an imaginary song, keeping his eyes safely on the road. When he slows the car and pulls into an outdoor drive-in movie theater, I’m slightly confused. Bennett pays for our tickets and is instructed by a man in a neon orange vest where to park.
“The drive-in? This is where you get your best ideas?” I ask disbelievingly as I watch cars line up in front of a massive screen. I’ve been tricked!
“I wasn’t kidding!” Bennett turns the wheel into our spot. “Movies help me get out of my own head. My thoughts are clearest here.”
“Clearest when you’re watching…” I look over at the poster of tonight’s screening. “…Practical Magic?”
“A good movie transports,” Bennett says, undoing his seat belt. “This one’s witchy, and it’s what happens to be showing tonight. Have you seen it?”
“I have. It’s good,” I say nonchalantly. I watch it every single year in the lead-up to Halloween, but he doesn’t need more data points on me.
Bennett reaches behind his seat to grab something. “Dinner,” he says, holding up a brown paper bag with plastic containers piled to the top.
“Don’t they sell food here?” I ask.
“I wanted to prepare something special for you.” Bennett sets the containers on top of the dashboard. He passes me a paper plate and wooden chopsticks. “And this way we know what the food we’re eating is actually made of.”
Through the plastic, I spot rolled rice and seaweed, but it can’t be what it looks like. “Is that,” I say, leaning closer to the containers, “sushi?”
“Handmade. I also brought popcorn, Peanut M&Ms, Twix, and Red Vines for dessert. The candy here is way overpriced.”
“Right. So this is where you came up with your idea for ZodiaCupid?” I ask as Bennett removes the lids off the containers.
“No, that was somewhere different.”
“I see. Then what kind of ideas do you get here for your business?” I probe. Tonight cannot be a waste. “Is this where you thought up the idea for this mysterious product launch happening?”
“All my best ones, and actually, yes. But you still have to wait to find out what that one is.” He ignores my groan of protest and reaches for the bag of candy, setting it between us.
I look toward the backseat. “Any chance you’ve got a slushie machine back there?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” he says with a laugh. “I like that about you. One second.” He jumps out of the car. I watch him run to the concession stand and return with large blue raspberry slushies in each hand. “I’ll splurge for slushies.”
I poke the straw into the blue icy slush. “Any chance you’ve got a money machine back there, too?” I ask.
“If only,” Bennett says, resettling into the driver’s seat. He twists a button on the radio to find the right station for the movie.
“Does this radio even work?” I ask in a teasing tone.
“It’s the first thing I fixed,” he says.
The screen in front of us lights up, shining light onto the hoods of everyone’s cars. “You didn’t have to handmake sushi! This must have taken you so long,” I say, picking up a piece of sushi with my chopsticks and biting into it. “Whoa. What’s that flavor?”
Bennett rolls up the sleeves of his slate-gray sweater and watches as I try to figure out the flavor pairing. “It’s pumpkin, sage, and brown butter,” he finally says.
“Sage! Yes, that’s it. Unexpected. I don’t stray too far from my usual sushi suspects. This is different.” I take another look at the center of the sushi. Soft grains of rice wrap around cooked pumpkin with minced fresh sage and brown butter, the crispy dark seaweed exterior adding a salty finish.
“I know it’s unconventional, but I think the flavors really work well together.” Bennett pops the entire piece of sushi into his mouth.
“They surprisingly do. It’s nice, actually,” I acknowledge.
Bennett smiles. “I’m happy you like it.”
We watch the opening scene of the movie as we alternate between bites of sushi and sips of slushie. There’s a comfortable silence between us as we eat.
“Can I tell you something?” I whisper to Bennett.
“Okay,” he whispers back.
“I’ve always wanted to experience a drive-in movie.”
“I hope it’s to your satisfaction.”
“Four and a half stars,” I say.
“That’s my highest review yet,” he says gratefully.
I try to stifle a laugh. “Why are we whispering? We’re not in a theater,” I continue speaking quietly.
“Then I can do this?” Bennett rips open the bag of Peanut M&Ms and crunches a handful of candy between his teeth.
“And this.” I chomp down on the Twix bar but there’s hardly a sound.
“Shhh!” he says playfully.
Amusement bubbles up inside of me. I hug my arms around my body, my sweater the only barrier against the cool evening air. Bennett pulls two blankets from the backseat and offers me one.
“Thanks. You’re like a magician,” I say, accepting the blanket.
“I come prepared.” Bennett holds his blanket in front of him, shielding his face before dropping it and ducking as though he’s disappeared.
“Impressive,” I tease, fluffing the blanket over my lap. The glow from the screen illuminates his face.
“What’s your favorite movie?” Bennett asks.
“I can’t pick just one movie as a favorite,” I say. “Love Story for a good cry, To Catch a Thief for love in a stunning setting, 10 Things I Hate about You for the dialogue, anything and everything by Nora Ephron. It depends on my mood.”
“Great choices. You could be in the love business.” Bennett grabs a handful of popcorn. “So you prefer the rom-com classics?” he asks before I have to respond.
I run my hand along the edge of the striped blanket and nod. “I do. The humor was wittier, less vulgar.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Movies now have to involve capes and powers or over-the-top visuals to be a hit. Is it too much to ask to watch regular people trying to figure out life?”
“Movies now are a literal escape from reality. But to me, love stories are the best escape. What’s your favorite movie?” I ask, taking a sip of slushie.
“Don’t laugh, but it’s Big,” Bennett reveals.
“Why Big?” I ask, assuming it’s because he’s in such a hurry to get to the end destination.
Bennett sits back against the driver’s seat, placing his arm up on the window. “I watched that movie so many times, thinking about how cool it would be to turn into an adult overnight. All I wanted to do was grow up.”
“Were you trying to grow up to impress a girl and ride on the adult roller coasters like Tom Hanks did in the movie?” I prod. “Or were you trying to rush to the finish line? It would be very Rat-like of you.”
Bennett rests his free hand on the steering wheel. “Yes, it’s true, the Rat won the Great Race.”
“The Rat played tricks on the other animals to secure his first-place spot. He got his free ride on the backs of others—”
“Like the Ox who helped him cross the river,” Bennett interjects.
“Um, yes, that’s right,” I say, surprised by how much he actually does know. “Then he jumped onto land before the Ox could move fast enough to get to the finish line. I googled this out of curiosity.”
“Uh-huh. Well, sounds like a smart animal to me,” Bennett says, smiling. “You don’t think that’s all a myth?”
“I like to believe there’s a tiny bit of truth to it,” I say. “Whether it’s legend or the zodiac itself, these are bigger concepts for people to believe in. To find comfort and reasons for why things are the way they are. A way to make sense of the world.”
He quickly blinks a few times. “And you think Big being my favorite movie has something to do with…the Great Race somehow?”
I shrug. “You tell me.”
Bennett raises his left eyebrow. “I wanted to be bigger because I had a pretty tough childhood. I became obsessed with anything that promised an escape,” he explains, a wave of sadness seemingly washing over him. He clears his throat. “My mom died when I was six.”
“Oh,” I whisper, my pulse quickening. I redden with shame for all the assumptions I carelessly made. For the conclusions I jumped to in my article. So much for Vent Drafting. “I’m so sorry, Bennett. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been.”
Bennett speaks toward the screen, the creases between his eyebrows deepening. With his profile facing me, I can look at him for as long as I want. “When I’d ask my dad about her, he’d just get sad and change the subject. He couldn’t feel his way through the pain to teach me. I grew up wanting to know who she was, what her favorite flower was, what kind of music she listened to when she did the laundry…would she be proud of the man I’ve become?” He grunts softly.
“I’m sure she’d be proud of you,” I say. Even with the slushie, my throat feels dry when I swallow. My heart pounds so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if it burst its way through my chest and flung itself over the convertible’s windshield. His honesty only reminds me of my own lies. The weight of my secret is like a rolling snowball gathering more and more snow. I can’t keep pushing off telling him who I am. He needs to know the truth.
Bennett glances over at me with sad eyes. “Everyone handles their grief differently. That was his way,” he says, justifying his father’s actions.
I stay quiet, listening to him open up.
“I was so mad that she was taken away from us,” he continues. “Taken away from me and that I knew nothing about her. I felt like I lost control.” Bennett keeps his tone steady. “I spent weekends at the library learning everything I could about my culture so I could feel like she was a little more familiar. A little less gone. I took back control.”
“Which is how you know so much about the zodiac,” I say, more to myself than to him.
“I only experienced it through Lunar New Year parties and children’s books up until I was six, but that was so long ago I hardly remember. I taught myself the rest. I’m still learning.” Bennett’s expression is unreadable. “I became obsessed with things that were tangible, in my hands or in my mind.”
“Like data,” I say.
Bennett dips his head. “Numbers don’t lie to you; they don’t make fun of you. They’re reliable.” He laughs somberly. “A few years ago, I found my mom’s diaries.”
“And you read them?” I ask.
“I did,” he says, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face.
“I’d do the same,” I confess. “I have a theory that people write diaries so that their children discover and read them. It’s a way of documenting history and to be seen when time has wiped the memories of us away.”
Bennett relaxes. “I hope so. She wrote a lot about how important the Chinese zodiac was to her and how it helped her understand herself as a woman, as a wife, as a mother.”
“Well, I think that’s poetic. You learned about your mom through her own words. In the way that she would’ve wanted you to know her.”
Bennett nods. “What surprised me most was that she used the zodiac to learn more about herself. History informing the present. She wasn’t so strict about compatibility and who belongs with who.” He flashes me his crooked smile, and under the navy sky, it looks more pronounced. It nearly melts my heart. “Honestly, she and my dad were incompatible, but they had the happiest marriage. I always found it fascinating that they were incompatible on paper but still had the best relationship.”
“I see,” I say, looking down at my blanketed lap.
“It’s not like now I know everything,” he says. “But it was a starting point to learning more about who she was. And in a way, who I was. That’s why the article was so upsetting earlier. I’ve felt like a walking identity crisis for most of my life, and it was called out.”
The best I can do is muster up the courage to nod. It’s a weak attempt, but it’s better than nothing.
Bennett looks up at the moon. “You wanted to know where the idea for ZodiaCupid came from. My mother.”
My stomach twists into knots. Now is not the right time to tell him the truth. Exposing myself will have to wait.
“Sorry, I’m being a big bummer right now,” Bennett adds. “I don’t usually share this with people. Kind of a habit I picked up from my dad.”
“No, I’m glad you told me,” I say. All I want to do is make him feel better. What’s happening to me? Instead, I just grip my slushie tighter. “Thank you for sharing such an important part of your life with me. An important part of you.”
Bennett nods and looks down at his hands. “I watched Big shortly after, and well, from then on, I begged my dad to take me to the amusement park every weekend so I could find that fortune-teller machine in real life.”
“Also, Tom Hanks.” I nudge him gently. “You can’t go wrong with any movie that has Tom Hanks in it.”
“He’s the, what is the term people use? G.O.A.T.?” he says with a hint of sarcasm.
“He’s a Goat?” I ask, trying to make him laugh. “When’s his birthday?”
“No, the Greatest of All Time,” he says, grinning.
“Oh, right, of course,” I agree. “He’s such a goat.”
I can sense Bennett watching me intently. Emotions stir inside me that I haven’t felt in a long time. I almost don’t recognize myself. Why do I want to hug him and not strangle him right now?
Ahead of us on the screen, Sandra Bullock runs into town to kiss the man she loves. A chill runs through me at the awareness of my proximity to Bennett.
Bennett adjusts in his seat and says, “Did you know that Thomas Edison was responsible for the first on-screen kiss in a movie?”
His fun fact comes out of nowhere, and I dissolve into laughter. His mood seems to lift.
“It was 1896,” he continues, “during a time when kissing publicly was scandalous. People went wild for it. It’s hard to calculate the percentages of how many chemicals are released when two people kiss, like oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine, but—”
“Hey, Bennett,” I say, still smiling.
“Sorry, you’re trying to watch the movie,” he says, shifting his position.
“No, it’s not that. I know there’s a lot happening with chemicals in the brain when people kiss, but what they’re trying to portray up there is a relationship. Here, give me your hand,” I say.
Bennett skeptically reaches his hand toward me.
At first, I hesitate but then grab his hand in the name of proving a point. “Do you feel that?”
“Do I feel what?” he asks, looking at my hand on top of his. The tips of my fingers graze against his knuckles.
“A sensation running through your body?” Or is it just me? “That’s not numbers and data. It’s a connection between humans. That’s what matters.”
Bennett dips his head. “Right. Connection.” He flips his palm up, and our fingers lock into place.
“When two people find each other and connect…it’s an inexplicable kind of magic,” I say.
It isn’t until Bennett gives my hand a light squeeze that I realize our hands are still touching. I quickly pull my hand away and tuck both between my legs. Bennett draws his hand back and rests it on his knee.
“The only magic I’m used to is the one that happens when numbers properly add up or how data can give you greater insight into making better decisions and products. Through data, we can better understand people,” Bennett explains.
I shake my head. It takes time to really know someone. Compatibility doesn’t just magically happen through computer code. “Not completely.”
I look toward the movie screen, pretending to be particularly interested in the scene. We cast side glances at each other every few seconds.
Bennett grabs the Peanut M&Ms and tilts it toward me in an offering. “Here, you can have the rest,” he says, giving the bag of candy a little shake.
“Are you sure? I don’t have anything to exchange for it,” I joke, “unless you like melted slushie.”
There’s a glimmer of amusement in Bennett’s eyes as he places the candy into the palm of my hand. “Being here with you is all I need.”