“You have a really great laugh, Dean.”
You have a really great laugh, Dean. Could I sound more stupid? Damn it.
“Why, thank you. I was born with it.”
I snicker, then force my hands to stay in my lap when my laugh gets out of control. Dean’s eyebrows pop high on his forehead and he smiles, all teeth, and extra enthusiasm.
“I don’t remember you being this funny.”
“Yeah, I started working out my humour muscles after the whole high school shit went down. Now, it’s all good, and I’m pretty hilarious.”
I chew my lip. “I’m really sorry about that. I don’t think I can say it enough.”
Dean shrugs, working off the pain of that day. I really wish he didn’t have to, that he still didn’t carry it with him. “It happened. There’s nothing we can do to change it. I’m an adult now, and enough time’s passed that I don’t really think about it anymore. So, just drop it, okay?”
“Will do.”
“I think this is the best comedy I’ve ever seen,” Dean says as soon as the movie’s over. To be honest, I don’t remember anything, or realized how fast it flew by. No, I was too busy watching him, being totally captivated by mundane things, like how he likes to crack his knuckles repeatedly, or the way he pops the cracks from his neck, or the way he throws his head back with almost every laugh that comes out of him. Stupid things, things that I never would have noticed before, that’s for sure. The kind of things that I think got MacLaine to fall in love with Sera. The kind of things that nobody really notices until you’re really looking. The kinds of things that seem to matter in the end.
But they’re also the kinds of things that can easily be forgotten as you grow old together and become different people. It’s exactly those kinds of things that get swept under the rug of time, and lost forever until all you remember is the resentment and lack of appreciation you’ve failed to receive in the past twenty years.
“Do I got a bat in the cave, or something?” Dean asks, swinging his head towards me.
My cheeks start burning when he catches me staring and I hurriedly shake my head. “I was just comparing you to the old you.”
He nods. “Yeah, I was a skinny kid. Then I decided to hit the weights and I’m better than the Terminator, baby,” he says in a horrible impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s accent.
“You were cute back then. Now…”
Dean goes very still, and all three dogs’ ears pop straight up like they can hear whatever I can’t see. He clears his throat, and just stares at me, looking over my face like I’m going to feed him a lie. “Yeah?”
“Well, I think you’re beautiful.”
He blinks at me like my words aren’t making any sense. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Dean nods, and absently strokes Pongo’s head sitting on top of his thigh. “No one’s called me beautiful before. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. How about you pick another movie instead? It’s been forever since I’ve taken a night off and just relaxed like this. On top of it all, you’re making amaretti cookies from scratch? Heaven’s got nothing on this place.”
“Doesn’t take much, huh? I thought you’d be more of a jewelry, expensive gifts kind of girl.”
Maybe I should be offended but a part of me is thrilled that he’s even talking to me at all, especially after I broke down like that. “I can buy my own stuff, thanks. You provide the gourmet meals and I think we’re set.”
Uh oh. What just came out of your mouth?
“Are we? Set?” Dean asks, quiet and unsure. I want to launch myself at him again and hug the shit out of him. And then I want him to squeeze me back, and never let me go.
Ah, the girly hormones again.
“That’s not what I meant, Dean.” I say, but the words are strangled and unsure.
“What did you mean, then?”
“I sort of would really like to skip this conversation. C’mon, it’s your turn to pick a movie. I’ll watch the shittiest horror movie you got, I don’t mind at all.” I’m grasping at straws and the look on his face tells me he knows it, too.
I’m so screwed.
“I don’t want to skip this conversation. This conversation is immensely appealing to me right now, more so than my dear, sweet Netflix.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t name your Netflix, did you?”
“She’s She-Ra, Princess of Power.”
Sera would get this reference in two seconds. Me? Not so much. But somewhere in the dregs of my childhood memories when life was easy and there were no bills to pay, I vaguely remember something about a blonde chick with a sword and a flying unicorn, or something like it.