Page 17 of Regretting You

Chapter Eight

Clara

I left the house as soon as my mother went to her bedroom and slammed her door.

I’m not supposed to leave, so I’m sure this will extend however long I’m grounded for, but at this point, I don’t care.

I can’t be cooped up inside that house for another minute.

Everything reminds me of my father. And every time I look at my mother, she’s sitting quietly in random spots, staring at nothing.

Or snapping at me.

I know she’s hurting, but she’s not the only one. All I did was ask her where Elijah was and why she left the house with Jonah, but she completely overreacted.

Will this be how it is from now on? My father is gone, so now she feels she has to compensate for his absence and be even stricter on me? Who gets grounded from their own living room?

I’m grounded from my phone, so my mother won’t be able to see where I am.

I was afraid she’d call the police, so before I left, I wrote her a note that said, “ I’m really hurting.

I’m going to Lexie’s for a couple of hours, but I’ll be home by ten.

” I knew if I threw in the “hurting” part that maybe she wouldn’t be so angry.

Grief is a beast, but it’s also a great excuse.

I drove to Lexie’s house after leaving my own, hoping she’d be home, but she wasn’t.

Now I’m sitting in the parking lot of the movie theater, staring at Miller’s truck.

I pulled in because I was thinking how nice it would be to sit in the dark theater for an hour and a half and forget the outside world even exists. But now that I know Miller is working tonight, I’m not sure I want to go in. It’ll seem like I came here on purpose, seeking him out.

Maybe I did? I don’t even know.

Either way, I’m not going to stop going to the movies anytime he’s working, simply because he’s got a girlfriend. I’m also not going to stop going just because I’m worried it’ll be awkward.

I mean, the guy bought me drugs. Can’t get much more awkward than that.

The outdoor ticket counter window is closed, but Miller is inside. I watch him through the glass doors for a moment. He’s wiping down the concession stand counters while Steven, the guy who sold him the weed, sweeps up random spills of popcorn.

The lobby of the theater is quiet when I walk inside, so both of them look up when they hear the door open.

Miller shoots me a small smile and stops cleaning when he sees me. I’m suddenly more nervous than I anticipated I’d be.

He presses his palms onto the counter and leans forward as I approach him. “I figured you’d be grounded.”

I shrug. “I am. She took my phone and banished me to my bedroom.” I look at the menu over his head. “I escaped.”

He laughs. “Final showings started between thirty and forty-five minutes ago, but you can take your pick. Theater four is the emptiest.”

“What’s playing in four?”

“ Interstate. It’s an action flick.”

“Gross. I’ll take it.” I pull money out of my purse, but he waves it away.

“Don’t worry about it. Family gets in free. If anyone asks, tell them you’re my sister.”

“I’d almost rather pay than pretend we’re siblings.”

Miller laughs and grabs a large cup. “What do you want to drink?”

“Sprite.”

He hands me the Sprite, then wets a handful of napkins in the sink behind him. I look at him with confusion as he hands me the wet napkins.

“You have stuff,” he says, dragging a finger down his cheek. “Makeup. From crying.”

“Oh.” I wipe at my cheeks. I don’t even remember putting on mascara today.

I seem to be going through the motions of life without actually being aware of any of the motions.

I wasn’t even aware that I was crying the entire way here.

Hell, I’m probably still crying. I can’t even tell anymore.

My guilt over knowing I was texting Aunt Jenny the moment she had the wreck, coupled with the gaping loss I feel for both of them, doesn’t feel like it’ll ever go away.

The tears that seemed to only come at night are starting to follow me into the daytime.

I thought time would make it better, but so far, time has just allowed my feelings to build and build.

My heart feels swollen, like it might explode if even one more small tragedy finds its way in.

Miller makes me a large bag of popcorn as I wipe away my mascara.

“You want butter?”

“Lots of it.” I toss the napkin in a nearby trash can, not even concerned if I got it all. He douses the popcorn in butter.

“Don’t forget. If an employee asks for a ticket, you’re my sister,” he says as he hands the popcorn to me.

I put a few pieces of popcorn in my mouth as I back away. “Thanks, bubba.”

He makes a pained face after I call him that, almost as if it’s a gross thought. I like that the thought of us being relatives repulses him. That means there’s a chance he’s imagined us together in an entirely different capacity.

The popcorn is stale.

I’m sure it’s because the concession stand was shutting down when he made me a bag.

Can’t expect fresh popcorn at the end of the night.

But it’s so bad that I’m pretty sure this popcorn is the reject pile that’s been resting untouched at the bottom of the popcorn machine since it was first popped this morning.

I’m eating it anyway.

I chose to sit in the back row in the corner because there are only two other people in here, and they’re in the middle. I didn’t want to sit in front of them because I planned on crying through the whole thing, but it’s actually an interesting enough movie to keep my mind off things.

I didn’t say it was a good movie. Just interesting.

At least, the main character is interesting.

She’s a no-holds-barred badass with shoulder-length hair that whips and sways with her every movement.

I’ve focused more on her hair than on the story line.

My hair is long, down to the middle of my back.

My dad loved my hair long and talked me out of cutting it off every time I got the urge.

I pull at a strand of my hair and slide my fingers down the length of it. I’m tired of it. I think I’ll cut it off soon. I’m due for a change.

“Hey,” Miller whispers. I look up just as he’s taking a seat next to me. “How’s the movie?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about cutting off my hair.”

He reaches into my popcorn and grabs a handful, then leans back in his seat and props his feet up on the chair in front of him. “I have scissors behind the concession stand.”

“I didn’t mean right now.”

“Oh. Well, whenever you’re ready. The scissors stay here, so just show up, and I’ll cut it.”

I laugh. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to cut it.”

“Okay, but fair warning. Steven is better at sweeping up popcorn and selling weed than he is at cutting hair.”

I roll my eyes, resting my feet on the back of the seat in front of me.

“New flip-flops?” he asks, staring at my feet.

“Yep. Did some real shady shit for these.”

Miller grabs another handful of popcorn, and we don’t speak for the next few minutes. The movie comes to an end, and the only other people in the theater get up to leave when the credits begin rolling. He digs his hand into the popcorn again.

We’re not doing anything wrong, but it feels like we are. Before he sat down next to me, I felt numb, but now my body is charged with adrenaline. Our arms aren’t even touching. I’m hogging both armrests, and he’s leaned away from me, probably to avoid any form of contact.

But still, it feels wrong. He’s sitting next to the one girl we both know he shouldn’t be sitting next to. And even though it makes me feel guilty, it also makes me feel good.

The credits are still rolling when Miller says, “This popcorn is really stale.”

“It’s the worst popcorn I’ve ever had.”

“It’s almost gone,” he says, indicating the bag. “Doesn’t seem like you minded.”

I shrug. “I’m not picky.”

More silence passes between us. He smiles at me, and a surge of heat rushes through me.

I look into the bag of popcorn and shake it around like I’m trying to find a good piece because I don’t want to look at him and feel this for someone who has a girlfriend.

I don’t want to feel this for anyone. Feeling anything remotely good makes me feel like a shit human considering the circumstances of the past week.

But he’s still staring at me and hasn’t made a move to leave yet, and since he’s blocking me from the aisle, I feel forced to make conversation.

“How long have you worked here?”

“A year.” He settles into his seat a little more. “I like it okay. I think the idea of working at a theater is more exciting than the reality of it. It’s mostly just a lot of cleaning.”

“But you get to watch all the movies you want, right?”

“That’s why I still work here. I’ve seen every movie released since I started. I look at it as preparation for my career. Research.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“Of all time?” he asks.

“Pick one from the past ten years.”

“I can’t,” he says. “There are so many great ones, and I love them all for different reasons. I love the technical aspect of Birdman . I love the performances in Call Me by Your Name . Fantastic Mr. Fox is my favorite cartoon because Wes Anderson is a goddamn genius.” He glances at me. “What about you?”

“I don’t think Fantastic Mr. Fox counts.

It seems older than ten years.” I lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling.

It’s a tough question. “I’m like you. I don’t know that I have a favorite movie.

I tend to judge more on the talent than the story line.

I think Emma Stone is probably my favorite actress.

And Adam Driver is the best actor of our time, but I don’t think he’s landed the role of his lifetime yet.

He was great in BlacKkKlansman , but I’m not crazy about some of the other movies he’s been in. ”

“But did you see the Kylo Ren skit?”