Momloves Twilight. She read all the books when they came out and went to the opening night of each movie release. Which is why I knew she’d say, “Ugh, that Kristen Stewart. She was perfect for Bella.”
“You know…” I start, pushing my rice around my plate as Igather my courage. “I heard she did a Christmas movie. Maybe we can watch it this year.”
“Christmas?” Dad says. He is vehemently against anything Christmas before the day after Thanksgiving.
“I’m not saying we should watch it tonight. I’m just saying, did you know she did a Christmas movie?”
“What, like aTwilightChristmas spin-off?” Mom asks, her brows pinching in confusion.
Of course, to my mom, Kristen Stewart only exists as Bella.I, on the other hand, courtesy of Hannah, know that Kristen Stewart has gone on to become something of a lesbian icon.
“No, it’s not related toTwilight. Twilightwas, like, her big break. But now she does a variety of things. She came out as gay. The Christmas movie is fiction, but it’s related to that.”
Mom looks genuinely surprised and glances at Dad, who is honestly more interested in his seared shrimp. In all fairness, the shrimp are incredible.
“I had no idea,” she says, eyebrows raised. “That’s… interesting.”
“You were obsessed with those movies,” Dad chimes in. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
“Right?” I say, keeping my voice upbeat and casual, not wanting to give away how excited I am that neither of them seems weirded out. “I mean, I think it’s cool. She’s pretty private, but she’s open about it now. I figure, good for her.”
Mom nods slowly, leaning back in her chair. “Huh, you know, I thought some of her red-carpet looks had gotten… edgier over the years. Now it makes sense.”
“She found her style,” I agree.
Mom takes a second to sip her wine and swirls the little bit left around in her glass, thinking. “Well, now wehaveto watch it,” she reasons. “That way we can compareTwilightKristen to Christmas movie Kristen.”
I refrain from telling her Kristen Stewart has been in more than just the Christmas movie sinceTwilight.Instead, I say, “After I finish my homework, I’m there!”
“Y’all better make your own popcorn. I don’t want either of you sticking your hands in mine.”
Mom rolls her eyes while Dad gives each of us pointed looks. Lucky for him, I know there’s a pint of Earl Grey ice cream in the freezer that has my name on it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
For once, I’m glad that both my parents are working overnight at the hospital. I’m still working my way up to introducing Hannah to my parents, but I figure getting their permission to have her over on a night when both of them are working at least puts the idea of her being around in their minds. And it means Hannah and I can have the house to ourselves. We can craft in peace instead of in paranoid panic. It also means that we get to hang out alone. Just the two of us.
We end up going out of our way to Evergreen in Kent to pick up Chinese food. Hannah laughs at me when I pile tong full after tong full of vegetable lo mein into my Styrofoam dish, but I don’t care. Something about the greasy, savory noodles always seeps into the empty parts of my soul and makes me feel whole. Plus, why else would they make one out of three of the sections in the container half the size of the container if not to pile in your favorite selection from the buffet in bulk?
At my house, we spread out on the floor in the living room with a couple beach towels underneath us to protect the preciouscarpet, our crafting supplies for the festival posters unpacked but pushed to the side while we handle the most pressing matter first—eating the food before it gets cold.
“They really should deliver,” Hannah says through a mouthful of crab rangoon. “They are missing abigopportunity there.”
“Is it weird that a small part of me wanted to apply to Kent State just so I’d be close to Evergreen?” I ask, laughing a little.
“I think that’s the most rational way to choose a college that I’ve ever heard.”
We eat, the soft sound as I chew my noodles mixing with the crunch of Hannah biting into shrimp chips, accentuating the emptiness of the house. The hallway lights are off, and with the sun down, only darkness spills in from the open bedroom doors. The kitchen sits behind us, moonlight turning the countertops and finish on the cabinets glassy.
“Do you ever get scared being here by yourself?” Hannah asks.
“No, not scared, just lonely sometimes,” I say. “I usually keep the TV on. And I’m not home alone every Friday, but on ones like this, it’s easier to focus and do my homework.”
“I thought you did your homework every Friday anyway.” I catch amusement sparking in her eyes.
“I do,” I say, knowing she’s only teasing. “It’s just that when one or both of my parents are home, we usually have dinner together and watch a movie or something, andthenI do my homework.”
“What are your parents like?” she asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin. When she puts her napkin down and doesn’treach for another rangoon or an egg roll, I realize she’s giving me her undivided attention.