Better Than the Movies

by Lynn Painter

  “Thanks.”

  “Stop!” My dad strode into the room with a half smile on his face, cargo shorts, and a GOT MILK? shirt. “I need to get pictures, you two. Helena had stuff to do,” he said, his eyes landing on me. “But she’d kill me if I didn’t get photos.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek as the guilt curdled in my stomach. Because even though I’d meant what I’d said to Helena, I felt like trash for making her feel bad.

  “Of course.” Michael gave my dad a charming smile and said, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Buxbaum.”

  “You too, Michael. How are your folks?” As he said this, my dad gestured for us to go stand in front of the piano. “I heard your dad is a colonel now.”

  “He is.” We walked to the piano and faced the camera. “He got the official title change last year.”

  “Do we have to use a title for you now?” My father thought he was funny. “Like Junior Colonel Michael?”

  “Come on, Dad, he’s not the son of the chicken guy.” I rolled my eyes, and Michael laughed. “Just take the picture.”

  My dad directed us to stand in a super-awkward pose, with Michael’s arm around my waist, and I just shut my mouth and smiled to get it over with. Thankfully he was quick, and after about four shots he let us leave.

  “Have fun, kids.”

  “Sorry about him,” I muttered to Michael as we walked to his car. “He’s just as dorky as he always was.”

  “Your dad was always great,” he said, smiling as he opened the passenger door for me.

  “Yeah—I s’pose.” I grabbed a handful of long dress and got in, and looked out the window after he shut the door and walked around to the other side. I looked at my dad on the porch, smiling and waving all by himself, and it occurred to me that he could’ve been like that all along if he’d never met Helena.

  Alone.

  It was wrong that she wasn’t there.

  “So you’re good with Sebastian’s?” He pulled out of the driveway, and I noticed his car was immaculate. Clean, vacuumed, not a speck of vent dust—the interior was perfect. From somewhere in the center of my brain, I wondered if the inside of Wes’s car looked like that too. I mean, he’d clearly washed the outside of the Bronco. Was it to impress Alex?

  “Liz?”

  “What? Hm?” I blinked and came back from the delay. “Yes. Sebastian’s sounds great.”

  When we got to the restaurant, the hostess led us to a stunning table with white linens, a vase full of lilies, and white candles, already lit. I sat in one of the chairs and said, “Wow.”

  Michael sat across from me and immediately put his napkin on his lap. “I assumed that romantic Little Liz would want flowers before her senior prom.”

  “Wait, what? You got those for me?”

  He smiled and sighed. “It was the least I could do. I kind of caught you off guard, last minute, with the whole thing.”

  I lifted off my seat just enough to lean forward and smell the gorgeous flowers. How could he be that thoughtful? It was such a perfect gesture. “Yeah, not gonna lie, I was shocked when you asked.”

  “After what you said in the music room, I decided what the hell.”

  What exactly had I said? I racked my brain but I was clueless. I’d been so focused on Wes and Alex that I really hadn’t paid attention to Michael at all. Bad move, Liz.

  “What about Laney?”

  A shadow passed over his face before quickly disappearing. He said, “She’s going to prom with her friends.”

  “Oh. And you’re good with that?”

  “Here’s the thing. I have no idea what she wants, and I don’t want to waste senior prom trying to figure it out. I’d rather—”

  The waiter showed up, interrupting him with menus, specials, and drink offerings, and I could tell Michael was relieved. It was clear to me that he wanted Laney but was too afraid to put himself out there. He’d rather pretend I was his magical date, safe Little Liz but maybe something more, than risk going for it and getting denied.

  That should’ve made me feel like garbage, but I didn’t really feel anything about it. In fact, I felt the same about his non-burning-love for me as I would about his opinion on the whole ketchup vs. mustard condiment war.

  Utterly unaffected.

  Holy crap—I did not care.

  I felt more relaxed just by admitting it to myself. Because really—why was I forcing it? Michael wasn’t the one—no big, right? And maybe I wasn’t going to find the one. That was okay too, right? Why was I wasting my life trying to live up to the ridiculous expectations that I was setting for myself?

  I changed the subject by pointing out a twenties art deco print on the wall, and by the time the food came, we were in the thick of a conversation about The Great Gatsby.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Liz—I do. But Daisy’s sole purpose in the story is to be Gatsby’s unattainable dream. She is the green light. So she can’t be a monstrous antagonist.”

  I rolled my eyes and put a piece of steak in my mouth. “Wrong. His memory of her is the green light. Remember—‘His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.’ Once he reconnects with her in the flesh, she’s no longer the green light.”

  He nodded and spread butter on his roll. “That is true.”

  I said, “Daisy in the flesh is a monstrous antagonist. She toys with his affection, cheats on her husband, and lets Jay cover for her when she drives over her husband’s mistress. Then, when he’s murdered and left to be a pool bobber, she leaves town without ever looking back.”

  “Well,” he said, reaching out and grabbing his water glass, “those are all valid points. I still don’t think she’s the villain here, but you’ve succeeded in knocking her down a notch for me.”

  “Aha—victory is mine.” I dipped my fork into the creamy baked potato and scooped out a bite. “At this rate, before I die I’ll be responsible for turning hundreds of readers against Daisy Buchanan.”

  “A life well lived, I suppose.”

  We’d just finished with dinner when dessert showed up—he’d taken the liberty of ordering cheesecake for me ahead of time—and I very nearly fainted with gratitude.

  I stuck my fork into the cheesecake and asked, “How did you know I love cheesecake?”

  He leaned his face forward and said, “I didn’t—I just wanted it.”

  I smiled and felt the cheesecake slide against the roof of my mouth. “Well, it was still thoughtful.”

  “Hey, you guys,” came a voice from behind me.

  I picked up my water and took a sip.

  Michael said, “Hey, Lane.”

  The water went down the wrong tube and I started coughing. A tiny squirt shot out of my mouth, but I quickly recovered, catching the spray with my napkin, though it took me a solid ten seconds to stop coughing. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the restaurant on me as Michael asked, “You okay?”

  I blinked away tears and nodded, a couple more cough-spurts forcing their way out before I was able to say, “I’m f-fine.”

  Another cough.

  I tried for a calm smile as I took a deep breath and attempted to regain my composure.

  “I hate when that happens.” Michael tried making me feel less embarrassed by grinning and saying, “I swear it happens to me, like, once a month.”

  “Same,” Laney said, walking around the table as if to make sure I could see just how pretty she looked while I tried being a human fountain. “Drinking is hard, right?”

  Michael laughed and she smiled at him, and I kind of felt like spitting water at the two of them. Not because I cared that they seemed adorably perfect, but because it made me miss Wes. Laney must’ve realized she was just standing and staring at my date because she blinked and said, “Oh. Well, I should go back to my table. Have fun tonight, guys.”

  “You, too, Lane,” I muttered, and did a little wave with my fork. Yeah, some attitudes were hard to change.

  Michael looked a little lost for a second after she walked away, but h
e recovered and took a bite of his cheesecake. “Wow—this is really good.”

  I nodded and stabbed my cheesecake with my fork, scraping the filling all over the fancy plate. “Yeah.”

  I don’t know what I was thinking, but I asked, “Did you know her when you lived here the first time? Laney, that is.”

  His mouth turned up a little and he grinned. “Oh, yeah. She was a total brat back then and used to tell on me all the time at recess when I didn’t let her play kickball with us. I hated that little snot.”

  Okay, that made me smile. “I hated her too.”

  “Honestly, I expected her to grow into a total witch.”

  Hadn’t she?

  “But somehow she didn’t. Did you know that she volunteers every weekend at the animal shelter?”

  “Wow.” Seriously? Even though I was suddenly empathetic to Michael and Laney’s star-crossed-lovers plight, that didn’t mean I wanted firsthand knowledge that Laney Morgan was a better human than me. “Um, no, I did not know that.”

  “And she’s saving up so she can go on a mission trip this summer.”

  I wanted to flip the table and yell something along the lines of “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Instead I nodded and said, “I had no idea.”

  “But let’s talk about you, Liz.” He set his chin on his hand. “Wes told me that you’re ‘literally’ the coolest person he’s ever met, so you’ve changed a lot too. I mean, the last time I saw you before we moved, you wore a kimono and bright red lipstick to a neighborhood cookout. You ate your hot dog with silverware.”

  I laughed in spite of myself as he said, “That’s one hell of a level-up.”

  I cleared my throat and said, “Wes was exaggerating. I may not eat hot dogs with a knife and fork anymore, but I haven’t changed that much.”

  “Don’t be modest.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling, clearly looking for something. After around thirty seconds, he muttered, “Boom” and held out his phone for me to look. “See?”

  I took his phone and looked at the screen. It was a message thread between Michael and Wes, dated right around the time Wes agreed to help me.

  Wes: She’s definitely cute, but she’s also cool AF.

  Michael: She is? Thought she was always kind of high-strung.

  Wes: Liz is… different. She’s the kind of girl who wears a dress when everyone else wears jeans. She listens to music instead of watching TV. She drinks black coffee, has a secret tattoo, runs three miles every day rain or shine, and still practices the piano.

  Michael: You sound cuffed already lol.

  Wes: Whatever. What time are you going to be there?

  My eyes were scratchy as my heart stuttered in my chest. I gave an exaggerated eye roll and handed back his phone. “That isn’t real.”

  “What?”

  I sighed, and it occurred to me that it was a good time to fess up. Maybe if I confessed my sins, he could follow his heart and find happiness with Laney. Because why should they suffer just because I was a shitshow? I looked at him and said, “He was trying to help me. I asked Wes to talk me up to you, so that’s why he said all that. He was doing me a favor.”

  His eyebrows crinkled. “Are you serious?”

  I didn’t want to make things weird with him and Wes, so I just glossed over how planny it all had been and pretty much just said that Wes did me that tiny favor.

  He gave a little chuckle. “You really haven’t changed that much, then, have you?”

  That made me laugh. “Sadly not.”

  I went on to tell him about how my waitress uniform had actually been my favorite dress and how I’d totally made up The Diner, and we both laughed until we had tears in our eyes.

  I excused myself and went to the restroom while he settled the bill, and once the door closed behind me, it was a struggle to keep the tears at bay.

  Because—Wes’s text. God. Yes, he’d sent it to help me, but all those things he’d said? I wanted him to see me that way so badly. He’d gone above and beyond what I’d asked him to do when he’d sent that text, and now I would never be the same.

  “Oh. Hey, Liz.” Laney came out of a bathroom stall and began to wash her hands.

  “Hey, Laney.” I turned on the faucet even though I hadn’t even used the bathroom, and started washing my hands.

  “I love your dress—it’s gorgeous.” She smiled at me in the mirror.

  “Thanks. Same, only more,” I muttered, and gestured toward the long pink gown.

  “Are you okay?”

  I gave her side-eye in the mirror. “Yeah, why?”

  She shrugged and looked down at her hands. “You’re here with Michael Young, and he got you flowers and cheesecake and can’t stop looking at you, but you look sad.”

  Butt out, Lanesville.

  “Is it because of your mom?”

  “What?” I was so shocked by her words that I stopped lathering my hands. The only sound in the bathroom was the faucet continuing to run.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Laney’s smile dropped. “I’m tactless. I’m so sorry for saying anything. I just think all the time—when I see you—about how hard it would be not to have your mom around, especially during your senior year when everyone is sharing all these milestones with their parents. I’m so, so sorry for bringing it up.”

  I stared at my foamy hands and didn’t have words. Laney Morgan had seen something that no one else had, and it felt totally foreign to be understood by her. “No, it’s fine. I didn’t know what you meant.”

  She turned off her faucet and reached for a hand towel. “Still. Sometimes I can’t help sticking my foot in my mouth. I’m really sorry.”

  I raised my eyes to the mirror as I rinsed off the soap. “You’re right, though. It sucks. That’s not what my problem is at the moment, but that is always there.”

  “I can’t imagine. My mom still talks about you all the time.”

  “What?” I shut off the faucet and straightened. “Your mom remembers me?”

  Laney nodded. “She used to come up to school for lunch—remember how parents did that sometimes in elementary school?”

  I nodded and grabbed a towel, remembering how smiley her mom had been when she’d joined the class.

  “It was the year your mom died, and she said you had the biggest, saddest eyes she’d ever seen and she wanted to take you home with her. She always used to get an extra order of fries in case you wanted some, but you always just shook your head no.”

  I blinked hard then, but couldn’t stop one tear from escaping. “I don’t remember that, but I do remember how perfect your mom seemed.”

  “Oh no, Liz, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Laney grabbed a tissue and handed it to me. “Your makeup is perfect, so knock it off.”

  That made me smile, and I wiped at my eyes. “Sorry.”

  She leaned toward the mirror and checked her teeth before straightening. “I should probably go back. And Michael’s probably wondering where his date went.”

  She had the same slow-blink, slo-mo disappointment that Michael had when she said that. I breathed in through my nose before saying, “You know Michael only asked me as a friend, right?” It was practically true, so I didn’t add this to my tally of fibs that had been piling up lately.

  I swear to God, Laney Morgan looked nervous and awkward. She said, “No way! I saw the promposal. That can’t be true.”

  “It is. And Michael told me that you guys have been talking, but he also thought maybe you weren’t over your ex. Which is probably why he asked me to prom instead of you to begin with.”

  She looked like she didn’t know how to respond, but something that looked a little bit like hope sparked in her eyes.

  I glanced in the mirror and ran a hand over my hair. “If you have feelings for him, you’re going to have to tell him. He seems to be shy about putting himself out there, which is why he could never be the lead in a rom-com, by the way, so if you like Mike, you’re going to have to be brave.” />
  Her closed mouth turned up into a little smile and the girl’s princess eyes were sparkling. “Y’know, you’re kind of cool, Liz.”

  I was the antithesis of cool, but it was nice to hear. “Does that mean that you like him?”

  She nodded and her eyes got even bigger. “You have no idea. I have never felt like this before about anyone.”

  I rolled my eyes and tossed the tissue. “Well, then don’t drag your feet.”

  I went back to the table, where Michael looked ready to go.

  “You ready?” He set his napkin on his plate and looked at me expectantly.

  “Let’s go prom it up.”

  He laughed and we left, and as we drove toward the convention center where prom was being held, I wished I could just go home. I was happy that Michael and Laney were destined to have their magical night, but aside from that, no good could come from prom.

  Joss. Wes. Alex.

  Everyone I cared about—who was going to prom—didn’t want to see me.

  “I finished that book already, by the way.”

  “Which book?’ I glanced out the window as we passed McDonald’s.

  He cleared his throat, and when I turned, my head, he gave me a look. “That book.”

  That made me smile. “Of course. Like it’s brown-bag fodder. That book.”

  He started talking about the Bridgerton book, and I forgot about everything else in the world as he waxed poetic about how great a setting a pirate ship was. He and I discussed it right up until he was turning off the car in the parking lot.

  “We should probably go in, I guess?” I glanced at the event center through the windshield and was nervous for the first time since I’d been waiting for Michael to pick me up.

  “That’s how these things work.” He pulled out the keys and said, “Let’s do this?”

  I swiped gloss over my lips and opened the door. “Let’s do this.”

  When we got inside, Michael handed the security person our tickets, and the big bald dude looked at me with bored eyes. “Purse?”

  I shook my head and pointed to the front of my dress. “Pockets.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Nice. You kids have a good night.”

  “You too.”