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As the credits begin, I can see in my peripheral vision that Quade is staring at me. Once I detect he’s looking back at the screen, I shoot him a side-eye glance and notice he’s actually staring at my legs now…which are extended out onto the coffee table. How silly I was to think I could look ‘inconspicuous’ in a pair of massively baggy shorts. Feeling self-conscious, I tuck my legs under myself and reach for the popcorn just in time for Quade to thrust his hand into mine.
“You go ahead Cookie,” he says cordially, as I dip my hand into the corn with annoyance. Ten minutes into the film he’s staring at me again. Definitely staring. And what the hell is this “family drama” about, really?
By the second hour of the film, I’m not sure whether Quade’s watched more of the screen or me. And every time I reach for the popcorn his hand dives in under mine. It’s too late to say anything about the film now. Having been awkward from the first minute in, this feels more like a bizarre out-of-body experience than a movie viewing. I’m so uncomfortable that I’m actually trying to will myself out of the room without moving.
“What is up with this movie Quade?” I finally blurt out when we get to the scene where the two female stars begin erotically kissing. “This is not a family drama…this is a hot lesbian fantasy!” I stare at him accusingly in the blinking light from the screen.
“I’ve never watched it before Cookie. How was I to know?” he asks guilelessly.
Yeah right. “Didn’t you read anything about this film before selecting it?”
“Sure…a little bit. I thought you’d like it. I think it’s quite good, don’t you?”
“You thought I’d enjoy sitting on my couch with you and watching two chicks make out? You thought I’d enjoy that?!”
I can hear the scene getting steamier in the background of my yelling, and I’m ultra-relieved we’re staring at each other with hostility rather than watching it. I wish to keep yelling at least until the scene has passed, but it sounds like it’s just getting started.
In a moment of mounting anger and discomfort, I snatch up the remote and turn off the television. What’s shocking about the following minute is that the dead silence between us is way worse than the sex show was. Now what??
“Would you like to try something else?” I ask, trying my darndest to sound willing and easy-going.
“That’s alright. It’s a little late to start something over,” he replies, sounding so crushed that I almost feel bad.
We sit in terrible silence for another minute, until I nervously fish a few half-popped kernels off the bottom of the popcorn bowl and crunch into them with surprising volume.
“Cookie,” Quade starts back up, his sweetness apparently restored, “how about a little foot massage before I go? I can do that, just right in here on the couch.”
As opposed to?
One-hundred percent of me feels revile at the thought of Quade’s touch tonight, yet how can I turn him away in such a callous manner after his attempt to make the evening nice for me? After all, he probably knew little about the film and selected it based on a long string of fantastic reviews from snooty critics. That would be just like him. Again, I’ve allowed myself to get the willies over nothing.
“I don’t know Quade, I’m just not feeling very well. I think maybe the popcorn didn’t sit well with the chocolates I had earlier.” That sounds perfectly polite, not to mention realistic.
“Oh no Cookie…I was afraid of that. I could’ve seen that one coming,” he adds with a faux-scolding wag of his finger.
“Yeah yeah,” I respond faux-playfully, “I stand corrected.”
Good, the mood in the room has transformed nicely. Now he can leave peacefully and we’ll forget all about this off night. I grab the bowl and rise feebly, dragging my feet all the way to the kitchen to feign moderate illness. I set it into the sink, run a little water, and turn haggardly toward the staircase.
Quade closes in to hug me at the bottom of the stairs, but instead of the old pat-pat-pat he picks me up in a herculean effort to haul me up to my room.
“Put me down…Quade! Quade! No!” I quit kicking and screaming once he’s halfway up the steps, not wishing to make him falter now. Quade’s never been built enough to carry me up stairs before. I thought I’d noticed a recent increase in upper body size, but it’s hard to tell through most of his button-ups. Nonetheless, he’s panting and carrying on as if I were one big sack of potatoes.
By the time we pass through the threshold, I’m in an impotent rage…exhausted from mentally struggling against him all evening. I say nothing, but give him the death glare as he lays me across my bed with a look of pride.
“Is there anything I can get you, anything I can do for you at all?”
“No. Thank you. I just need sleep now.”
“Goodnight then Cookie,” he says as though he doesn’t see I’m furious.
“Goodnight,” I manage, softening my face enough to satisfy him so he’ll leave.
I allow him to pull my blankets around me and plant a kiss on my forehead. Surely I’m a horrible person to not better appreciate a friend like Quade. I eke out a smile as he walks toward the doorway, looking lovingly over his shoulder, then turns out the light and heads down the hallway. I nervously rerun the events of the night, staring wide-eyed at the dark ceiling.
So he accidentally picked an inappropriate film for the occasion. I didn’t need to make him feel like a leper over it. But then there was the gawking-at-my-legs thing. What was that?? We’ve been divorced for nine years and all of a sudden he’s talking about my dresses and fixating on my legs. Why didn’t he do that when we were married? I could have used a man with a pulse. But the notion of him having ‘those’ thoughts about me now is surprisingly grotesque.
I flip onto my side to get serious about sleep. Taking five deep breaths, I smile to myself in the darkness. Quade is gone, I’m in a very comfortable bed, it’s been a long day…it’s time to shut down the mental clutter.At six a.m. I awaken from the kind of icky dream I have on very rare occasion. I can hear the earliest robin out on the lawn, but it doesn’t save me from the muck that is my existence at this moment. I try to get back to sleep, to erase it, but I can’t get the flashing, vivid images to leave my mind.
