“Sure. You keep telling yourself that.” She grins. “Out of respect for you, I guess I won’t hit on him.”
“Do what you want. Noah and I are just friends and that’s fine.”
She watches me with interest, waiting for more.
I eventually settle on saying, “My life isn’t the sort of situation most sane people want to be a part of.”
“But you’ve dated, right? After everything with Ryan?”
“Not so much.”
Her lips turn down at the edges. “That’s sad.”
“It’s also because I’m reluctant to put myself out there. And I am working on that.”
“Good.” Her smile returns. “Oh my, God. Do you remember Adam Moore?”
“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. We spent a whole summer staring at that poor boy.”
“Whatever happened to him?”
“Last time I saw him was senior prom,” I say. “He and his boyfriend seemed happy.”
She barks out a laugh.
Here’s another thing I forgot—how Grace lets the happy out good and loud. Back in the day, her mom would drive her out at the start of the summer and stay a night. Then do the same when it was time for my cousin to go home. Those were the only occasions Grace would turn down the volume on her laugh. We used to debate which was worse—a dead mom or a shitty one. Both probably require immense amounts of therapy.
Grace’s phone sits with its screen down on the table. A good idea for not getting distracted during a conversation. She picks up another book from the pile on the table. This time it’sI’ll Be Gone in the Darkby Michelle McNamara. My therapist might have a point with it being an obsession. “I know this one too,” says Grace. “He used to give me so much shit for watching true crime.”
“The ex-fiancé?”
She bares her teeth in a smile. “He said it was morbid and prurient. God, he used to go on at me. What do you think?”
“I think it’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“There’re some valid lizard brain reasons why watching true crime feels good. I mean it helps us become more aware ofdanger and hopefully learn how to avoid it. We’re educating ourselves, which can be useful. But then we also get to feel relieved that we’re not the victim, you know?”
“That’s kind of awful. What else have you got?”
I down some more coffee. “Well…I feel like it gives us the opportunity to feel compassion and fear and horror in a safe environment. Also, people love solving puzzles, so…”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Yeah. Of course, there are massive and complex issues around consent and financial compensation for victims and their families and the need to restrict the dramatization or romanticizing of these stories.” I pause to take a breath. “Oof. Sounds like I am giving you a lecture. You will not be tested on this later.”
“Keep going. I’m interested in what you have to say. Your life…your experiences…they’re pretty damn unique.”
“Mm.”
She sits on the edge of her chair with her gaze locked on me. “Sidney, did you know his mom is talking to the documentary people?”
“No. But Dianne talking to them doesn’t surprise me.”
“She said a psychic told her it was all your fault. That you’re the one who should be in prison. What do you think of that?”
I shrug. Because seriously, what is there to say?
