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So I took it off and went, “Well, I’m here,” which is a toolish thing to say, because, well, duh, I was standing there, wasn’t I?
But Michael kind of seemed to recover himself. He went, “Oh, hey, come in, you look… you look really beautiful,” which of course is exactly the kind of thing a guy who is about to break up with you would say, you know to kind of bolster your ego before he grinds it beneath his heel.
But whatever, I went in, and so did Lars, and Michael went, “Lars, my mom and dad are in the living room watching Dateline , if you want to join them,” which Lars totally did, because you could tell he didn’t want to hang around and listen to the Big Breakup.
So then Michael and I were alone in the foyer. I was twirling my tiara around in my hands, trying to think of what to say. I’d been trying to think what to say the whole way down in the cab, but I hadn’t been very successful.
Then Michael went, “Well, did you eat yet? Because I’ve got some veggie burgers….”
I looked up from the parquet floor tiles, which I had been examining very closely, since it was easier than looking into Michael’s peat-bog eyes, which always suck me in until I feel like I can’t move anymore. They used to punish criminals in ancient Celtic societies by making them walk into a peat bog. If they sank, you know, they were guilty, and if not, they were innocent. Only you always sink when you walk into a peat bog. They uncovered a bunch of bodies from one in Ireland not too long ago, and they, like, still had all their teeth and hair and stuff. They were totally preserved. It was way gross.
That’s how I feel when I look into Michael’s eyes. Not preserved and gross, but like I’m trapped in a peat bog. Only I don’t mind, because it’s warm and nice and cozy in there….
And now he was asking me if I wanted a veggie burger. Do guys generally ask their girl
friends if they want a veggie burger right before they break up with them? I wasn’t very well versed in these matters, so the truth was, I didn’t know.
But I didn’t think so.
“Um,” I said, intelligently. “I don’t know.” I thought maybe it was a trick question. “If you’re having one, I guess.”
So then Michael went, “Okay,” and gestured for me to follow him, and we went into the kitchen, where Lilly was sitting, using the granite countertop to lay out her storyboards for the episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is she was filming the next day.
“Jeez,” she said, when she saw me. “What happened to you? You look like you swapped outfits with the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
“I was at a ball,” I reminded her.
“Oh, yeah,” Lilly said. “Well, if you ask me, the Sugar Plum Fairy got the better deal. But I’m not supposed to be here. So don’t mind me.”
“We won’t,” Michael assured her.
And then he did the strangest thing. He started to cook.
Seriously. He was cooking .
Well, okay, not really cooking, more like reheating. Still, he fully got out these two veggie burgers he’d gotten from Balducci’s, and put them on some buns, and then put the buns on these two plates. And then he took some fries that had been in the oven on a tray and put them onto the two plates, as well. And then he got ketchup and mayo and mustard out of the fridge, along with two cans of Coke, and he put all that stuff on a tray, and then he walked out of the kitchen, and before I could ask Lilly what in the name of all that was holy was going on, he came back, picked up the two plates, and went, to me, “Come on.”
What could I do, but follow him?
I trailed after him into the TV room, where Lilly and I had viewed so many cinematic gems for the first time, such as Valley Girl and Bring It On and Attack of the 50 Foot Woman and Crossing Delancey.
And there, in front of the Moscovitzes’ black leather couch, which sat in front of their thirty-two inch Sony TV, sat two little folding tables. Michael lowered the plates of food he’d prepared onto them. They sat there, in the glow of the Star Wars title image, which was frozen on the TV screen, obviously paused there.
“Michael,” I said, genuinely baffled. “What is this?”
“Well, you couldn’t make it to the Screening Room,” he said, looking as if he couldn’t quite believe I hadn’t figured it out on my own yet. “So I brought the Screening Room to you. Come on, let’s eat. I’m starved.”
He might have been starved, but I was stunned. I stood there looking down at the veggie burgers—which smelled divine—going, “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You aren’t breaking up with me?”
Michael had already sat down on the couch and stuffed a few fries in his mouth. When I said that, about breaking up, he turned around to look at me like I was demented. “Break up with you? Why would I do that?”
“Well,” I said, starting to wonder if maybe he was right, and I reallywas demented. “When I told you I couldn’t make it tonight you… well, you seemed kind of distant—”
“I wasn’t distant,” Michael said. “I was trying to figure out what we could do instead of, you know, going to the movie.”
“But then you didn’t show up for lunch….”
“Right,” Michael said. “I had to call and order the veggie burgers and beg Maya to go to the store and get the rest of the stuff. And my dad had loaned our Star Wars DVD to a friend of his, so I had to call him and make him get it back.”
