Page 50 of Doomsdate

“I can help—”

“But you don’t need to. This I can do, so let me.” His smile settles into my chest, and I leave, grateful for the out. I discover the gigantic master bath and take longer than usual to wash my hair, soaping all the parts of me that Everett might see, might kiss, might touch, then start over and do it again. Despite the wonderfully hot water and the relaxing embrace of steam enveloping every inch of my body, anxiety still burrows in my belly, pernicious and refusing to relinquish its grip.

You don’t know him, Gramps’s voice says.

We have rules. It will be fine, I counter.

People are dangerous, says Mom.

He won’t hurt me, I insist.

Are you sure? my own terrified heart whispers back.

I put on fresh underwear and exit the bathroom in a giant fluffy bathrobe I found, peeking through the door at the king-size bed beyond. Everett’s stretched out there on his stomach, freshly showered as well and wearing thin cotton sleep pants and a threadbare T-shirt that looks softer than Chicken. She’s there, too, having transformed into her signature gray loaf nestled to Everett’s side.

It’s adorable, and yet absolutely terrifying.

“Oh, you’re done.” Everett glances up with a smile that looks as soft as his shirt. “I’ve already got a movie cued up and ready to go.”

“You don’t want to…” I trail off, still frozen in the doorway between rooms, heart pattering against my rib cage like a heavy spring rain.

“I thought since you were feeling nervous about the lesson, maybe we could take things slow, see how it goes?” He pats the bed beside him. “After all, the classic first date is dinner and a movie. If you feel like learning anything later, your professor has office hours until”—he squints, the corner of his mouth lifted to match—“let’s say midnight. Then he’s probably gonna pass out.”

A small laugh escapes my anxiety prison. “Um, okay.” I make a mental note of midnight!, and with a deep, steadying breath, I perch on the edge of the bed. “What are we watching?”

Everett’s eyes light up as he presses play on his laptop, which magically projects onto the massive flat-screen TV I thought was a painting in its gilded frame on the wall until about thirty seconds ago. Will rich people never cease?

“Tonight, I’m taking you to Paris.”

The credits begin to wistful piano and the gold-green tones of a young child playing alone. The film’s title flickers first in French in a beautiful red scrawl, then again in plain English type along the bottom, which I read aloud: “The Fabulous Destiny of Amélie Poulain.”

“Or Amélie for short, as it goes by in America.” Again, he pats the spot next to him, then presses a button on a small remote, and the lights dim. “Come on. You’ll be able to read the subtitles better from here.”

“Okay, but I’m warning you—I’ve never really gotten into TV and movies, because I usually have so many questions. I might ask you to explain a lot.”

The faint lines at his eyes’ edges curve down to meet his smile. “Questions are encouraged.”

I slide next to him and Chicken on my stomach, already strangely transfixed by the images on the screen. The piano’s melody is halting, pensive yet lovely all at once, while the scenes of the lonely little girl exploring all the tiny pieces of her life by herself press in on me with such bittersweet familiarity that my throat tightens. “Why did you choose this?”

Everett’s eyes stay focused on the screen as he talks. “What you said today made me think of it. About how Shenandoah has been out there existing all the while you were, and you didn’t even know. This movie is, in many ways, about exactly that. That feeling. That our lives are all threads woven together at random. About all the beauty and pain existing right alongside ours that we’ll never know. And how that’s both the saddest and the most wonderful thing about life, all at the same time.”

I glance at him then. The same gold-green hue that saturates the film paints his face and hair in this dark bedroom, his eyes fondly tracking across a movie he’s no doubt watched many times. “That’s the only reason why?”

His eyes meet mine, so gentle. “Well, it’s also about an amazing, lonely girl that grows up into an amazing, lonely woman who, one day, bravely decides to expand her life as she looks for something bigger and more meaningful.” He smiles. “And it’s in Paris.”

I hmm thoughtfully. “You’re good at this, Professor.”

“Thank god, I’m still paying back my student loans.” His eyes widen. “Wait a minute, I think I just found this apocalypse’s silver lining!”

I roll my eyes and smile, then settle into the vivid greens and reds of Amélie’s story, the dulcet lilt of the French narrator’s voice, and the feel of Everett’s warm body next to mine. I could swear no time’s passed at all when the credits reappear over Amélie and her new love’s smiling faces, but the clock says it’s now nine p.m., and that strange, buzzing, bittersweet happiness that permeates the movie has settled around my shoulders like a warm shawl.

“So, what did you think?” Everett prompts as he rolls onto his side to face me, one hand propping up his head.

I mirror his position, still buried in the cozy plush of the rich people’s bathrobe. His eyes dance across my face. He knows I loved it. He caught every time I teared up, every laugh, every happy little sigh.

“That guy she fell in love with? Could’ve been a murderer.”

Everett barks out a laugh. “What? No way!”