Page 39 of Make Me Laugh

West and Enzo are playing Mario Kart on my original Nintendo 64 when Frankie and I return to the living room. “If I run into one more of your bananas!” Enzo complains with a gruff accent.

“Banana, banana, banana!” West pumps his fist in the air when the screen lights up and announces his first-place victory. “I’m embarrassed. As your best friend, I’m so embarrassed that I’ve allowed you to be this bad at Mario Kart for all these years.” He pats Enzo on the back when he comes in last place. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I promise to do better.”

What the fuck am I getting myself into, and how many more times am I going to think that over the next two days?

West stands and puts the Nintendo controllers back in their place and stretches his arms over his head, yawning. I can’t help my eyes travel to the small bit of his exposed torso. Not only does he have a pretty face, but the body he plasters all over social media is ever better in person. He pulls the backwards hat off his head to run a hand through his soft and shiny hair, and I silently pray to any god who will listen that he puts it back on the right way… He doesn’t, so I cuss all the gods out instead.

He catches me staring, but thankfully chooses to comment on the sweater I’ve had since freshman year of high school. “Ah, Harvard. You’re like the emo Elle Woods. Where’s Bowser?”

Frankie and I both cock our heads in the same direction at the same time, except I say, “huh?”

And she says, “you mean Bruiser?”

West draws his brows together. “Wait, you mean he’s not named after the character from Mario?”

“Have you never seen Legally Blonde?” Frankie scoffs.

Frankie has played Elle Woods twice. Once in high school, and then once again her senior year of college at Boston University where she majored in Performing Arts.

West doesn’t look like the kind of guy who spends his night watching chick-flicks and memorizing their pets' names. I’m not sure why she’s so shocked.

“Fuck,” I murmur, interrupting Frankie’s indulgence of her fourth favorite musical—behind Little Shop of Horrors, Hadestown, and Hamilton. “Frankie, you’re gonna hate this…”

She already knows, and she’s doing her best for my sake not to show how much she doesn’t actually want to do it. “I’ll feed Grim tomorrow.” The words make Frankie swallow what I’m sure is bile.

“Grim? Do you have a cat?” West looks around for the sign of a pet.

“She’s definitely nicer than a cat,” I admit.

Frankie groans, “just nowhere near as fluffy or cute.”

I lead them into my second bedroom, turned filming room, slash library and office. One wall is covered in masks from floor to ceiling. Mixed in with the most recognizable of the horror characters are some more niche choices most might not know.

My personal favorites are the custom Hex pieces I’ve gotten made over the years.

The opposite wall is filled with shelves of books and a built-in glass enclosure spanning two shelf spaces.

Inside the small walk-in closet is a desk fit to size and storage for props and filming equipment. I needed a quiet place to work on days when I didn’t go into the office, and this was the coziest place to do it with no distractions.

I reach inside the glass enclosure and pull out my piebald ball python, Grimoire. She curls around my wrist, looking like I woke her from a pretty important nap. “I rescued Grim as a baby about ten years ago.”

Frankie stands with her arms crossed at the door, never wanting to be too close to my snake-daughter—her literal niece. “Correction, she stole her from a pet store. Jo fucking slipped her into her pocket and walked out.”

She had no idea until we got back to her car, and I whipped a snake out of my hoodie.

“They were starving her! Was I supposed to leave her there?” Grim flicks her tongue out a few times, making me smile. I love the creepy crawlies others think are scary and gross.

Enzo takes a step forward. “Can I hold her?”

“Held many snakes?” I ask.

“My uncle had a ball python named Bowtie when I was a kid.” He smiles when I pass Grim over and she curls up in his palm.

“You would be a snake girl,” West chides with a laugh.

We don’t spend long with Grim, Enzo bound to keep us on track despite the snake-holding detour.

Frankie walks us out, nodding lazily while I repeat what she’s heard a million times before. “Go to the pet store right outside Cambridge and get the baby mice. They’re a little more expensive, but they’re better for her and won’t bite if she doesn’t eat them right away.”