Page 110 of Colliding with Ten

“You know what I’ve never understood?” I changed the subject because talk of the clock and the team finding out led nowhere good. “The Krabby Patty formula. Why doesn’t Plankton just open his own restaurant? He’s intelligent. The man has a computer for a wife.”

She lifted her head off my chest and stared at me. “Are you . . . Are we doing this right now?”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

“You want to talk about SpongeBob at twelve in the morning. After everything we just did.”

I deadpanned. “The timing feels right.”

She dropped her head back onto my chest and cackled. I kept going because I wanted to hear her laugh as much as I could.

“And another thing. Squidward is the most undervalued employee in that entire operation. The man shows up every day to a job he hates, works next to an optimistic colleague, and still performs.”

“You identify with Squidward?” She lifted her head, face lighting up. “Oh my God, you’re a Squidward.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t hate my job. Well, maybe some parts of it. But I love my job, and I’m good at it.”

She gave me a dubious look.

“I’m a professional who shows up and performs regardless of external circumstances. If that makes me a Squidward, I’ll take it.”

She wiped her eyes. “I’m going to think about this every time I see your press conference. I’ll remember that man is a Squidward.”

“You’re going to watch my press conferences?”

She went still, folding her lips behind her teeth, and slumped back against me. “Maybe.”

I made a note to remember that. We kept talking. Her voice got lower as the hours passed, her sentences getting shorter and with more pauses in between. But she kept asking questions, and I kept answering, afraid it would be over in a blip. At some point, the conversation drifted to Christmas movies, then to one of the few Christmas movies I loved.

“It is a Christmas movie. It takes place at a Christmas party. The entire plot is set in motion by a Christmas party. He’s in Los Angeles because of Christmas. The villain’s plan depends on the building being empty because of Christmas Eve. If you remove Christmas from Die Hard, the movie doesn’t exist. Therefore, a Christmas movie.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” she said.

“People who disagree are unserious. And I’ll tell you why⁠—”

I had the next point ready. It was a good one. I was going to talk about the soundtrack, Let It Snow, playing over the credits, and how every element of the film was structured around the holiday as a narrative device. I was going to make the case airtight.

But I didn’t remember finishing the sentence. The last thing I recalled was her curls against my chin. I had more to say, but my mind became foggy, and my eyes grew heavy as I tried to finish my point.

24

THE EXIT

AYLA

His breathing changed as he explained why Die Hard was a Christmas movie, calling anyone who disagreed “unserious”. Mid-sentence, one hand gesturing above the sheets, his voice dropped lower with every word, and then nothing.

I watched him as my mind spun. I couldn’t relax next to a man I’d be embarrassed to drool in front of. His arm draped across my waist. Even asleep, his hand held me. My fingers touched the scar near his thumb I’d asked about earlier. He blamed it on a fishing trip with his brothers when he was younger.

Don’t do this to yourself.

I pulled my fingers from his, gathering courage before it was too late. Nothing I did would wake him. He slept like a man who didn’t worry about much, slack-jawed, his body sinking into the sweet oblivion of the mattress. But that could change soon. I had to move if I planned to leave.

If I woke up here, he’d look at me the way he had tonight, and I wouldn’t be able to leave. I’d stay for breakfast, then lunch, then another conversation that ran until one of us fell asleep, and the distance between my life and this one would vanish.

I turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling fan as it rotated. His mother had hugged me tonight. A real hug, with both arms and a squeeze that left her perfume in my clothes. She’d cupped my face afterward. “He doesn’t usually allow people into his space.” I wondered if she knew what would happen between us. That in a few hours, we’d be doing very adult things in his bed.

The clock read 4:47 when I opened my eyes again. Shit.