Page 94 of Her Wicker Guardian

He nods and takes three more.

I turn back to the television before he catches me smiling.

A few minutes later, Locke speaks without looking away from the screen.

“They think he is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

“He has not hurt them.”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because they don’t know what he is.”

Locke is silent.

I wait for another question, but none comes. After a moment, his hand moves into the popcorn bowl again.

We keep watching.

At some point, I realize the distance between us doesn’t feel awkward anymore. The bowl is still between us, our knees aren’t touching, and my hand isn’t exploring the fine fibers of his arm.

Nothing bad happened because I moved away. Locke hasn’t asked why or tried to close the space again. He hasn’t looked hurt or confused or made me responsible for reassuring him. I changed what I was comfortable with, and he accepted it.

Maybe that shouldn’t feel remarkable, but it does.

On the screen, the story gets harder to watch. Locke stops eating during the worst parts. Once, his hand goes into the bowl and stays there without taking anything, but I don’t look at him.

When the credits finally roll, Locke keeps staring at the television.

I wait.

After several seconds, I ask, “Did you like it?”

“Yes.”

“What did you like?”

He’s quiet long enough that I expect something about the giant being made of metal or the fact that he can fly.

Instead, Locke says, “He did not have to be what they thought he was.”

“No. He didn’t. He got to decide who he was.”

“He could choose.”

“Yes.”

Locke looks at the credits moving up the screen. “I liked that.”

“I can see why.”

He turns toward me. “Connor knew.”

“Connor got lucky.”