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I shake my head, but he takes my chin in his fingers and tilts my head up to look at him. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see the concern that I know is splashed across his features.
“The twenty-first,” I say, my throat dry. “It’s been one month.”
“Since …” he says, realization dawning.
I nod and a tear rolls down my cheek, which he brushes away with his thumb. I reach up and grab his hand, holding it close to me. “A whole month since she died and I almost forgot.”
“But you didn’t,” he says, pulling me against his chest as I hold back tears.
Elijah’s hugs are something special. Warm and welcoming, the smell of laundry detergent comforting me as I press my face against his chest. I feel his arm around my waist, the other one holding the back of my head, his chin resting on top of my hair.
Within moments, I feel better, but I don’t let go. I want to stay here forever, tucked into his embrace, my arms wrapped tightly around the only living piece of Sasha’s DNA.
And then the doorbell rings, and the pizza delivery guy breaks us apart.
After lunch, we play the next movie on Sasha’s list. The Princess Bride normally makes me cry because I’m a huge softy for the poor farm boy, but now that Sasha’s watching it with us, I’m not sure I can survive without flooding the living room with tears.
“As you wish,” Sasha says longingly, putting a hand to her chest. She frowns into the camera and bats her eyelashes. “God, this is such a great movie. I always wanted to marry Westley, but not until after he became the Dread Pira — oh shit, never mind! Forget I said that. Spoiler alert, right?”
“Was she always this chatty?” Elijah says, stealing a quick look my way before turning back to the TV. “Or is she talking a lot for the sake of the video?”
“She was always this chatty. I was the quiet one in school, always in her shadow.”
“Did that bother you?”
I shake my head. “No way. I liked being the shadow. Sasha always knew what to say and do. People liked her. I was just … there.”
“She really loves romance. She gets real quiet during the mushy parts of these movies. She didn’t seem that mushy in our emails.”
“She was the biggest romantic I know,” I say wistfully. “She liked the way the love unfolds in a good story. I always preferred the moment the hot guy takes his shirt off, but she lived for the slow parts that led up to it.”
“I agree with my sister. The slow parts are the best parts.” Elijah looks like he might want to say something but he turns back to the TV. “Hey, is that Andre the Giant?” he asks, his face lighting up like a kid’s.
“Yep,” I say, making my voice low. “Anybody want a peanut?”
“Huh?”
I wave a hand, dismissing my stupid joke. “You’ll see what I mean in a minute.”
When the fifth movie is over, I stand to take it out of the DVD player, stopping to stretch my limbs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on the couch this long in my life,” I say, twisting to the side and stretching my arms up until my back cracks.
Elijah leans forward and looks at my computer screen. “I don’t think we have enough time for the last movie,” he says, looking at the back of the Harry Potter DVD. “It’s over two hours long.”
“Let’s just start it and watch as much as we can,” I say. For the fifth time today, I click on another movie link and another video of Sasha appears on the screen.
She’s redone her hair since the last one, and now it’s down, hanging loosely around her shoulders, the black headband still pressing against her forehead. She takes a sip from a soft drink can with a hot pink straw. “Okay guys, this is the last video of the day.”
She tells us about how much she loves Harry Potter and how Elijah should read all of the books and see all of the movies, but she won’t make it a requirement for now. I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the couch as I listen. If I keep them closed, I can almost imagine that Sasha is right here with us, sitting on the recliner.
The trill of a phone ringing interrupts Sasha’s monologue and I open my eyes. “Hmm,” she says, holding up her phone to the camera. “Looks like Rocki is calling me. This will be fun,” she says, winking at the camera. She answers the call and puts it on speakerphone.
“Hey, Boo,” Sasha says, her standard greeting for whenever I called.
“What are you up to?” I ask, my voice sounding weirdly echoey and not at all like how I think I sound. “Can I come over?”
Sasha’s eyes dart to the screen, her lips widening in this apologetic way. “Sorry, I’m kinda busy for the next” — she turns the DVD over in her hand and studies the back of it — “hundred and forty-two minutes. Can I call you as soon as I’m free?”
“Yeah,” I say with a heavy sigh. “It’s just Zack. You know the drill.”
