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“Oh,that’swhere you draw the line,” I deadpan, reaching for a packet of ketchup.
We continue eating our fries, covered in vanilla milkshake for Rhylan and dipped in ketchup for me, and we slurp up the last of our milkshakes, conversing in between. People gather in a small open area in front of the entrance, excitedly dancing to fifties rock ‘n’ roll music and decked out in rockabilly attire. The sun is slowly setting behind us yet still gives a bright enough glow for the dancers to enjoy the ambiance.
“This is so amazing. I can’t believe people still dress up like this.”
“They do this almost every night. People just come together and relive the fifties,” he explains to me.
“It’s so nice. And entertaining.” I giggle as an Elvis impersonator takes the makeshift dance floor. His awkward steps cause him to lose his balance, but he gracefully moves along to the music as he catches his own feet.
“So, is Ellie short for something? Or is it just Ellie?” he asks. He bobs a fry into his milkshake, concentrating on creating the most accurate fry to milkshake ratio.
I purse my lips through a small smile, a little surprised that he knows that Ellie isn’t my full name. “It’s short for Eleanor. I was named after my grandma.”
“Eleanor. I like that. I think I like that better than Ellie,” he says thoughtfully.
“But no one really calls me that,” I explain. “At least, I ask peoplenotto since it sounds so formal. Except for my mom and my friend Claire. They usually reserve it for when they mean business. Claire especially, when she’s trying to convince me to join her for her daily fill of caffeine or margaritas.”
He smirks, the corners of his mouth lifting up in a genuine smile.
“How did you know that it was a nickname?”
“I have an aunt we call Ellie. Her real name is Elaine though,” he explains.
The music changes from an upbeat tune to something slower paced. I hear the crowd makeawandoohsounds in approval of the shift in song.
“You go to UCLA? What are you studying?” he asks me, eyes peering at me from the side and his straw hanging out the corner of his mouth.
“I—um… I’m a literature major.” I smile shyly. “Mainly because of my dad.”
He smirks, a small gust of a breath rushing through his nose to signify understanding. “That makes sense.”
“I didn’t realize how much our relationship influenced my future, even after he’s been gone for so many years. It’s sort of paved a pathway for so many things I didn’t even realize. I still read the books he gave me. They’re all worn and soft now, but I sort of love that about them.”
“Then you have to have a favorite book. One that you could take with you if you were ever to be stranded on an island.”
“That’s like asking someone to pick their favorite food,” I say skeptically.
“Pizza.”
“Pizza,” I parrot back.
“Yeah.”
“If you had to live off one food for the rest of your life, it would be pizza?”
He nods.
I give an exaggerated eye roll and a smirk. When I don’t answer his question, he patiently waits.
“Fine. If Ihadto bring one book with me if I somehow planned to be stranded on an island, it would be…A Walk to Remember.”
I watch as his lips twitch, a suppressed smile peeking through the corners of his mouth before they downturn instead, nodding along with a fake approval.
“You’re going to judge me now on my choice of literature?”
He shakes his head. “No, I just… It’s not what I expected.”
“It’s called a comfort read, for your information. A book that you gravitate to because it brings you comfort, of all things.”
