means to—even a lot of people who really didn’t—sent their kids abroad to study. It’s easier for Nigerians to do that than people from other African countries, because the official language is English.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Not many Americans do. It’s one of my mother’s pet peeves, when people tell her that she ‘speaks English very well.’ English is her first language, and she went to boarding school in the UK. Her ‘English’ is better than ninety percent of Americans’.”
“Oh, I get that at least once a month at the restaurant,” Jos says. “I enjoy that almost as much as when customers say that I’m a credit to my people.”
“Do you have that thing happen where people confuse you with another POC in your school? Because that happens to me about once a week.” I’ve gotten so used to people mistaking me for Andre Jones that I automatically respond to his name.
“Oh my God!” Jocelyn simpers. “I love it so much when that happens! Microaggressions are the best.”
I laugh, feeling giddy at how natural it feels to have Jos in my home, sitting next to me, shooting the breeze. I fiddle with the TV remote, flicking it with my finger as I rack my brain for something else to do so we can hang out longer. The idea, when it comes to me, is a no-brainer. “Do you want to watch any of the extra features?”
Jos’s face lights up. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
The first featurette we watch is an interview with Susan Zirinsky, the TV producer who partly inspired Holly Hunter’s character, Jane. It turns out that Jane’s daily crying jags—the ones I’d just chalked up to Hollywood overdramatization—were real.
“I often have these moments when I don’t think that I’m the right person for this job, and that somebody who’s smarter should be doing it,” Zirinsky says in the interview. “I’d like to say that I grew out of these thoughts when I turned fifty… but I didn’t.”
I’m not sure if this is reassuring or crushing, coming from a woman who’s now president of CBS News. All I know is, for a second, it’s pretty nice to not feel alone.
JOCELYN
Watching bonus features is definitely my jam—in fact, I’m kind of surprised I didn’t think of it myself—but eventually I have to take a bathroom break. Afterward, I maybe linger a few seconds too long in the hallways to look at pictures of baby Will, cradled in the lap of his sister, who looks about two years old. The photo album confirmed that his dad is definitely white. I can tell by the pictures on the stairway—a steady march of festively clothed portraits—that the Domenicis are the type of family to send out tastefully designed holiday cards each year. I bet they’re on thick cardstock, not like the flimsier photo paper ones my Big Uncle sends out to his more prominent business associates, complaining about the cost every time.
When I get back from the bathroom, Will is flipping through the remaining extras.
I blink as I sit down. “What? There’s a bonus ending?” Priya would freak out if she knew. “We have to watch that.”
The alternate ending is introduced by James L. Brooks, the film’s director. He explains that when they first gave test screenings of the movie, it did really well, except that everyone wanted a more satisfying resolution to the romance, so they reshot a reconciliation scene at the airport between the producer, Jane, and the pretty-boy anchor, Tom.
“Hoo, boy,” I say as I settle back into the couch. “This is going to be good.”
While I was in the bathroom, Will made another batch of popcorn, which he brings in a ginormous bowl that he puts between us. It’s a bit of a balancing act, and I move my right leg a little bit farther to the right to steady the bowl, just as Will does the same with his left, and our knees touch.
Who knew your knee had so many nerves? My toes curl at the contact, and I remember what it felt like to hug him, how warm he was.
Next to me, Will has gone completely still. He doesn’t move away, but he keeps his eyes focused on the TV, where Tom has just thrown himself in Jane’s cab.
Holy mother of God, William Hurt and Holly Hunter can act. There’s a grainy unfinished quality to the cut, a rawness that triggers a tightness in my chest as the characters argue and fight and ultimately kiss in a way