The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,134

a militia took shape and the men forced to be in the same room together started telling stories and airing old grievances. At one point, one character sang a song, and then immediately after, another character sang a song, which made me wonder if they were just trying to extend the running time, or if everyone in the fifties knew that this was when you were supposed to take a popcorn break. It helped that the actors were good singers, though it did stretch logic a little—if you could sing that well, would you really be in a dusty jail in Texas? Wouldn’t you have been in vaudeville or something?

“Those guys could really sing,” I said, when the singing portion of the movie appeared to be over and everyone on-screen seemed to suddenly remember that they were actually in mortal danger.

My dad looked over at me from where he was lying on the couch. “Those guys?” he repeated, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” I said, pointing to the screen. “Those two. They were good.”

My dad sat up and paused the movie, then turned to face me fully. “They should be able to sing,” he said, a concerned expression starting to take over his face. “That’s Ricky Nelson and Dean Martin.”

My dad said these names like they were supposed to be somehow significant to me, and I just nodded. “And they’re, um, good,” I said, starting to regret I’d ever said anything.

“Oh my god,” my dad said, shaking his head. He pointed to my phone. “Get Sabrina on the phone,” he said, in the kind of voice I’d heard him use in his D.C. offices, the tone that sent interns scurrying to do whatever he needed done.

“Um,” I said, even as I reached for my phone. “Why?”

“Because she needs to hear about this,” he said in a tone that absolutely didn’t invite discussion.

I called Bri, put the phone on speaker, and hoped she wouldn’t answer. When she did, on the third ring, I took a breath to start talking immediately, but Bri beat me to it.

“Andie,” she said, sounding happy to hear from me. “Hey! I’m . . . I’m actually really glad you called.”

“So here’s the thing,” I said, jumping in so that she would know my dad was on the line and wouldn’t start talking about how hungover she was, or my plans to sleep with Clark at some point in the undefined future, or anything. “Um, I’m here with my dad. He wanted me to call you. . . .”

“Wait, what?”

“Hi, Sabrina,” my dad said, moving over to speak into my phone. “Alexander Walker here.”

“Hi, Mr. Walker,” Bri replied politely, but I could hear the confusion in her voice.

“We have a situation here. We’re watching Rio Bravo—”

“Excellent choice,” Bri said, all the confusion gone now that we were talking movies.

“And my daughter apparently has never heard of Ricky Nelson or Dean Martin.”

“Andie,” Bri said, sounding scandalized. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” I asked, looking from my dad to the phone, feeling the need to defend myself. “What’s the big deal?”

“I’m sorry about this, sir,” Bri said, chagrined. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I just thought you should know,” my dad said, looking at me and shaking his head. “It’s a failure on my end too, of course.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said, picking up my phone and taking it off speaker. “It’s just me now,” I said to Bri as I headed out of the room.

“Not too long,” my dad called after me as he picked up some papers that were stacked on the coffee table. “We’re watching The Searchers after this!”

“Oh, that’s such a great movie.” Bri sighed as I closed the study door behind me and walked a few steps down the hall.

“Come over,” I said immediately. “I think we have some bagels left.”

“No, thanks,” Bri said, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I’m on concessions for the five thirty show.”

“You’re working so much lately,” I said. Bri didn’t respond, and a moment later I felt bad for bringing it up—but more and more these days, it was getting harder to see her. She was either working at the Palace, or texting at the last minute that she wouldn’t make the Orchard or pool hangouts because she had to close up the theater.

“Yeah,” Bri finally responded. “I’m really sorry about that. Things are just . . . kind of crazy. At work.”

There was something in her voice that made me stand up straighter. Since Bri almost never told