side of the couch. We’ve done this millions of times. Sometimes she’s even fallen asleep with her head in my lap. One time when I fell during a soccer game, she made me stay up all night to make sure I didn’t have a concussion. I woke up the next morning and we were somehow entangled together. Her head on my stomach and my arm around her back, my boner straining my track pants. She didn’t let me live that one down for years.
“How about this?” The yellow box on the screen is around a chick flick. “It’s supposed to be funny.”
“Fine.” I don’t have the heart to argue with her because I’m just happy she’s here. “Just so we’re clear, that’s two you owe me now.” I hold up two fingers.
She laughs, clicking on the button. “Okay, after this movie, I’ll watch two of your boring documentaries.”
She leans back, and I stand and turn off the lights so we can watch in darkness.
Fifteen minutes into the classic rom-com movie where two people hate one another but are secretly in love, Juno pauses the movie. “Did you see that popcorn? Let’s make some.”
“I need to find a movie where they don’t eat,” I say.
She stands from the couch. “You love recreating the food from movies.”
“Eh.”
“What about that time we made the sandwich from Spanglish? I didn’t hear any complaints then.” She’s got me, but I never would’ve made the sandwich if she wasn’t rewinding the movie and watching it fifty times over.
“The tiramisu from No Reservations was a pain in the ass.”
She grabs the microwave popcorn from my cabinet and takes it out of the plastic bag. I love how comfortable we are in each other’s space. “Yeah, we’ll leave that to Rome now.”
We both laugh.
She punches the buttons on my microwave and slides up on the counter. “It’s not going to be the same. We should buy a popcorn maker if we want it to look like that.”
“That’s stretching it kind of far.” I pull out chocolate chips and drop them on the counter. Her eyes light up. “What about the Pulp Fiction cheeseburger?”
That might’ve been the best thing ever.
Her head falls back. “Ah, don’t remind me because I’m going to drag you to the grocery store right now to buy the ingredients.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“Tell me, Mr. I Don’t Like to Recreate Foods from Movies, which would you choose, the cheeseburger from Pulp Fiction or the huevos rancheros from Wolf of Wall Street?”
I grab a bowl and put it in Juno’s lap before taking the popcorn out of the microwave and shaking it into the bowl. “That’s a hard one. I guess as long as the food doesn’t talk, I’ll take any of the meals.”
She kicks me in the thigh and I back away, laughing. When we were nine, we watched Shrek and Juno refused to eat gingerbread men or women. She even put a tray of them that her mom made on the back porch to be set free.
“It’s not funny.” She hops down from the counter and stares at the bowl of popcorn. “This isn’t going to cut it.”
I shake my head, already knowing Juno well enough to know she won’t be satisfied until she gets her fix. Grabbing my keys off the counter, I jiggle them in my hand. “What are we going for?”
She bites her lip and her classic smirk emerges.
“The Chef’s pasta?” I ask.
She nods.
“At least you chose something fairly easy.”
We file into my truck and I back out, past her car, onto the street. She fiddles with the radio.
“Hold up, turn that back,” I say, and she does.
“Oh, I like this one too.” She relaxes back in the seat.
As “Get to You” by Michael Ray plays on the radio, we drive through the dark streets of Lake Starlight to the town’s outskirts, where there’s one grocery store open until midnight. I’m surprised Juno likes this song because the lyrics sound a lot like her. Although she’s lived her life in Lake Starlight, she runs away from any sort of commitment or emotions. Sometimes I wish it were as easy as taking a pin to pop her bubble to make her realize what she’s missing out on.
“Are you even gonna be hungry once we get home?” I ask as we climb out of the truck and enter the desolate grocery store.
She grabs a cart and pushes it, riding it until it stops right before it runs into a bin of potatoes. “When am