Waiting for Tom Hanks - Kerry Winfrey Page 0,31

sit, so we watched TV. A lot of TV. Specifically, we watched all eleven seasons of Frasier.”

I can’t help it—I laugh, then cover my mouth.

Drew looks up, a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. “No, it’s okay. Please laugh. I get that a sitcom about a Seattle psychologist was a weird choice for a blue-collar Southern guy, but for some reason it’s what we ended up watching.”

Drew leans back on the shelf and crosses his arms. “The thing was, it helped. I mean, it didn’t make anything better—he was still dying, and we both knew it—but it made us laugh. Every time Niles did something pretentious and hilarious, we could forget for a second what was happening. It was like, for twenty-one minutes at a time, things were kind of okay because we were in Frasier Crane’s apartment. And that’s when I knew—that’s what I want to do. Take people out of their crappy realities—out of the world where their loved ones are dying or they’re getting divorced or they’re losing their job—even if it’s only for a little while.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Anyway, that was probably way more than you wanted to know about my life,” he says, shaking his head.

“My parents died,” I blurt out, and he meets my eyes. I nod. I’ve long since forgotten about looking for Tommy’s book. I don’t know what it is about this moment—the tiny room, the book-lined walls, the feeling that we’re the only two people in this building—but I feel not only like I can share anything with Drew but also that I should.

“My dad died when I was a baby, before I even knew him. Sometimes I think I have memories of him, you know? But I’m only thinking of pictures I’ve seen, of me on his lap. My mom died when I was in high school.”

I swallow and meet Drew’s eyes. He’s staring at me, but with an understanding that I wouldn’t have expected from him before today. He nods, just slightly, encouraging me to continue.

“And even though I never knew her and my dad together, she told me all about their relationship. They had this fairy-tale romance. They were supposed to be together forever. She told me all about how he adored her, and you could see it in the pictures, the way he’s looking at her like everything she’s saying is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. And he died, which was terrible, but she never, ever lost her faith in love.”

“That’s why you love romantic comedies so much,” Drew says softly, taking a small step toward me.

I nod. “They’re like my version of Frasier. We used to watch them all the time, and now they’re comfort viewing, my reminder that everything isn’t awful. There’s a part of me that needs to see a world where everything works out for the best, where people are together forever, or where Tom Hanks can destroy someone’s business but they fall in love anyway.”

Drew smiles a little bit. “You’ve gotta admit, that’s a pretty big obstacle.”

“That’s what I like about it,” I say, noticing that at some point in this conversation, Drew and I have become so close to each other that I have to look up to see his face. “It’s not like being in love fixes everything for them, because it doesn’t fix everything in real life. It just . . . makes everything bearable. Better.”

“I get it,” Drew says.

“You know,” I continue, unable to stop myself from talking after years of never bringing up this subject, “I always thought it would’ve been better if she’d died slowly instead of suddenly, because then at least I’d have closure. But honestly, it kind of sounds like it sucks either way.”

Drew nods. “It’s all shitty—dying slowly, dying suddenly. Life’s a big ball of shit sometimes.”

I smile, just a little. “But there’s Frasier.”

He smiles back. “And romantic comedies.”

By this point, he’s so close that his breath is hot on my face. If I wanted to—not that I do—I could reach out and touch him. Not that this is even a thought in my mind, but there are mere inches between our faces. Not that this is a movie, but if it were a movie, it would be very easy to close this distance between us . . .

The sound of heavy breathing interrupts us as someone else shuffles into the room . . . and since this is a tiny Book Loft room,

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