Swallowing my confusion and pride, I ran a hand through my hair, wishing I’d gotten a haircut. It was always the last priority on my list. “I didn’t know. Let’s just eat and watch and take it for what it is. A movie.”
“For the record, I’m sure you come from a great family. And not the wrong side of the tracks.”
Murphy scooted closer and rested her hand on my thigh. Her fingers skimmed along the hem of my shorts, and I forgot all about high school and being the scholarship kid.
“We’re here now,” I mumbled, pulling her close.
I pressed my lips to hers, inhaling her scent, sweet yet complicated. We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, exploring, and catching up on what we’d missed over the years.
“Okay,” I said with a chuckle as I reluctantly pulled back. “Stop attacking me. The movie’s starting.”
I was joking, but any more making out and we’d be back on the road on our way home.
“Tell me what you’d like.” I pulled over the cooler. “Brie? Apples? There’s also a cold pasta salad and mini grilled chicken on something that looks like a pretzel bun. Oh, and a crustless quiche.”
“Do you moonlight as a chef somewhere?” Murphy picked up her wine I hadn’t realized she’d set down until now. I’d been too focused on kissing her.
“Sadly, no. There are a lot of things I do well, but cooking isn’t high on the list. The Wayside prepped everything for me. It was a toss-up between these goodies and a stack of pancakes, but I didn’t think they would travel well.”
“Apples with brie sounds perfect. And salty pretzel buns are a close second to pancakes.”
Murphy slid all the way back toward the doorjamb again, and while I missed her closeness, I wanted her to eat. I set up all the little containers and handed her a fork and a plate. We nibbled and watched a disgruntled Molly Ringwald pout on the screen.
“I had a huge crush on Molly growing up,” I said, staring at the screen. “Guess I always had a thing for redheads.”
Murphy turned her focus from the movie toward me. “You watched Molly Ringwald?”
“I have an older sister. I didn’t watch anything I wanted until I landed at Pressman, and then I didn’t have a TV. I watched what you guys all put on in the lounge. God, if I never see The Bachelor again, it’ll be too soon.”
“I always hated that show. I think I was afraid my parents would sign me up for Millionaire Matchmaker.”
“Is that a thing?” I was pretty glad I didn’t have food in my mouth, because I probably would have choked.
“It’s a show I used to sneak and watch in college. Didn’t you ever just let loose?”
I shook my head. “No. First, I was set to be the tight end, and had a small sliver of hope of playing beyond college. It was a pipe dream, but then I tore up my ankle during a game and ended up playing special teams. It gave me time to focus on my science pre-reqs and pick up other little odd jobs.”
Murphy slid the food to the side, and still watching the movie, moved closer to me. With her head on my shoulder, she mumbled, “You must’ve never slept. I get that, though. My parents dragged me all over New York during school. I never really had a normal social life. Probably why I’m a mess right now.”
Trying not to be a creeper, I took advantage of her head on my shoulder to take a quick whiff of her hair. It smelled like the tropics, all coconut and citrus.
Forcing myself to focus, I said, “I slept some, but I did burn the candle at both ends. Sports gave me a free ride, and my brains got me through a lot of coursework, but I was ready to get out of there. When Geisel admitted me for med school, it was a happy day because I could be near my family. Dartmouth is only about ninety minutes away. Anyway, my point is, and forgive me for saying this, but I don’t get your parents using you as a puppet.”
Murphy swiped away a tear, and I suddenly felt like a jerk.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening in the glow from the screen. “It’s not that. It’s you. You’re so strong in your convictions, balancing family and work and life. And I’m a barista, trying to do social media for a hippie making honey infusions.”
I brushed a coppery curl from her face. “That’s the best part about you, Murph. You’re figuring stuff out, making mistakes as you go. You’re real now in a way you couldn’t be back then, and I like it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Taking her small hand in mine, I ran my fingertip over what I assumed was a blister from the espresso machine and pulled Murphy halfway onto my lap.
Our mouths touched again, and we made out while the movie played, until it was Molly’s turn to go to the prom in her pink dress.
Murphy and I sat there quietly, snug in each other’s arms, waves of unspoken memories flowing between us. It seemed strange to be so unbelievably comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
I had to wonder—this time around . . . was it real?
16
Murphy
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.
The movie had just ended and yet Ben and I continued to sit, our thighs touching as our feet dangled off the back of the Jeep.
“I like this,” he said, running the back of his hand along my leg. “Being with you.”
Ben kissed me, and it felt like the first time all over again. When our lips met, something electric happened. I’d read about it in books—sparks, fireworks, whatever you want to call it—but I’d never considered it a possibility for me.
For years, I’d been resigned to do what my parents
