Becoming Mila by Estelle Maskame
23
The movie theater is at a mall in a neighborhood south of downtown Nashville, and it – is – packed. Flash Point movie posters dominate every wall, stealing all of the glory from other new releases, and there’s even a huge cardboard stand at the entrance which is essentially one giant cast photo. A bigger-than-life-sized Dad and Laurel Peyton are front and center, flanked by the supporting cast. When we passed, fans were posing in front of the stand, and I shot Dad the fiercest glower I could manage. It’s the closest I’ll get to the real-life version of him for now.
There’s a buzz around the theater’s foyer, the clash of hundreds of voices musing in anticipation. The thing about the Flash Point movies is that they appeal to every age group, from elderly couples to groups of friends younger than me. There’s all sorts of people standing in the same line as we are, waiting to have our tickets checked for one of the two screens showing the movie in fifteen minutes. I imagine the production company executives rubbing their hands together with glee, knowing these double screenings are happening all over the country this weekend.
It’s also a little . . . awkward.
For the most part, no one ever knows who I am. It’s not me who’s the actor, so only Dad’s most devoted of fans would recognize me if they passed me in the street. I can get by under the radar pretty easily unless someone mentions my full name and others piece two and two together. But luckily tonight I am blending in. I am making the conscious effort to do so – I keep my head slightly lowered and ensure I’m circled by Blake’s friends at all times. Ruben is already at the end of his tether with me, and if he knew I was attending a movie screening in Nashville where one of Dad’s super fans could spot me at any second I think he would fly that private jet here solo just to drag me back home.
“Hey, Mila,” Barney calls in a voice that’s a little too loud. “Is this weird for you?”
“Yup,” I murmur, while Blake helpfully kicks him in the shin.
I’m trying to block out the group of girls waiting in line in front of us who are gushing about how sexy Everett Harding is. Bile churns in my stomach. These girls aren’t even that much older than me, and they’re talking like that about my dad.
Gross.
Blake brushes his pinky finger against mine as a sign of solidarity and I fight the urge to take his hand, not because we’re trying to hide whatever this is between us but because we’re in the middle of a movie theater with his friends. It seems kind of inappropriate to be all touchy around one another, even though I get the sense his friends wouldn’t be so surprised if they did spot us getting a little close. They did get me a ticket tonight, so it seems they’ve accepted the fact that I should be counted as Blake’s plus one for things like this.
We’re here with his friendship circle, and it’s nice for me to get to know who Blake tends to hang around with when he isn’t hosting his big get-togethers. Blake and his friends are entering their senior year at Fairview High together in the fall, so they are all a year older than me. That’s why Savannah and Tori aren’t here, but Barney and Lacey are. Myles is here too with the girl he seems to be in a casual fling with, Cindy. The guy Savannah has a crush on, Nathan Hunt, is also one of Blake’s closer friends, along with some guy by the name of Travis who I vaguely recognize as one of the guys who helped Blake out with the fire last weekend. So far, they have been welcoming, except Lacey didn’t quite smile when Blake and I met up with the group in the parking lot. And although Barney was the one to steal my phone and call Dad that very first weekend I arrived, I am starting to relax a bit more around him, but only because he hasn’t pulled anymore stunts since then.
Those girls in front of us are still talking about Dad in great detail. No matter how hard I focus on trying to tune out their conversation, I can’t bear it anymore when they start wondering out loud how many scenes there’ll be that feature Dad stripping off.
“You know he already turned forty, right? He’s double your age,” I remark in a loud, clear voice without even thinking. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to shove them back in. I shouldn’t be drawing attention to myself. Especially not like that.
All three girls turn around to stare at me in surprise, taken aback by such negativity in a line that’s supposed to be full of fellow enthusiasts.
“Sorry,” Blake says, stepping around me to block me from their view. “She’s just a friend we’ve dragged along with us. She hates Everett Harding.”
“Yeah, she absolutely should have stayed home,” Lacey mumbles. Her blue eyes meet mine, and I have a strong sense that she isn’t just playing along with Blake.
The girls shoot our group strange looks, but turn back around and resume their conversation at a much lower volume. I press my hand over my eyes in embarrassment. I really shouldn’t have said anything, but it’s so hard not to. I live a life full of rules that other people aren’t even aware of, and one of those rules is to remain silent and allow strangers to fantasize about your dad.
“Lucky for you, Mila,” Barney says, “it’s Laurel Peyton I have the soft spot for and not” – he lowers his voice to a whisper and cups his hand around his mouth – “your hot-as-hell father.”
We share a laugh, and I relax slightly as the line lurches forward. The screen doors have opened, and excitement flows down the line in a wave. We work our way down to the screen, have our tickets checked, and then head in through the heavy doors.
The seats are filling up fast, but that’s to be expected – it’s a sold-out screening. Everyone floods up the aisles in a stampede as though there won’t be what will feel like hours of trailers to sit through first. Our seats are way at the back, which I quickly realize are actually the worst possible seats for me. I have a full view of the theater, of all these rows and rows of fans, of women (and probably some of the guys too) who are completely star-struck with my dad.
“I can’t believe people love these movies so much,” I murmur as we get comfortable, reclining back.
“I don’t get it either,” Blake says from my left.
“It’s because they have a mixture of everything!” Cindy says. She’s sitting on my right, a huge bag of popcorn in her lap, and she sits up and nearly jumps over the armrest to get closer to me. “Action. Adventure. Romance.”
“Well,” I say with a forced smile, shrinking back further into my seat, “I hope you like the movie.” Even though I know already that she won’t.
Dad and Laurel Peyton’s characters have been gradually falling in love over the course of the first two movies, but in this third installment they don’t end up together. Two hours from now, this room will be filled with disappointed groans. At least I have the scene where Dad’s character takes a bullet to the chest to look forward to.
“You okay?” Blake asks quietly, his head turned, and his gaze focused on me.
“Mmhmm,” I respond unconvincingly.
I’m relieved when the lights dim and the trailers begin, because it shuts up the audience and I no longer have to listen to endless discussions around people’s predictions for what this movie has in store. Next to me, it sounds as if Cindy isn’t even breathing when the movie’s opening sequence rolls; around us, the theater is in complete and utter silence.
Because I’ve already seen the movie once before, it’s not that bad watching it a second time. Dad is an amazing actor and there is no denying that he was born to be on screen, but it’s always so strange to see him act in ways he doesn’t in real life. There are certain facial expressions that belong to the character, and not Everett Harding. Mannerisms that I know aren’t Dad’s. It makes for an odd experience, watching someone you know, your own dad, as someone you don’t recognize. But lately, it’s not just on screen that I don’t recognize him.
I physically cringe whenever Dad whispers some cheesy line in a husky tone, and I flat out close my eyes and will myself to fall asleep whenever he and Laurel share an on-screen kiss. This is always the weirdest part. I think it’s pretty gross seeing Dad kiss my own mom, let alone smooching with his co-stars on a massive screen in HD.
“Hey,” Blake whispers during the third of these sickly romantic scenes, nudging my knee, “do you want to get out of here?”
I peel open one eye and look at him through the darkness, his face illuminated by the screen, the movie flashing across his eyes. Obviously, Blake has picked up on my discomfort.
“Please,” I whisper.
Blake finds my hand in the dark, pulling me up with him. We shuffle along the row together, him guiding the way, but then I trip over the outstretched foot of Lacey.
“Sorry!” she hisses, but her tone isn’t that apologetic.
Blake and I continue hastily along the row, trying our best not to disrupt the movie (even though – childishly, I admit – I would love to call out the ending and spoil it for everyone), and then dash down the aisle, taking two steps at a time with our hands still interlocked. I hear a low wolf-whistle that I imagine is from Barney, and before we round the corner to leave the screen I steal a look back at the audience. They are all truly captivated, their eyes glued to the screen, no one so much as daring to rustle a bucket of popcorn.
We push our way out through the heavy doors and into the now empty foyer, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief. There’s no one here except an employee sweeping up, but I can hear the rumble of sound from movies playing in all of the screens.
“You were right,” Blake says, laughing like we’ve just escaped a fate worse than death. “That movie really does suck, and I’m making that judgment after only sitting through forty minutes of it.”
“I don’t want to go back in there,” I tell him, staring back at the screen doors with a sense of dread.
“We don’t have to,” he says. “C’mon.”
We head back toward the ticket desks and concession stands, but I have a feeling they won’t get busy again until the crowds for the next showing of the latest Flash Point movie arrive, bringing with them a new buzz of noise and commotion. When we walk past that cardboard stand of the cast by the entrance again, I’m in half a mind to punch a hole through it exactly where Dad’s ridiculous grin is. But I don’t want to be escorted out of the movie theater for assaulting a photograph, so I leave it be and make my way outside with Blake.
We’ve just missed sunset. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon for the day, but it’s still light out and the air is thick with lingering heat that radiates up from the concrete sidewalks. It’s a Sunday evening, so the plaza is pretty busy. People are disappearing into restaurants and bars, but Blake leads me back to his truck.
He leans back against the tailgate and gazes down at my hand, aimlessly touching my bracelet and playing with my fingers. “We don’t have to wait for the others to get out of the movie,” he says. “We can grab food ourselves. There’s a Cheesecake Factory over there –”
“Or,” I say, cutting him off, “we can do this.”
And for the first time in my life, I pluck up the courage to make the first move. I grasp Blake’s hand and move it to my hip, then step forward to close the distance between us. Against his truck, I press my lips to his.
We may be in the middle of a parking lot, but Blake kisses me as though we are alone in the world. That first kiss of ours on the night of the bonfire was tentative and careful, but this time we know the other won’t pull away. That’s why we don’t hold back; we lose ourselves completely. Blake’s free hand is in my hair as he kisses me deeply, holding me close, and I forget all about the movie.
“Yeah, this is way better,” he murmurs, smiling against my lips.
We pull apart for only a moment, our foreheads together, my thumb brushing the dimple in his left cheek. We stare at each other, breathing more heavily than before. I’m not sure whose smile is the brightest.
“We’re in Nashville,” I murmur in between breaths, “and I think we should take advantage of that. How about a detour to Honky Tonk Central?”
And then I have my answer – the brightest smile from Blake.