Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
“Maybe don’t always believe me,” I counter, sassing him right back.
“Maybe I won’t,” he says, then raises a finger quickly to make a point. “But the beer fest was fun. I’ll give you that.”
“Worth the parking ticket?”
“Considering you got me so buzzed I couldn’t drive home, and we had to go out bowling while I waited for my buzz to wear off, I’d say yes.”
“You love bowling,” I say.
“And arcades, and darts, and karaoke. But not axe throwing,” River points out.
“Never axe throwing.” I rub my palms together like I’m a coach, cheering him on, his boxing trainer in the ring. “Okay, you’ve done two life lessons from Clueless. Eight to go. You can do it.”
River groans, sounding like a dying animal, then stares up at the clouds, tinged, now, with orange. He tips his forehead to the windshield. “Owen,” he begins, like he needs something important.
“Yeah?”
“Concentrating on movie lessons while driving is hard,” he says, all earnest, “since I think it’s going to snow. Can you check the weather app?”
“Of course,” I say, grabbing my phone.
“Thank you. And can I revise the Clueless life lessons to three, and can I tell you my least-favorite flick?”
Laughing at his shift from gratitude to rat-a-tat-tat questions, I open the app. “It’s snowing in Tahoe, but not in Markleeville. We’re an hour away from the cabin, so we should be fine. And yes, I hereby grant you permission to pick one more lesson and then tell me the flick you hate.”
“Lesson number three from Clueless,” he says, squaring his shoulders, like he’s getting ready to deliver a big pronouncement. “It’s so much better than You’ve Got Mail.”
“That’s the lesson?”
“Yes, and we have to do our part to promote Clueless. Talk it up.”
“Where and how does Clueless need help?”
“Anywhere and everywhere that the reputation of classic rom-coms is threatened. The thing is, You’ve Got Mail is up there in the holy trinity of Meg Ryan flicks with When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle, but it does not belong. No way. Not one bit.”
River’s not wrong. “Because it’s a cheating flick,” I say, emphatically. “And it’s tricked everyone into thinking that it’s a romance, when romances should not contain cheating.”
“Yes!” River shouts, then bangs a fist on the dash. “You get me. You totally get me.”
“I also understand story and subtext and narrative, but yes, I get you too,” I say drily.
River shoots me a glare, but his brown eyes are twinkling. “Love it when you get all smarty-pants. But I’m glad we agree. Emotional cheating is just as bad as any other cheating, and that flick glorified it, then tried to make it okay with their eventual exes liking other people.”
“Yup. Also, can we talk about the biggest issue in the film?”
River nods, big and long. “The fact that Tom Hanks’s character was a lying liar who lies?”
“He was the worst. He lied to her until the last frame,” I say, then mime retching again.
“See? That’s acceptable retching. You can retch over Tom Hanks lying anytime.”
“And I will. Because I have a lot to say on this topic. His character is a multiple liar. He lied when he stood her up on the date. Lied to her when she had the flu. And lied to her when he was courting her.”
“You know who that makes him? He’s the original catfisher,” River declares, shaking his head in disgust.
“Right? Plus, the movie made me hate Tom Hanks, and that’s not fair.”
River gives a knowing smirk. “See? Paul Rudd is looking more attractive, isn’t he?”
I roll my eyes. “You went on that rant to trick me into liking Paul Rudd’s character?”
“Admit he’s better than Tom Hanks’s character,” River says, insistent. “Just admit it.”
“No contest. Of course he is. But that’s like saying chocolate peanut butter cake is better than coconut cake with cream cheese frosting. Of course it is, River,” I say.
“So you admit it,” he says, gotcha style.
I laugh, from the bottom of my funny bone this time, nothing forced. I’m enjoying this. I’m enjoying him. I always have. Even when I’m all twisted up inside and tormented by my feelings. “I literally just admitted it. We are on the same page.”
“Ah,” he says, like a detective solving a crime. “That’s what threw me off. You and me agreeing.”
“Every once in a while it happens.”
“So, let me see if I have this right. We didn’t entirely agree on the Harry and Sally rules. We somewhat agree on the lessons of Clueless and we definitely agree on the wrongness of You’ve Got Mail.”
“But that’s the most important one to agree on,” I say. “Because cheating and lying are the worst.”
River’s expression turns serious, and his energy calms. “They are. It’s awful when it happens,” he says, his voice a little soft, maybe a touch of hurt in the set of his jaw over the reminder.