It's a Love Story

by Annabel Monaghan

“The loud movies with the explosions and superheroes, they sell tickets because they’re an escape. We don’t have to think about our own lives when we watch them. We can hide in the noise. But it’s the quiet movies that make room for us to look at ourselves. People cooking, teaching, gardening. They’re quiet things, but they’re the things that move us. And people, mostly, are afraid of the quiet.”

The other thing I’m not doing is relaxing. I know about relaxing because I live in the world, but it is not a thing I seem capable of. On the days I don’t run, worrying is my cardio.

“I was, before I found out you’re the worst.” He smiles like he loves being the worst.

That’s probably what’s making me delirious. That’s probably why I keep holding on to his hand for unnecessary seconds while we stand there looking at our painting. I liked making something with him. I liked the feel of his forearm pressed against my inner thigh. I like the way I can’t tell which strokes were his and which ones were mine. I hope we get to make this movie and that it’s exactly like this.

“I hate her,” I whisper. “Like for real.” Dan laughs and leans his head toward me a bit. My smile is so tipsy wide that it could break my face. “You’re getting under her skin too, I think.” “Because she’s still in love with you and thinks we’re together?” I’m whispering because we shouldn’t be talking about this, but also because the softer my voice, the closer he has to lean into me to hear. “No, because you’re cool.”

This feels like wealth, I think. This is the thing you save up for. You live your whole life so that you can be surrounded by too many people in too small of a room and tell the story of how it all happened.

Love isn’t a helicopter ride to Catalina; it’s everyday care and treating the other person like they’re your house keys.

You’re beautiful when you’re having big emotions.”

I was his daughter, I don’t say. It’s a sentence I said out loud over and over again that night. I was his daughter.

“I never understood what it was about me,” I say. “All the kids with their dads showing up for things. Or worrying about their daughters’ curfews or interrupting kisses under porch lights. It’s a universal thing, fathers treasuring their daughters. I watch TV, Mom. I know things.”