Three days after Sherry's parents leave, the cans of soup stop coming.
They had been increasing from arriving exclusively at nightfall to one being on the doormat alongside the morning paper, sometimes one in the late afternoon or around dinnertime. Sherry tried running to the door when it would ring. She tried standing by it, waiting for the doorbell and catch the perpetrator in the act. It never happened, however—she isn't fast enough. But she knew that Rainy was grateful for the can delivered, and spoke so as her health returned. Sherry would warm the soup on the stove for her friend who would be wrapped up in a blanket, hair a mess and croaky voice, shivering, and three boxes of facial tissues around her on bed. Sherry doesn't tell who was likely leaving them for her.
But when the cans stopped appearing on their doorstep, Sherry has to drive to the store for more and to continue the act. Partially, she didn't want to reveal her speculation to her friend about who was likely dropping them by every other hour; partially she wants Rainy's mind to remain at ease—however little that was.
And Sherry could tell that something had gone down at that video store when Rainy rented that movie. She had been so quiet on the car ride back then, seeming a tad antsy and a lot distracted. She asked on many occasion the return date for the video, and Sherry would answer with increasing suspicion that it isn't for another five days.
But now those five days are up, and Sherry raps her fingernails against the leather of the steering wheel on her way back to their shared apartment as she tries to decide whether to tell Rainy this tiny detail or not. Still she debates about the soups or not.
Well, now she knows what had taken Rainy so long at the video rental store before.
And Sherry knows the story—god, she had been there for some of it—so she knew how close the two had been and seen how heartbroken Rainy had been when her judgmental parents shipped her to the other side of the East coast. But the issue was not them, per se—Rainy had moved on these years following, had a handful of lovers in the past, but then the mall happened, and now this. And sure, Sherry wanted the two to rekindle their flame because there had been some type of promising in their stares when re-meeting, something that reminded Sherry of their high school selves—but she remembers what her mother said, about the need to stop instigating and to "drink your own tea."
There hadn't been any secrets between Sherry and Rainy—that is, if you don't count that one time she told Rainy she was coming back home when really she was still at those two guys' place doing a line of coke—which she doesn't ever do again, by the way. But besides that, there were no secrets between the two, ever.
But this—whatever Rainy's attitude is—it isn't truthful, and Sherry knows it.
When Sherry returns home late that afternoon, she calls out for Rainy, deciding to tell her about her own suspicions. The other is found with her legs folded beneath, looking through another manilla folder and there's a pen between her teeth, the small television's volume is down low as she sifts through paperwork. It's a Wednesday night and Rainy had been kept in the office all day at work. Sherry unfortunately hadn't had a better day either besides finding a twenty dollar bill on the floor of an elevator.
By now, Rainy's sickness had lessened to sniffles. She pouts, "sounds like yours was a lot better than mine." She glances up once at her friend's arrival, and who's standing in her bedroom doorway. Rainy has been trying to get approval to work on one of the few legal cases floating around, but no one wanted to give a woman the reigns, and she's been considering switching firms.
"Ah that's not true. There must be some positive. Um... What about Calvin? The coffee guy?"
Calvin is Rainy's colleague whom she had gone on three coffee dates with (all without her emotional investment, however) and who has been trying to invite her on a night out. Rainy turns him down every time, a new excuse each time, sometimes an honest lie. "My friend's car broke down and I have to be available all hours," she has told before. Or, "I have a doctor's appointment on that day." Or there was the "stomach flu" excuse, "financial issues," and "family coming over." Even "a squirrel came in through the window" lie worked on him. And frankly, Rainy is un-amused and un-attracted.
"What about Calvin?"
Sherry blinks, not exactly shocked. "What about Calvin? You had just been considering going out with him a few weeks ago..."
Rainy feigns aloof. "Oh, was I?"
Sherry disappears down the short hall to her own room. Reappearing a few minutes later in a sultry lace nightie, she flops across Rainy's comforters, tossing a wad of clothing at the other. "Sooo," she starts, "how was work?" She speaks in a singsong tone, arms splaying across the comforters in a cat-like stretch.
Rainy's response is that it was mundane as usual. The other watches in amusement as Rainy unfurls the wad of silk tossed at her, discovering it's another nightie. "Sherry...what is this?"
"I got it on sale. Two for one! They're cute, right?" She props up on an elbow, posing, a hand on her hip.
Rainy is deadpanned. She doesn't quite know how to respond.
"Don't hold it like that! I was trying to be nice since your last one was torn to shreds. I know it isn't like the blue one that was your favorite, okay? Plus, you've been married to your work, you need to be prepared." Her eyebrows wiggle and she smirks. "You're slacking off. It's been awhile since you've met a guy that could could give good—-"
"Okay, Sherry! Thank you! Don't need you covering my whole sex life."
The strawberry blonde is quite proud of herself indeed, and snickers. "Oh don't be like that," Sherry nudges the other playfully.
It's true that Rainy had been more diligent about her studies in college and her work now, more than Sherry. The strawberry blonde is the one who would go to the invites to get-togethers and other's houses, usually initiated midnight outings and the one who brought home the most one night stands.
Rainy underlines a sentence and scribbles down a few notes before Sherry asks, "did you ever find out where that note came from?" And at first, the other is confused, so Sherry elaborates. "That note in the bag from the video store. You said you think you might know where it came from. ...Do you?"
Rainy lies that she still isn't sure.
Sherry, of course, knew better. "Well...you wouldn't guess who I met over a week ago at that store! Remember when you were still sick and my folks were leaving? Well, I saw Peter there, working at the video store!" Sherry watches for Rainy's reaction, earning only a quick glance. "Silver lining? Speedy Gonzalez? Peter from our school? Who we saw at the mall?"
"I know who you're talking about."
There's a very brief pause. "I know." Suddenly, Sherry becomes serious. "You never mentioned it. That you saw him before, when we had last gone. Why?"
Rainy didn't have a good enough reason, and just shrugs.
Sherry breaths, "it's like you've gone back to acting like you were in high school again—you try to act all nonchalant and emotionless and tough."
"I'm not trying anything. I just speak my mind and am completely honest—-"
"-—Rainy..." Sherry interrupts. "You should go back and thank him." Then Rainy's face scrunches up as she begins to ask "why" when Sherry continues: "I never bought you those soups. He's the one who's been leaving them here for you." Sherry sees that Rainy is still confused. "I don't know why...also, I may or may not have let it slip out where we live and that you didn't believe you were sick." Sherry bares her teeth in a guilty grimace.
Straightforward, abrasive, stubborn: those may be things that come to mind about Rainy Capulet; tender, commiserative, and doting may be the least that come to mind. Sometimes, her coworkers wonder about her, because she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve and her first defense mechanism is hyper-rationality and denial of personal yearning.
This also means feelings, and especially the domination of her pride.
That's why Rainy is thinking of so many curses as she stands in front of the glass door to this rental store again a day later. She looks over her shoulders, grumbles again, her lilac shirt sliding off one shoulder. Sometimes she wonders how her friend is so devious...
Sherry's excuse was a grocery trip, "needing to restock after her parents' visit." Rainy was dragged along because she had been bugging Sherry in the past about when to return this video and Sherry wasn't having it if she returned it herself for another that Rainy didn't approve. At least before coming, Rainy guzzled down a dose of DayQuil. She sniffs, sneezes.
The cool air blows the short curls from Rainy's forehead as she walks inside. She waddles, unsure, to the front desk. There's a different woman working there today, she sees, and adjusts the small bag hanging from her shoulder.
Along with abrasive, Rainy has been called steely and compared to ice due to her stolid exterior. It's all a defense mechanism.
When Rainy gets to the check in/out counter, the woman behind it can already tell that she's in a rush. Rainy slides the carbon video case across the dark navy blue counter, states that she's here for a return. The employee does give her a questionable stare. Rainy digs through her bag to retrieve her drivers license and membership card. "I'm kind of in a rush."
The employee sucks her bottom lip. "Yes ma'am." Her name-tag reads Madison. Rainy thinks she's probably in her early twenties.
The process is completed in less than a minute. She's shocked, commenting that the transition took much longer last time. Madison tells that it isn't supposed to, and asks if Rainy remembered who had been working at the register so they could be disciplined accordingly.
Rainy wets her lips. "It was... It was...some guy wi-with gray hair...I, um..."
"Oh, Hirsch. Yeah, sorry, he's kinda old, so we—-"
She corrects that the employee had been younger. "I think he was the, uh, th-the manager?"
Madison's eyes light up. "Oh, Pete!" Her smile diminishes. "That's weird. There must have been a technical difficulty. That doesn't usually happen. I apologize for that inconvenience, ma'am."
"Yeah," Rainy mumbles, "technical difficulties."
"What was that? Ma'am?"
"Nothing."
Rainy is handed a receipt and she's asked the routine question if that is all she would need today. Tentatively, Rainy dares herself and asks in an unsure tone, "do you..." Takes a breath... "Does the manager happen to be in? Be working, right now?" She bites her lip as the young woman looks at Rainy a beat too long, thinking.
"Actually yes. I think so. If you'd like, I can go see if he's not on—-"
"Yes, yes, uh, would you?"
And the young woman finishes putting the video back in the system and hurries off down the tall shelves of movies. Rainy taps the counter, cursing herself and Sherry under breath, wondering why she hadn't just put her foot down more firmly to stay home. She coughs. She contemplates, jumping to scenarios, ones of her being booted out and perhaps banned from the store. She worries. A hand rakes through her hair, gets stuck in a curl. She uses the band around her wrist to tie her hair into a ponytail.
It feels far too long when someone finally returns from the back of the store—and it isn't the young woman, Rainy was partially hoping. As soon as she and Peter's eyes lock, Rainy freezes again. Her breath catches in her throat and his steps falter again. Her gaze diverges to the carpet near her feet. He shuffles awkwardly, several feet away, and hesitates. She twists the cheap ring around her middle finger.
"Can...I help you, miss?" He swallows. He doesn't look her straight in the eye, something she's partially grateful for, and focuses at a point just above her head. "I was told that you needed assistance, right?"
Rainy folds her arms. Then, summoning a surge of confidence, she lifts her chin, brushes stray strands back over her shoulder. She doesn't quite meet his line of sight. "Sherry—-ah—-hm... Sherry told me about the soup."
And he looks guilty, like he's been caught in a lie—she's surprised she remembers the look so well. He tries to deny it at first, stumbling over his words.
"Sherry told me that when she returned the movie those weeks ago, she saw you. I also know that you're literally the only explanation for cans materializing on our doorstep with there being no evidence of someone putting it there."
"I..." He appears clueless at first, then shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Rainy squints. His eyes dart to the side, and off in one of the high corners is a security camera. She understood now. Looking back at him, he's grinning sheepishly. "You didn't leave leave Campbell's soup—-"
"I bring soup. But I...I rang the doorbell, yes, and I was there when Sherry answered..."
"Oh." She understood. "Okay..." Her hands clasp and she knows he's watching her, an illusion of calm with his fingers shoved inside his pockets. "Well, Sherry told me that it'd be best if I come and thank you for that."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. So..." She inhales. "Thank you."
A hint of a tiny smirk grows on his face. That obviously appeared hard for her to say and he enjoyed it. A brief silence passes before he asks, "is that it?"
Rainy's face contorts into confusion. "...What—-what do you mean is that it?"
He doesn't answer right away, looking her over as she frowns and tightens her arms across her chest. He smirks. "Nothing, nothing..."
She raises a brow.
He shifts his weight. "Say, is that all you came here for?" And he begins to mock her. "You cared about me that much that you came all this way just to say sorry? I'm touched, Ms. Capulet." He holds a hand to his chest for emphasis and sarcasm.
The woman relaxes at his joke. "Of course not. This is a movie rental store, isn't it? I'm here for another movie. And you just happen to be head of this place, I assume that you know about every single one in here?" It was a question but not really, one that he answers "something like that" anyway. "And I have plans despite coming all the way here." She moves forward, breezing past him, chin held high to hide her unsteady nerves.
"Oh, really? Shocking." He spins around, trailing after her. "Say, if ever you—-I'm just offering—-but if you ever need a good recommendation..." He scratches his head, pauses.
Rainy's immediate response would be a sharp "no," but she thinks first. "Is that so?"
"I mean, yeah. I do work here, you know. For some time, actually, uh..." He rubs the back of his neck, head still bowed as he follows her into the horror section. "Besides that last film you rented was horrible."
"Oh, you remember that?" She's smirking slightly.
He pauses. A grunt is his reply.
She stops in front of Alien on videocassette. "Which would you say is a better pick? Is it something better than..." She picks up that one.
"Ugh, ew! Put that down!" His nose wrinkles and she chuckles under her breath about him never having liked scary films. Unprepared, Peter brisks forward, motioning her to follow. They come to the action/suspense selection; he scoops up three films expertly. "This," and he hands one to her, "is quality watching."
Rainy raises a brow, amused. She tells that she'll consider them. She sniffs; her nose a tinge pink.
He rocks back on his heels as she reads the summary on the back of one video case. She tells that she remembers when his hair was longer, when he used to put it in small ponytails and buns. She asks about that black Letterman jacket, the one with the tigers stitched on—her favorite one. He wonders who had given her the ring on her hand, a heavy feeling setting in his stomach—she had herself, she answers, from a kiosk in a mall.
Check-out is much quicker this time, maybe because there isn't a need to stall this time, maybe because Madison is watching. But Peter bags the movies and waves in parting. Before Rainy leaves, she calls that she she got the note "found" in her bag last time. Peter only grins wider and waves, wishing her to get well soon.
The movie isn't played until two days later. Rainy was ordered to attend several conferences and handed two more fat folders of paperwork, and she downs two Advils before proceeding. For an entire day and night, Sherry disappears. It became routine that the night of the second day either would try to contact one another to let the other know she is doing fine. Rainy didn't have to, Sherry returning with a long torn strip from her left ankle up to her thigh in her pantyhose. Apparently, Sherry's "chumminess" with her boss had risen to uncomfortable terrain. She misses work the following day.
The night Rainy tries to play the videocassette, Sherry wouldn't stop asking questions—starting from asking if Rainy has felt any bad mojo around her, to how much she trusts her gut feeling, to about that note found last time they rented a film. Again, Rainy deflects the topic. Instead, Sherry asks whether she spoke with Peter again, and if she is alright. Rainy asks if Sherry will be looking for another job soon.
They get through half of the movie before falling asleep on the living room floor.
Rainy is proceeded again by Calvin Morris and two lawyers from her firm lose their case; Sherry skips a second day of work before slinking back and being told first thing by the receptionist that her boss wishes to have a word with her—all this before Rainy returns the video. This time, Peter is out, having had to call out that day. And she almost grows reluctant to leave it there instead of handing it to him herself. But she doesn't, of course.
It's another two weeks before they see each other again. By now, Rainy has gone on that third coffee date with Calvin.
This time hey meet, it's at a grocery store.
There's a sale on muscadine grapes, and seasonal heirloom tomatoes, and Granny Smith apples. The air is fragranced by Italian parsley, mangoes, and there's a barrel full of salted shelled pistachio nuts near the cheese aisle, and Rainy is swallowing down a sample of Boarshead cold cut roast beef. A small white framed chalkboard advertises ten percent off bread and brie. At the exit door, Rainy scrambles for the ring of keys somewhere in her purse, arms full with bulbous paper brown grocery bags. A mother and two sons hurry by. Rainy's hair is done up in a messy bun and she's dressed as if just coming from work. A breeze blows, and a can of Albacore tuna falls through the bottom of one bag and rolls away down the sidewalk, the rest of her purchases from that bag following suit seconds after.
An elderly couple witnesses and tisks as they enter the supermarket without helping.
Rainy only huffs, cursing under breath. She knew she shouldn't have come, only going shopping as a frustration outlet, and that she should have just headed home and torn up the unread magazines piled beside the trashcan. Rainy sets her surviving brown bag down as she kneels in her heels to scavenge what isn't broken or haven't rolled away, all the while groaning, knees scraping the concrete. A young woman who looks to be either seventeen or twenty-two offers to help. And Rainy grimaces, stuffing three peaches in the remaining bag to her right. The young woman rushes inside for a new bag to replace the broken one. Two high school students rush inside, the youngest giggling and pointing at the unfortunate brunette. The adolescent runs before she could flip him off. As she closes what remains of a box of cashews, she hears another bystander running up.
"It's fine. I got this," Rainy huffs, pushing a stray curl from her eyes. And she sees sneakers. And jeans, a small stitched tear along the bottom seam. She doesn't look up, far too embarrassed. "I said I'm fine," she repeats as they squat down beside her. She snatches a now-bruised tomato from their grasp, hands large and pale, a bandage wrapped around the pinkie finger. When speaking, the person's voice is palliative, baritone, and solicitous.
"You aren't going to eat that are you?"
She huffs, ready to say some biting remark about how he needs to mind his own goddamn business and proceed to strut away with the remainder of her purchases—
Peter is handing her her lost can of tuna that had rolled away. Rainy pauses, hand still pushing her hair back. He pauses as well when realizing, and Rainy can read the familiar tightness in his jaw and narrowing glare and accusation of "you!" forming on his lips. And she expects him to continue on with a credibly hurtful reply, she almost wants him to—to giggle at her or shake his head in pity as well. After all, that's what he always would have done, and she deserves it. So, Rainy is quite surprised that he slides the can inside her bag when she doesn't take it, and reaches forward to recover what's left of her groceries. She tells him to stop, that he doesn't have to do this.
"It's fine. I got it."
Rainy bites the inside of her cheek, puzzled.
The young woman returns, two large brown paper bags blowing in the air. She and Peter help double-bag the first and equally partition the purchases. The young woman waves in parting when they finish. Rainy forces a convincing grin, turning to see Peter waving with a more genuine smile. Rainy's jaw is offset. "You—!" She cuts off. Her mind blanks. "You..." And he's staring back as she tries to think of words to nail on the end of her allegation. "You," she stands with her bags, "you didn't have to do that." Her lips set in a frown.
He scuffs a shoe, shifting his weight. His chin raises. "I know." His hands find his pockets. Peter shrugs. "I was on break, and your tuna kinda rolled into my foot so..."
"Oh," she mumbles, jiggling the weight in her arms. She forgot how tall he was, and sees that he's still in the video store uniform—a simple t-shirt under that same vest. Her eyes diverge down. "Oh. Well...thanks, for that I, guess."
He nods politely, and she walks into the parking lot. A hand rubs the back of his neck then outstretches as she's halfway across the street. His lips part; hand lowers and finger points, and he almost raises it as he almost calls out. But of course he doesn't, and Rainy climbs behind the wheel of Sherry's convertible.
Peter returns to the video store next door with his fists in his pockets, his lunch break over. Inside, a child has managed to knock over a display of snacks, chocolate and caramel popcorn strewn across the carpet. Madison is already on it and the parents scolding the child loudly.
In the following month, neither Rainy nor Sherry make a suggested visit for another film.
The days pass by normally like it always does, like it always has. Sherry would flop down over Rainy's lap if she's busy after coming home from work and kicking off her shoes. And eighty-two percent of the time, the redhead would sprawl and with her hands in the air, declaring herself officially done with men and suggest the bottle of Chardonnay sitting in the cabinet, all which would be followed by her avow that she needs to get laid and proposes an outing that Friday night to which Rainy would either accept or decline depending on her workload.
Sometimes Sherry would ask about the progress with Calvin—"you know he's likely has a full bank account, right?" And is then replied by, "you know his brain is the size of a walnut and I had to explain what guacamole is? He thought it was some skin care product that people eat!"
More often, Sherry would ask about Peter. Usually Rainy would go quiet, either not sure what to respond or having nothing to say or avoiding the question entirely. Ninety-five percent of the time it's answered by sarcasm.
Sherry hurries to work and sits at a desk with a telephone glued to her ear, dodging advances from her boss. When she gets home, the two would either make spaghetti or order pizza, and schedule a yoga class that weekend—the one with the cute instructor whom Sherry "could stare at his ass all day as he helps me with downward dog."
Across town, Peter turns in his hands a business card nabbed from the Xavier school. After his leg healed, he doesn't choose to return—not immediately, choosing to help out his family instead. He flops back on his mattress iin the basement, his bank receipt falling from his fingers. He partially misses his apartment in France. And one night, his twin's words play in his head, the ones she scolded when he was crippled and couldn't run, when he finally got over his self-deprecating and culpability, common sense finally coming in. He begins to wonder if he should go show up at Rainy's doorstep in person this time because he's ready to close on this story and chapter of his, about her. He lies and he wonders when the two women from his high school would return because he's dug up an old photograph of all of them but it now has been pushed back behind a row of books and instruction manuals.
It's after he gets off work early one Thursday afternoon. Rainy's off that day, and she takes the invitation for a milkshake five blocks away because he insists that they are the best. She's in a simple sundress and leaning beside him against the rough, worn bricks of the small side-road restaurant; she's begun dabbling in the perfumes accumulated since last Christmas and is sprayed inside her wrists. And she wonders if he remembers the tattoo on the back of her shoulder, and that she once promised to tattoo over the little design he once drew in pen beside it. She never did, and it vanished in time.
Rainy lowers her red straw from her lips, her appetite gone. She doesn't know how to string the words together an empathetic, coherent way, so she fiddles with the straw. Both ordered vanilla. Hers is already melting.
Beside her, Peter's in a simple black t-shirt, his rough denim jeans clearly have a history. He rocks back on his heels and comments about the cloudless sky—and that's how it starts.
Talk was at a minimum today which left an open opportunity to dabble in the past—and because what Mr. Addams said once, about "opening your damn mouth before everything turns depressing." Though that was dialogue about pre-adolescent Sherry lying about over-feeding the pet. So, when Peter comments about the sky, which literally no one gives a damn about, Rainy's already suspecting because he doesn't look at her when he speaks. So she beats him to it.
"I know—-just so you know that—-I—-I—-"
"Don't hurt yourself."
Her eyes shoot daggers. Yes, she knows they've already gone over their seperation back on the bench outside the mall over three months ago with an official breakup, but there's so much remorse Rainy feels that she isn't sure what to do with, because he's always so expressive and right now he isn't—-
"I made a mistake. All those years ago..."
"It's in the past," he repeats, just like that night. "Don't worry about it. It's over." He's emptied half of his jumbo-sized cup in seconds.
She doesn't speak, her straw making a hollow whistle as it moves against the plastic top. Over?
He invites her for a possible outing with a few friends, because they're both friends, right? And wrap arms around each other in good spirits, and smile.
Of course she could only decline.
Sherry returns to the video store exactly a month later and dressed no better than last time, looking practically in her pajamas. Pietro glances over her head and behind her shoulder as she talks, to which she smirks and tells that she's come alone.
"I didn't ask."
"You didn't have to."
She asks to be directed to the newest arrivals. "Preferably a romantic comedy," she specifies.
He shows with a huff and slump of shoulders. Sherry holds out an arm as he leaves. "Wait, wait..." She bites her lip. "I, uh," she thinks, can't quite come u with an excuse good enough. "I forgot my membership card."
"They can probably find it in the computer system."
Sherry purses her lips. Her neck rolls, pushing back her hair. "Say, Peter. How've you been? I know our last run-in was...eventful."
He frowns. "Fine... Um, I need to go back to the register—-"
"Rainy's been thinking about you." Sherry catches him falter, even for a split second.
He blinks, fingers flexing. "And?"
It's her turn to spin, perplexed. "And?! And you should come over some time. I'm sure she'd like to see you again."
He shakes his head. He doesn't believe her partially, but also knowing that that wasn't the best idea.
"Aw come on." She picks a random video in range. "Me too though. It'll be like old times; fun...like handsome cowboy here!" The background of the movie's cover has an explosion in the distance, and the male protagonist in possession of a fine pistol, albeit he's shirtless.
Peter doesn't crack a grin, smirk, or anything. Calmly, he tells, "that's a sex film."
She pauses, eyes widening. Then attempting to recover from her shock, she teasingly waves it in the air. "So...ever made one of these~?"
"Sherry..."
But the stubborn mule Sherry is, she convinces her friend to not wait up on returning that film next time because she's gotten held up at a guest's house. In other words, Sherry is still at the place of the man she went home with the night before. Over the phone, her voice has a hint of morning scratch, and she grins, breezing over his generosity and her possible hopes. She hangs up with a quick whisper into the receiver that "he's returning with breakfast! My god, did I hit the jackpot?"
While Rainy is glad for her friend's potential catch, she can't help but stare at the telephone after the other line disconnects because there's a voice somewhere in her head that says this is all a ploy. But Sherry prides herself on her perfect record, and Rainy also knows that a majority of it is to avoid a mark on her membership account. Begrudgingly, Rainy fishes the tape from the VCR to return, and the keys from Sherry's bedroom, and the cadmium green convertible in the outside lot.
The drive there is stiff and suspenseful. Rainy constantly flexes her fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at the single VHS case in the passenger seat, and never hitting any red lights, so the arrival is far sooner than she preferred. All the while walking through the glass door and to the front counter, she's wishing under her breath—for what? Well...
She makes the return without an incident. But of course it would be too good to be true, and as she's shoving her drivers license back inside her clutch, the employee behind the counter waves for someone's attention behind Rainy. And of course it had been Peter walking by. And she sucks in a breath, purses her lips, the employee, obviously new, reporting that Rainy's movie isn't being accepted back into the system. Peter asks what password was entered, arm draped across the counter. He's answered with the wrong one. Rainy slides her bag up her shoulder, turning for the door.
He looks over, this time his hand darts out. "Do you need anything? Not going to check out another movie this time?"
Rainy sees that bags have started forming under his eyes, and she wonders if she had gotten him sick. She declines his offer, that she's only needed to return it for Sherry.
"She still adamant about being on time, huh?"
"Oh, very. Except for work, ironically..."
Pause.
His tongue slides across his bottom lip. He tries again. "Say, you sure you don't want a new one? We actually got a few good ones in recently. Nothing like that National Lampoon disgrace Sherry wanted like last time." He's referring to the oh-so-terrible film chosen when Sherry's parents visited.
"You're not going to let that go, are you?"
"Not anytime soon." He smirks.
With a shrug, Peter motions for her to follow, going into detail about what film choices would be best and why. Rainy watches his hands gesture as he becomes immersed in the topic. She bites her lip, prohibiting a smile.
And that's how it starts. In the next several visits, Rainy would return a movie for another that Peter would recommend. He was determined to show her quality cinema. During so, details would slip out, some things about life, or careers, or schooling, a difficult day at work, etcetra. Each time she would rent a video, and about a week later would exchange it for another. This went on for some time; for weeks this went on. Eventually the small talk opened to actual conversation, and the invisible wall disintegrates.
"I was...pretty much homeless from eighteen to around the time I was twenty. By twenty-one I had my own place somewhere in the East and was the big shot of the town," he boasts. "And there was this...this nice old lady nearby who made the best canelés! That's a pastry. And there were some kind of event or party every other night."
"Where was this?"
"Marseille, France. Yup, don't need a passport. Planes are too cramped anyway and take far too long."
For months this went on. Once learning his schedule, at times she would arrive around his break to walk to the nearest food joint which is usually the burger drive-thru across the street, and they would talk. The shy smiles of greeting developed to soothing hand strokes, the mundane converse about the weather to shit talking passerby's.
"After being shipped to my mother's side of the family down South, I decided to stay down there and finish school. I just didn't want to go back... Graduated, got a nice little first job with an ass of a boss. I had to quit after putting on the crawl display that he is a sleazoid pimp with a—-"
"With a what?" He asks after a bite of his triple bacon cheeseburger, all the way. He's begun being completely clean shaven, she notices a month ago.
"With a Napoleon complex and a limp noodle dick the size of his pinkie finger."
"Amazing."
They would talk and there's a kind of familiarity to it, a kind of nostalgia about it. It kind of makes Rainy burgeon with latent remorse. He tells what happens at the Xavier school and why he had been in a leg cast, while shoving three french fries in his mouth. Once, Rainy asks if he's contacted those from the school again. He answers no. She watches a parent place their child in the seat of a shopping cart. She doesn't ask about Magneto.
For months this goes on, and there's a sort of warm, elicit vehemence that blooms, that she feels and denies, suppressing.
Twice, Rainy turns down invitations from Calvin from work and her fellow female employees begin to wonder, asking her around the restroom sinks. Rainy's excuse is that "something came up" or, "she ran into an old friend of hers" or, "she's late for a meeting." All which were easy excuses reiterated again and again, and oddly, Calvin believes every one despite the sullen frown that he grows each time. Rainy visits the rental shop often, planning her trip accordingly to avoid taunts and talk, glaring the younger persons behind the counter. Madison thinks the woman has cat eyes.
It continues like this: Rainy comes in for a rental, there's a nice conversation, and sometimes she'll leave with one or two films, and Peter checks off an imaginary list. Sometimes she doesn't return for several weeks. Musing, Rainy knows he's not the same as he was years ago, the bohemian young man with the wide, cocky smirk, blatant arrogance and wild, windblown hair and scuffed up Nike's. Not exactly. She knows this; and she too has obviously changed. They both know, even though sometimes they would hug and she would swear that she feels his hands press harder against her, briefly, almost unnoticeably; sometimes it lasts a second too long and he'd burry his nose in her hair and she trying to remember the scent on his jacket. And almost always there's a hesitation afterwards, of memories flickering briefly before they both ruin the moment—they always ruins it—with a change of subject or parting. Rainy bites her lip and he would overtly fidgets, both try to rebuild that spark.
Sherry doesn't catch on right away, fortunately, and it's when there's a phone call asking for her that Sherry answers just as Rainy walks home with yet another rental.
One of Sherry's brows rise appointedly, phone receiver cradled between her cheek and shoulder. She speaks into the phone, politely lying to Calvin that Rainy Capulet isn't here right now. Can I take a message. And We need to talk, she mouths.
Saturday, Rainy walks in, VHS in hand, purposely near the end of his shift she knows he's scheduled for. She's running late. Just like routine, she taps the small bell and returns it to whoever runs to behind the counter. And Peter walks in, licking the last residue of food off his fingers, his eyes almost light up when catching sight of her against the counter. Rainy sucks her bottom lip, chewing until red.
His greeting is hurried, hand sliding down her arm as he passes to shrug off his company vest. Gooseflesh explode on her skin.
Rainy points, answering, "the usual." Her grin is forced, he reads.
It's unexpected when she starts for the door instead of getting a movie back to exchange. His chin lifts, pointing. "What's up? Not going to rent one this time?"
Her shoulders steel, sag. She sighs. It turns out that her VCR is jammed. "It broke. Or, something this weekend. I dunno, I was gone when it happened. But I made an appointment at Radio Shack for the people to take a look at it."
He asks when is the appointment. Sometime next week, she answers.
"That's going to take too long." Palms press flat against the counter, his mouth pressing into a line, and "why don't I take a look at it?" comes out before it rations out in his mind. His smile is forced and nervous as he presses his knuckles together. "If you want, I could fix it in a flash?" She declines, but he's quite adamant, telling that he's off for the day anyway and holding out a finger for her to wait as he hurries to the back of the store. "It'll just take a minute, Rain. I promise?"
She listens. She pauses; her jaw slacks and she's suddenly hyper-aware of the bag digging into her shoulder and the brush, almost irritation of the fabric of her flowing blouse, and the sudden goosebumps at the sudden reminiscence in the nickname—the one so long since being held in affection—and the effervescent of nostalgia in her stomach is getting bad again, and she stops, wanting to decline.
His hopeful grin vanishes.
Rainy wants to decline the offer, thinking it's the smarter choice. Her shoulders square as she watches him silently, subtly deflate. Rainy purses her lip, smoothing the drying chapstick. She reluctantly accepts.