AN: Hi.
Chapter 77
"Popcorn, belove...Bella?" My kid asked. He was always trying to slip in those terms of endearment.
I played with his fingers. He was in love with the hand holding. "Popcorn, Skittles, some nachos, a large Coke for me. What are you getting?"
"A Gatorade," he answered, with a smile. Eww. "Can I share your nachos?"
Share? Was he now smoking Mary Jane and Cheech's now unused wacky weed?
"Fine," I stated.
The things I do for this boy.
That's when I saw Pastor Weber wearing dark sunglasses and a fedora. He was hiding behind a pillar by a poster with a severed head on it. It was the movie we were seeing. My pick.
"What movie does your holy roller papa think we're seeing?" I asked Boobs.
She looked sheepish. "I told him I thought we were seeing, The Long Way Home."
"Is that the children's movie about the pigs trying to get back to a farm? Wouldn't they want to get away from the farm? They would be only a few short years from becoming bacon if they went back."
Hollywood had the worst movie ideas and Sandra Bullock needed a new agent.
Baseball Boy hugged me. "My girl is so smart!"
He was impressed easily.
We were heading into the theater, I noticed Pastor Weber tripping over potted plant. He dove behind it and peeked at us.
The way he was sneaking around the theater, I think that Boob's dad thought he was a spy for Jesus. If Boobs and James Taylor didn't behave themselves, there was no way that her dad would let her go to prom. She would be lucky to be able to get frozen yogurt with the reformed dastardly crooner.
Maybe there was a God, because he was going to make me help Boobs again. Annoying.
James Taylor kept trying to take her hand and I kept pulling Boobs away.
"Bella, I just want to hold Angela's hand," he complained.
"Sing your sad love song somewhere else, James Taylor." I linked my arm with Boobs. She had a beaming smile. I think she thought we were best friends. The forever type who would talk on the phone about boys and paint out nails with glitter nail polish. Not gonna happen.
Our seating arrangements were also not to James Taylor's satisfaction as well. He sat next to my kid and I sat next to Angela.
James eyes narrowed as he watched Baseball Boy hold my hand. "I think you could trust me sitting next to Angela. I respect her, Swan."
"James Taylor, do you want to continue taking Angela out on dates and hopefully take her to the stupid prom and amaze her with your ridiculous dance moves?" I hissed. "Pastor Weber is right behind us clutching his holy book and whispering prayers behind us. He's like James Bond without the cool gadgets and seduction techniques."
James Taylor looked back and saw the good minister trying to hide behind a newspaper. "Shit! You're right, Swan! Angela, your dad is behind us."
Boobs turned bright red and slumped down in her seat. "This is so embarrassing!"
It was. It was also hilarious.
My kid was nuzzling my neck.
James Taylor leaned over to smile at Boobs. "It's sweet that your dad is watching out for you. You're precious and should be looked after and cherished."
It was so sweet, in fact, that I could feel a cavity coming.
Boobs swooned, of course.
Baseball Boy's hands started wandering, as the lights dimmed.
The movie was gory. Heads exploded. Eyeballs fell out of sockets. Pastor Weber was screaming like a girl.
My kid clutched me tightly with his eyes shut tightly, muttering, "Please make it stop. Please make it stop."
I kissed him. It was the kindest way to distract him from the horror. He was practically on my lap and attacking my mouth was his tongue.
I was so distracted, as my kid touched my breast, that I almost missed James Taylor saying, "Would you two get a room? So unfair!"