Page 30 of No More Love Songs

“Damn, haven’t heard that one in almost ten years.” He makes a face. “You ruined my record. I thought I was finally free of that phrase. Now I gotta start over.”

“It’s not like menopause.” I roll my eyes, laughing at my own joke.

“I think of it more like a no vomiting streak,” he corrects me, then holds up his hand to show four fingers. “Four years puke free.”

“Seven.” I hold up both hands. Because, apparently, when you talk about shows made for toddlers, you start counting like you’re on one.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ari asks, walking in with a half-eaten slice of pizza in her hand.

“How long it’s been since we puked,” her dad fills her in.

She curls her lip in disgust. “That’s gross.”

Can’t argue with her there. “Where’s the rest of that?” I ask, pointing at her slice.

She hooks her thumb, indicating the pizza is somewhere behind her.

I look to Kit who gives me a ‘come on’ kind of smile, and next I know I’m following him to the pizza boxes.

Where the kitchen in the main building is huge, here it’s barely a kitchenette.

Somewhere between asking Ari for a slice and arriving by the pizza our plans change, and I’m directed to grab a stack of dishtowels from a drawer while he stacks up all three boxes and leads the way to the living room.

Shortly after, I’m sitting sandwiched on the sofa between Kit and Halle, while Ari opted for sitting on the rug with Jack and Leela. I’ve got a blue paisley dish towel draped over my lap, a giant slice of veggie overload in my hands (it takes two) and I’m trying unsuccessfully not to giggle like a five-year-old about my movie choice.

“Are you going to do that through the whole movie?” Kit asks, trying to sound annoyed. “I’m not going to be able to understand anything they’re saying.”

“Sorry.” I zip up my mouth. Then I open it to shove more pizza in. “I’ll stop,” I mumble.

“I still can’t believe I’ve never seen this,” Ari says, sitting up to reach the coffee table and get another slice of pizza.

“It’s scary!” Kit insists. “I didn’t want to scar you!”

“It’s an animated children’s movie, Dad,” she says dryly. “How scary can it be?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” he doesn’t let up.

He’s not wrong. For a children’s movie, this one definitely has a dark side. But there’s no way I’m openly admitting that. Instead, I tilt my head sideways a bit and whisper, “When the witch dies or the creepy king?”

“The creepy fucking bird,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth.

“Wait.” I’ve had a thought. “If you didn’t watch this movie with Ari, when did you watch it?”

“Every single time one of my sisters forced me to.” The way he says it, makes me think it happened often.

“Someone’s favorite?” I guess.

He just gives me a look. It’s enough to let me know I was spot on.

“Okay,” Ari says, shushing us. “No more talking. It’s starting for real now.”

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KIT

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Despite Ari’s attemptsto argue otherwise, I caught her on camera (I had my phone ready for this) flinching when that scary-ass bird killed the witch and later, hiding under her blanket (which she requested after the witch killing) when things were getting intense at the castle with the evil king dude.

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