Page 5 of The Second Chance Cinema
Drake turned the television off as Ellie set her things down. He’d been watching a home improvement show in the background. Ellie liked to tease him about his habit of working off theclock. It was research, he said. He felt like the hosts, with their magnetic personalities and chemistry, were his old friends. “Are you okay?” he asked, seeming to detect her bad mood.
“According to Nolan I am,” she said, flinging herself into the Ellie-shaped spot on the couch. Nancy hopped up and set a wet nose on her denim miniskirt. Ellie rubbed her stomach to accentuate the point she was about to make. “I’m super hungry.” Then, “Can we go out?”
“Sure, yeah.” Drake got up and refilled Nancy’s water bowl in anticipation of leaving. “How about The Garlic Bread Place?”
Ellie wanted to go somewhere different today, somewhere special. She debated telling him about her bad meeting, how her favorite bookstore no longer sold her work, and how the result of these things meant more places she loved might close for good. The facts, when strung together, sounded like the start of a bad stand-up routine. She decided against sharing them. There was no reason to ruin a perfectly good date night with Drake.
“We always go to The Garlic Bread Place,” Ellie said. “Let’s try something different tonight.”
3
Ellie and Drake did not try something different that night; they went to The Garlic Bread Place. By the time they started looking up new restaurants, they were too hungry to choose another option. Ellie ordered the same Eggplant Parmigiana at their usual four-top with a white plastic tablecloth. What had happened to her? She was supposed to be in the field of rare discovery. This repeat eggplant business had to be part of the problem.
“Bring wine, too,” she begged the young, pretty waitress. “You can bring a bottle out. Your pick.”
The waitress glanced up from her square yellow pad and moved closer. “Don’t I know you?”
Drake brightened. He was eager to brag. “She has a book,” he gushed. “And a show!The Compendium of Forgotten Things—”
“It’s not a big deal. You probably just know me because we come here a lot,” Ellie deflected.
Recognition spread across the waitress’s face. Slight recognition. It was minuscule. “Right!” she said. “Oh, wow. I loved your show.”
The same Dean Martin playlist Ellie had memorized refreshed another loop. “There’s no way you loved my show,” Ellie said. When Drake gave her a look, she realized she had been rude. “I just meant, you’ve probably not seen it,” she added, which certainly made things worse. “It’s hard to find the show on streaming. There’s actually a rip-off ofThe Gooniesthat appears whenyou type it in.” A warning flashed in Drake’s eyes as he started to stress eat the bread that came before the garlic bread.
“I’m going to put the order in,” the waitress said, backing away from the table. She attempted a smile that came out twisted. Drake gave Ellie a second to pull herself together. Then, he leaned over the table and said the right thing. “People can love you and your work. You know?” His hands reached out for hers. “You’re pretty damn lovable. Even though figuring you out takes a little sleuthing.”
The timing of this line landed perfectly with the gift he handed her next. Ellie tore open the newspaper-covered package to find a hardcover Nancy Drew book. The title had been crossed out and replaced withThe Case of the Girl at the Bar, which was the same title as her story about Finn’s that he’d framed and hung on the wall of their living room.
“Thank you,” Ellie said. “Thanks. I’m pretty lucky I get to marry you.” She brushed Drake’s hair out of his face. The waitress dropped off their wine and the garlic bread Drake had ordered, then scurried away before she could be pulled back into their conversation.
“Yeah, about that,” Drake said, tearing off a piece of the hot bread and popping it in his mouth. “Are you sure you want to marry me?” It was a joke, of course. “I mean, a renowned writer like yourself, a television-show host,anda goddamn detective.” He pulled his hands away and slammed them on the table for emphasis. The condiments jumped.
“Yes,” Ellie told him. She opened the book. Inside its cover, Drake had occasionally crossed out the nameNancyand replaced it withElliein his youthful scrawl. Her engagement ring sparkled on her finger as she navigated the pages. Drake had managed to find the exact ring she would’ve chosen for herself. It was an oval, teal sapphire that reminded Ellie of a doorknob to a beautiful place—feminine, but not flashy, with tiny diamonds set on eachside of the stone. Drake’s gifts showed he was listening. Even a few dates in, he’d given her a vintage music box with a spinning dancer inside that reminded her of one she had growing up.
“Of course, I want to marry you,” Ellie added.
If she was being honest with herself, that was the only thing she was sure about.
“Well, that’s a relief. That wedding photographer I just hired is going to be expensive. I was channeling Milburn Pennybags when I sent the check.”
“Milburn—”
“Mr. Monopoly. Get with it.”
Ellie laughed. She noted the relief on Drake’s face. He’d managed to alleviate her frustration or at least put a bandage on it. He kept the conversation silly while they ate their food, performing a classic tarantella dance on the table with his fingers. The eggplant was perfect, and every bite made Ellie’s mouth water more. Sometimes, familiar and comfortable things were nice, she had learned when they moved in together. Familiarity could look like a movie night routine or a bedtime ritual of reading in shared silence. She didn’t blame Drake for the way she’d fallen into patterns. It was her role to shake things up and drag them to new places. Now, she sensed, it was time for her to do it again.
“How about a walk?” Ellie suggested after the check came, along with a complimentary tiramisu. Ellie wondered if the free dessert was on account of her being recognized, the weird energy, or something else entirely.
“Where were you thinking?” Drake asked. He split the dessert in half and took a bite. “I can disappear this dessert and we can get another one. We could go to The Gelato Fairy? Or that French bakery around the corner. What’s it called?”
Ellie reached her fork out for her portion of the tiramisu. “Let’s just get a little lost,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “You know how I feel about being lost.”
“Notlostlost.” She knew by now thatlostwas a frightening word to Drake. “What I meant was,” she said, “let’s just see where this night takes us.”
Ellie felt the tension of the evening melt away as she and Drake traced the neck of the city. They paused to admire the neon signs that bloomed in the window of a palm-reader shop. Drake didn’t smoke but mused that, if he did, he’d want to look like the hipster with pompadour hair they passed nursing a cigar. Ellie held her hand out to spin Drake when she heard a saxophone pouring from the window of a high loft. This night was giving her the adventure she’d craved.
