Signals Crossed

26

By the time they made it back to the Horovitz house that evening, both of them were emotionally wrung out in the strange, exhausting way that always followed the anniversary.

But it had still been good.

Really good.

After the cemetery they'd gone to the diner her mother used to love, sitting in the same cracked vinyl booth while Ad stole fries off her plate and rapped badly about the waitress refilling his soda too many times.

Then they wandered through the city all afternoon hitting all her mother's favorite spots—the little record store she used to take Mel to, the park where she'd taught her how to ride a bike, the tiny bakery where they bought pastries they definitely didn't need.

And somehow, despite the rough start to the night before, the day had settled back into something warm and familiar.

Safe.

Mostly.

Though every once in a while—

their hands would brush.

Or one of them would remember the handholding from earlier.

And suddenly everything would feel charged again.

Now they were back in Ad's room surrounded by stacks of VHS tapes and bowls of junk food.

Another tradition.

Mrs. Horovitz had always allowed the sleepovers on this night. She understood how important they were for Mel.

But unlike when they were kids—

there were rules now.

Strict ones.

Apparently sixteen and seventeen was "too old to be piled together like puppies," according to her.

Which Ad thought was dramatic considering he and Mel had practically grown up attached at the hip.

Still—

he wasn't about to argue with his mother tonight.

Not after everything already felt so complicated.

So he settled himself onto the sleeping bag on the floor while Mel climbed onto his bed above him.

"This arrangement is stupid," he muttered while fluffing a pillow aggressively.

Mel laughed softly from above him.

"You say that every year."

"Because every year it remains stupid."

"You're very passionate about this issue."

"I believe in justice."

"You believe in complaining."

"That too."

Their smiles lingered a second too long afterward.

The movie flickered softly across the room while they settled in.

For a while things felt easy again.

Comfortable.

Like muscle memory.

Then—

A knock sounded lightly against the doorframe.

"Knock knock."

Ad groaned immediately without even turning around.

"Ma, come on." He gestured dramatically between himself and the sleeping bag. "See? We are following the rules."