“Does it involve nudity?”
Kate shakes her head. “No… we’ll keep all clothes on.”
“Does it involve drinking?”
This time, she nods her head. “Sure, something old-fashioned, perhaps?”
“You’re an impossible woman with your cryptic clues,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet and phone. “Can I at least drive?”
Kate lets out an annoyed huff. “What’s wrong with my driving?”
“I don’t have a death wish…” I mutter beneath my breath. “Let’s go.”
Charlie calls our names as we both walk away. “Behave, or you’re both grounded.”
A laugh escapes Kate as she leans into me, “Did you hear what mommy said? Behave, naughty boy.”
I knock her shoulder, making our way toward the garage where our argument continues on who will drive.
This time, I win.
KATE
“How did you seriously not know John Cryer was in Pretty in Pink?”
Noah walks alongside me, ice cream cone in hand as he shrugs his shoulders. I question his choice of flavor—mint chocolate. He might as well have been eating toothpaste.
“The Two and a Half Men guy?”
“Yes, the Two and a Half Men guy,” I repeat, walking beside him while indulging in my own delicious choice of butter pecan. If Americans do anything well, it’s their ice cream. “He played Ducky.”
“Is this like some rom-com movie?”
I stop mid-step, yanking him back to me, which almost causes his ice cream to topple over. Annoyed, he performs a balancing act before expressing an annoyed look.
“Just to be clear,” I state, passionate about the subject we’re discussing, “You’re telling me you’ve never heard of the movie Pretty in Pink?”
Again, he shrugs his shoulders, oblivious to the serious nature our conversation had just turned. I’m mind blown while observing him. Watching him carry on like this isn’t a big deal.
Sure, he’s a guy, but Pretty in Pink is like a rite of passage into adulthood.
“The movie has the word ‘pink’ in it,” he complains, furrowing his brows together. “Die Hard doesn’t have the word ‘pink’ in it. Now, that’s a great movie.”
“Oh, Noah.” I sigh, continuing to walk with my head shaking. “There’s so much I need to teach you, young grasshopper.”
We stroll along the boardwalk, welcoming the sea breeze. I’d only ever been to Santa Monica Pier once, and the experience was extremely enjoyable. It reminds me of a lot of Brighton Pier, a seaside amusement venue in East Sussex. My parents took us there as children, and along with that came great memories.
As we stroll along the pier, the sun begins to set, sinking into the Pacific Ocean, which surrounds us. The view is amazing, cathartic, and easing the stress building within me as the time ticks closer to going back to Manhattan.
Various shops line the pier, snack shacks to shops selling trinkets as well as souvenirs. We’ve already hit the old-fashioned soda shop, but nevertheless, I still enjoy looking at each store and seeing what they offer for sale.
A few local fishermen are hovering by the edge, toying with their yarn in hopes of scoring the catch of the day. They don’t appear annoyed by the noise of the children running around or the screams echoing from the thrilling rides surrounding us.
We head toward the large Ferris wheel called the Pacific Wheel. Noah buys us two tickets, and then we stand in line behind two other patrons. It’s been years since I last rode a Ferris wheel, the novelty of it all somewhat amusing in my head.
“Are you looking forward to going back home?” Noah asks before the attendant opens the carriage door to let us on.
We sit side by side as I lace my arm into his to block myself from the sea breeze knocking the carriage about. Holding onto him feels comfortable, and unlike other men I’ve been around, he never makes me feel uncomfortable when our bodies touch. Perhaps our misadventures that first night broke all tension between us. Though funnily enough, Noah and I never feel any tension—the two of us just gel.