It was like getting him back. Her Neal. (Her old Neal.)
He was right there, and she could ask him anything that she wanted.
“Tell me more about the mountains,” Georgie said, because she wasn’t really sure what to ask. Because “tell me where I went wrong” might break the spell.
And because what she wanted more than anything else was just to keep listening.
“I went to see Saving Private Ryan without you.”
“Good.”
“And my dad and I are going to see Life Is Beautiful.”
“Good. You should also rent Schindler’s List without me.”
“We’ve been through this,” he said. “You need to watch Schindler’s List. Every human being needs to watch Schindler’s List.”
Georgie still hadn’t. “You know I can’t do anything with Nazis.”
“But you like Hogan’s Heroes. . . .”
“That’s where I draw the line.”
“The Nazi line?”
“Yes.”
“At Colonel Klink.”
“Obviously.”
She wasn’t crying anymore. Neal wasn’t growling.
She was burrowed under the comforter, holding the phone lightly against her ear.
He was still there. . . .
“So Christmas with the Pool Man, huh?”
“God,” Georgie said. “I forgot I called him that.”
“How could you forget? You’ve been calling him that for six months.”
“Kendrick’s not so bad.”
“He doesn’t seem bad—he seems nice. Do you really think they’ll get married soon?”
“Yeah. Probably.” Imminently.
“When did you get so Zen about this?”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time we talked about it, you went on a whole rant about how weird it is. About how you and your mom are now drawing from the same dating pool.”
Oh. Right. Georgie laughed. “And you said, ‘No, your mom’s dating pool is literally a pool.’ . . . God. I remember that.”
Neal kept going: “And then you said that if your mom proceeds at her current pattern and rate, your next stepdad must currently be in the sixth grade. That was funny.”
“You thought that was funny?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“You didn’t laugh.”
“You know I don’t laugh, sunshine.”
Georgie rolled over and switched the phone to the other side of her head, curling up again under the comforter. “I still can’t believe my mom was checking out twenty-something guys at forty. That she was looking at college guys and thinking, ‘Yep. Fair game. Totally doable.’ I don’t think I ever appreciated how disturbing that was until just now.” That would be like Georgie hooking up with Scotty. Or with one of Heather’s friends—her pizza boy. “Guys in their early twenties are babies,” she said. “They don’t even have all their facial hair yet. They’re literally not done with puberty.”
“Hey, now.”
“Oh. Sorry. Not you.”
“Right. Not me. Unlike many of my peers, I’m plenty mature enough to date your mom.”
“Stop! Neal! Don’t even joke.”
“I knew you weren’t suddenly Zen about this.”
“God. My mom’s a pervert. She’s a libertine.”
“Maybe she’s just in love.”
“I’m sorry about the party,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Georgie.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“That it existed? That you were a huge hit?”
“That I made you go.”
“You didn’t make me go,” he said. “You can’t make me do anything—I’m an adult. And I’m much stronger than you.”
“Upper body strength isn’t everything; I have wiles.”
“Not really.”
“Yes, I do. I’m a woman. Women have wiles.”
“Some women. It’s not like every woman is born wily.”
“If I don’t have wiles,” she said, “how come I can get you to do almost anything I want?”
“You don’t get me to do anything. I just do things. Because I love you.”
“Oh.”
“Christ, Georgie, don’t sound so disappointed.”
“Neal . . . I really am sorry. About the party.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“And it’s not just my upper body,” he said. “My entire body is stronger than yours. I can pin you in like thirty-five seconds.”
“Only because I let you,” she said. “Because I love you.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed, Neal.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t sound disappointed at all.”
Georgie sank deeper into her pillow. She pulled her comforter up to her chin. She closed her eyes.
If this was just a dream, she wished she could have it every night—Neal not-quite-whispering sweet somethings into her ear.
“My parents were disappointed that you didn’t come home with me.”
“I’ll bet your mom was happy to have you to herself.”
“My mom likes you.”
She didn’t. Not in 1998.
“I think that’s an exaggeration,” Georgie said. “She intentionally frowns whenever I try to be funny—it’s like not laughing at me isn’t a strong enough negative reaction.”
“She doesn’t know what to do with you—but she likes you.”
“She thinks I want to write jokes for a living.”
“You do.”
“Knock-knock jokes.”
“My mom likes you,” he said. “She likes that you make me happy.”
“Now you’re putting words in her mouth.”
“I am not. She told me so herself, the last time they came to see me in L.A., after we all went to that tamale place.”
“She did?”
“She said she hadn’t seen me smile so much since I was a kid.”
“When were you smiling? No one in your family smiles. You’re a dynasty of wasted dimples.”
“My dad smiles.”
“Yeah . . .”
“They like you, Georgie.”
“Did you tell them why I didn’t come?”
“I told them your mom wanted you to stay home for Christmas.”
“I guess that’s true,” she said.
“Yeah.”
It was one in the morning. Three in the morning in Omaha. Or wherever Neal was.
The hand that was holding the phone to her ear had gone numb, but Georgie didn’t roll over.
She should let him go. He was yawning. He might even be falling asleep—she’d had to repeat her last question.
But Georgie didn’t want to.
Because . . .
Well, because she couldn’t expect this to go on. Whatever this was. This thing that she’d started, just in the last few hours, to think of as a gift.
And because . . . she wasn’t sure when she’d hear Neal’s voice again.
“Neal. Are you asleep?”
“Hmmm,” he answered. “Almost. I’m sorry.”
“S’okay. Just—why didn’t you want to talk about everything tonight?”
“Everything. You mean, why didn’t I want to fight?”
“Yeah.”
“I—” He sounded like he was moving, maybe sitting up. “—I felt so bad when I left California, and I felt so bad when I yelled at you on the phone last night, and—I don’t know, Georgie, maybe it’s never going to work with us. When I think about coming back to L.A., all my anger starts to come back. I feel trapped, and frustrated, and I just want to drive as far as I can away from there. Away from you, honestly.”