Page 267 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
River sneers. “I should have made you pay up for that one I got at the beer fest last year when you told me parking was allowed in the marina on a Saturday.”
“Maybe don’t always believe me,” I counter, sassing him right back.
“Maybe I won’t,” he says, then raises a finger quickly to make a point. “But the beer fest was fun. I’ll give you that.”
“Worth the parking ticket?”
“Considering you got me so buzzed I couldn’t drive home, and we had to go out bowling while I waited for my buzz to wear off, I’d say yes.”
“You love bowling,” I say.
“And arcades, and darts, and karaoke. But not axe throwing,” River points out.
“Never axe throwing.” I rub my palms together like I’m a coach, cheering him on, his boxing trainer in the ring. “Okay,you’ve done two life lessons fromClueless. Eight to go. You can do it.”
River groans, sounding like a dying animal, then stares up at the clouds, tinged, now, with orange. He tips his forehead to the windshield. “Owen,” he begins, like he needs something important.
“Yeah?”
“Concentrating on movie lessons while driving is hard,” he says, all earnest, “since I think it’s going to snow. Can you check the weather app?”
“Of course,” I say, grabbing my phone.
“Thank you. And can I revise theCluelesslife lessons to three, and can I tell you my least-favorite flick?”
Laughing at his shift from gratitude to rat-a-tat-tat questions, I open the app. “It’s snowing in Tahoe, but not in Markleeville. We’re an hour away from the cabin, so we should be fine. And yes, I hereby grant you permission to pick one more lesson and then tell me the flick you hate.”
“Lesson number three fromClueless,” he says, squaring his shoulders, like he’s getting ready to deliver a big pronouncement. “It’s so much better thanYou’ve Got Mail.”
“That’s the lesson?”
“Yes, and we have to do our part to promoteClueless.Talk it up.”
“Where and how doesCluelessneed help?”
“Anywhere and everywhere that the reputation of classic rom-coms is threatened. The thing is,You’ve Got Mailis up there in the holy trinity of Meg Ryan flicks withWhen Harry Met SallyandSleepless in Seattle, but it does not belong. No way. Not one bit.”
River’s not wrong. “Because it’s a cheating flick,” I say, emphatically. “And it’s tricked everyone into thinking that it’s a romance, when romances should not contain cheating.”
“Yes!” River shouts, then bangs a fist on the dash. “You get me. You totally get me.”
“I also understand story and subtext and narrative, but yes, I get you too,” I say drily.
River shoots me a glare, but his brown eyes are twinkling. “Love it when you get all smarty-pants. But I’m glad we agree. Emotional cheating is just as bad as any other cheating, and that flick glorified it, then tried to make it okay with their eventual exes liking other people.”
“Yup. Also, can we talk about the biggest issue in the film?”
River nods, big and long. “The fact that Tom Hanks’s character was a lying liar who lies?”
“He was the worst. He lied to her until the last frame,” I say, then mime retching again.
“See? That’s acceptable retching. You can retch over Tom Hanks lying anytime.”
“And I will. Because I have a lot to say on this topic. His character is a multiple liar. He lied when he stood her up on the date. Lied to her when she had the flu. And lied to her when he was courting her.”
“You know who that makes him? He’s the original catfisher,” River declares, shaking his head in disgust.
“Right? Plus, the movie made me hate Tom Hanks, and that’s not fair.”