Waiting for Tom Hanks Read online

  She starts to back out of the room, clearly disturbed by us. “This obviously means more to you than it does to me,” she says, handing me the book before walking away.

  “Yes!” I fist pump and take a good look at the wolf on the cover. “Best assistant ever.”

  “What is it?” Drew asks, leaning over to read the cover. “Mate for Life: The Science Behind Animal Romance.

  “Huh,” he continues. “I guess it kind of makes sense why Tommy wants Tarah’s character to have that book.”

  As he keeps talking about how Tarah’s character is researching the science of commitment and monogamy or whatever, I finally take a good look at the books on the shelf and see The Joy of Sex. The Complete Guide to Sex Positions. The Kama Sutra. This isn’t only the psychology room; this is also the relationship and sex room, and I’m crammed into it with Drew Danforth, sharing way too many details about my personal life.

  “I’ve gotta get this to Tommy.” I bump into the shelf and knock off a book in my haste to get out of the small room.

  “Okay,” Drew says, confused. He bends down to pick up the book, but the room is so small that his head brushes against my shoulder and I practically shriek.

  “Bye!” I shout as I jump out of the room and try to find my way through the labyrinthine halls of the Book Loft as quickly as possible. I don’t know what kind of weird moment Drew and I had back there, but I have an actual job to do, and that involves getting this book to Tommy. I don’t have time to think about Drew Danforth, his surprisingly good listening skills, or his out-of-character love for a Kelsey Grammer sitcom.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next night, after Nick’s has closed and I’m done on set, Chloe comes over and shares the couch with me for movie night. Since our house is lacking that all-important “open concept,” I can’t see Uncle Don, but I can hear him puttering around in the kitchen.

  This is maybe one of the best ways to spend an evening: on my couch, knowing that the two people I love most in the world are safe and sound right here with me.

  “I know you love it, but I honestly don’t think I can watch While You Were Sleeping again,” Chloe says, flipping through a magazine as I scroll through Netflix. “I find Peter Gallagher’s eyebrows extremely distracting.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “but you’ve gotta admit, Bill Pullman is pretty hot in that movie.”

  She looks up for a moment. “I don’t gotta admit anything. He wears a reversible denim jacket.”

  “And it’s a good look for him,” I say. “What about The Wedding Singer? It was the last time Adam Sandler played a convincingly sweet romantic lead.”

  Chloe wrinkles her nose. “I’m pretty sure I have that one memorized. I can’t hear Madonna’s ‘Holiday’ without thinking of his character’s breakdown.”

  “Oh! I know!” I say, switching over to the Hallmark app. “What about a Hallmark movie? In this one, a woman owns a pumpkin patch. Or in this one, the guy owns a Christmas tree farm.”

  Chloe puts down her magazine. “No! How many quirky farms can these people even own?”

  “Never Been Kissed?”

  “Creepy.”

  “Groundhog Day?”

  “Too many vests.”

  “But it’s one of the few winter rom-coms that doesn’t take place at Christmas,” I protest.

  Unimpressed, Chloe rolls her eyes. “These are some really white and straight movies, Annie.”

  “I know,” I say. “You’re right. But Drew says that’s why Tommy wanted to make an interracial rom-com so much, even though it’s a way smaller movie than the stuff he’s been doing lately.”

  Uncle Don walks in with a plate of cookies, and Chloe takes advantage of my distraction to grab the remote and start scrolling, muttering about how she’s going to make me watch some documentary about serial killers.

  “Are these the cookies?” I ask.

  Uncle Don nods. “The cookies, indeed.”

  My mom always made these chocolate chip cookies with pumpkin in them, which sounds weird but is actually wonderful. The pumpkin doesn’t add flavor so much as moisture, and the cookies turn out super soft and fluffy. They’re the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had (besides Chloe’s, obviously), and right now, watching a movie on the couch and eating them, I can kind of pretend things are the way they used to be. The way they’re supposed to be.

  “You think I should bring a batch of these to the convention?” Uncle Don says. “I wonder if Tyler would like them.”

  I have no idea why Uncle Don cares so much if some dude thinks he makes good cookies, but I nod with my mouth full.

  Uncle Don walks back into the kitchen, and Chloe, still scrolling, asks, “Do you think Don’s into this Tyler guy?”

  I think about it for a second. “I mean, anything’s possible. I don’t think he’s ever dated anyone, but I don’t know. I’ve seen his copies of Heavy Metal and there are a lot of illustrated boobs in that magazine for a gay man.”

  Chloe rolls her eyes and points to herself. “Bisexuals exist, Annie. We walk among you.”

  “I’m aware,” I say, kicking her. “But I don’t know, I think he would tell me. I mean, he hangs out with a gay couple every week for D&D.”

  But now that Chloe brought it up, I realize that I know almost nothing about Uncle Don’s personal life. The only time I see him interact with people is at D&D, and I’m fairly certain he’s not dating Dungeon Master Rick, since Dungeon Master Rick is married. All this time I’ve assumed he doesn’t have a romantic life at all, but what if he does and he’s not telling me?

  “Anyway,” Chloe says lightly, taking a bite of a cookie, “don’t think I didn’t notice what you said before Don walked in.”

  “What?” I ask with my mouth full.

  “Drew said,” she says in a falsetto that I think is supposed to be me, fluttering her eyelashes. “Since when are you having movie conversations with Drew?”

  “I’m not having movie conversations with Drew,” I say. “But we work at the same place. Sometimes we talk.”

  I don’t mention that one of those conversations was about our pasts and took place in a small room next to some particularly racy books.

  Chloe narrows her eyes. “You’re such a bad liar.”

  I focus on my cookie. “Drew is a movie star, and I barely know him. He has also, on numerous occasions, made fun of me. And he was quite uncharitable toward Barry.”

  “Oh.” Chloe swats at my leg. “Don’t act like you’re concerned about defending Barry. Nick claims he stole a roll of toilet paper.”

  I sigh. I don’t want to explain to Chloe that yes, Drew was surprisingly nice the last time we hung out, and it felt like there was something in the air in that tiny, book-filled room. Just because I’m a rom-com fanatic doesn’t mean I’m that unrealistic.

  “I think he’s your Tom Hanks,” Chloe says with conviction.

  “He isn’t,” I say flatly. “He’s famous. He’s rich. He’s used to dating other famous, rich people and he doesn’t take anything seriously. Tom Hanks always takes everything seriously, especially relationships.”

  “Yeah,” Chloe says, pointing at me with the remote. “But maybe this is like Roman Holiday. He’s the Audrey Hepburn princess, and you’re the Gregory Peck journalist, and you’re gonna totally end up together forever.”

  “When’s the last time you saw Roman Holiday, Chlo? They don’t end up together.”

  “Wait, what?” Chloe asks, sitting up straighter.

  I shake my head. “She’s a princess; she has obligations. In that last scene, at the press conference, she walks away, and he’s left there alone. That’s it.”

  Chloe sits back. “Damn. That’s kinda bleak.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “But maybe—” she starts, but I cut her off.

  “He’s not my Tom Hanks, okay? Maybe my Tom Hanks is a cutthroat businessman, or maybe he’s on a houseboat, but he’s definitely not a movie star who’s going to jet out of Columbu
s as soon as he possibly can.”

  “But that’s your obstacle!” Chloe says.

  “Chloe.”

  “One last thing: love conquers all.” She sits back and folds her hands. “I’m done.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Not even a little. But look! I picked out something for us to watch!”

  I glance at the screen and barely stop myself from doing a double take. “Is this Frasier?”

  “I know, I know, it’s kinda corny, but I caught a rerun the last time I was home in the afternoon and honestly, I laughed a lot. And there’s a dog, which is always a good thing. Plus, sitcoms are basically right below rom-coms on the ‘comforting entertainment’ scale.”

  “Yeah, okay, sure,” I say softly as she presses play and the credits begin. But I can’t even focus because, if this was a rom-com, I’m pretty sure this would be a sign.

  * * *

  • • •

  The next morning on set, I’m trying to find Tommy while holding yet another scalding cup of coffee for him when I hear someone behind me.

  “Hey.”

  I spin around and find myself face-to-face with Carter Reid, he of the blue eyes and the slightly curly hair and the nicely aging face.

  “I’m sorry for what I said about the wires,” I say in lieu of hello.

  “I’m not here about the wires,” he says. “The wires have very thick skins. They’re not offended.”

  “That’s a relief,” I say, wondering what he could possibly want to talk to me about. What do we have besides the wires? The wires brought us together.

  “So, this might be weird, but my therapist tells me I’m supposed to be putting myself out there when the opportunity arises, and meeting you seemed like an opportunity, so . . . would you like to get coffee some time?”

  I take a step back and bump into someone, narrowly avoiding spilling the coffee on myself. “What?”

  Carter exhales. “Did I do that wrong? It’s been a really, really long time since I asked someone out. Should I have used . . . an app? Is that what people do now?”

  I try to hide my smile, but I can’t help myself. “No. Um . . . this is great. What you did is great. Let’s get coffee.”

  His face breaks into a smile. “How about that place down the street? Nick’s? Are you free tonight?”

  Wait, am I seriously, after years of rarely going out on coffee dates or any other kind of dates, going to have two dates at Nick’s in one week?

  Carter misinterprets the shock on my face and stammers, “I—I mean . . . wait, is tonight way too soon? Did I make things super weird?”

  “Tonight is great,” I say. “And Nick’s is perfect. Can I ask you a question?”

  He raises his eyebrows in response.

  “Do you . . . drink hot liquids?”

  Carter looks at me for a moment without saying anything.

  “I’m gonna need an answer,” I say quietly. “It’s been an issue before.”

  “Yes?” he answers, looking confused.

  I exhale in relief. “Great. I’ll see you tonight at Nick’s. Eight?”

  “Wait,” Carter says. “While we’re getting all our issues out on the table, I should tell you that I have a kid.”

  “Is he . . . going to be there?” I ask, imagining a baby in a high chair, kicking the table and knocking over my latte.

  Carter laughs. “No. He’s thirteen, so he’s perfectly capable of entertaining himself if I’m gone for a couple of hours. But, you know, kids are a deal breaker for some people. I wanted to get it all out in the open.”

  I shake my head, thinking about sad, perfect Tom Hanks in that houseboat in Sleepless in Seattle, all alone with his precocious and hilarious child. And then I think about cocky, perfect Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail, taking his father’s son and his grandfather’s daughter to that carnival in New York and, again, being on a boat.

  Truly, is there anything more romantic than Tom Hanks on a boat?

  “No,” I tell Carter, a man who I’m starting to think might actually be a character created by Nora Ephron herself and sent here to me. “Kids aren’t a deal breaker for me.”

  “That’s good.” He smiles, then someone behind him yells his name. “Gotta get back to work. See you tonight, Annie.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Chloe almost drops the coffee she’s holding when I tell her I’m going on a date.

  “For goodness sake, Annie! You almost made me pull a Tobin!” she says, eyes wide.

  “Hey. I heard that, and I don’t appreciate it,” Tobin says from his post, leaning against the counter and doing nothing.

  “I just . . . I can’t believe you did this without me, all on your own!” Chloe says, handing the coffee to a customer. “I’m proud. Is this what it’s like to be a parent?”

  “Yes,” Gary says from his table, where he’s reading the newspaper. “That’s exactly what it’s like. You’re always proud of them when they accomplish something big.”

  “I didn’t know you had children, Gary,” I say.

  “I have three ferrets,” he says with a smile, and you know what? He does look proud.

  Chloe widens her eyes at me briefly, then takes off her apron. “Nick, I’m taking my break!”

  “You just took a break,” Nick calls from the back.

  “Tobin can handle it,” Chloe says, coming out from behind the counter. She gestures to my usual table. “Come, sit. Tell me literally everything, in excruciating detail.”

  “First off, I don’t get how we didn’t know Gary had ferrets already. That kind of seems like something he would’ve mentioned,” I say, sitting down.

  “If you think I want to talk about Gary’s ferrets right now, then you’re being deliberately obtuse,” Chloe says. “Spill the beans, woman.”

  I run through the entire story, and Chloe squeals at all the appropriate parts. “And get this . . . he has a kid,” I say, leaning forward.

  Chloe tilts her head, like maybe she didn’t hear me. “Okay?”

  “A kid, Chloe.”

  She continues to stare blankly.

  “Like. Tom. Hanks.”

  “There it is,” she mutters. “I thought this was maybe a step forward for you. Like, sure, you’re not throwing yourself at the super-hot movie star who comes in here almost every day—”

  “Drew comes in here every day?” I ask, but she keeps going.

  “Even though your refusal to do so is basically an insult to me, your best friend, who would love nothing more than to hear a secondhand account of what those abs really look like in person—”

  I purse my lips.

  “But I thought that maybe accepting a date with an apparently hot, just-slightly-older man meant that you were committing to life here in the real world, where our interactions don’t consist of banter written by Nora Ephron. However, I see now that I was wrong.”

  “Could you please stop talking like this? Like you’re narrating a podcast about my life?”

  “Hon,” Chloe says. “No one’s going to make a podcast about your life unless you murder someone or get murdered by someone. And even then, the bar is pretty high these days.”

  I ignore her and say, “He said he asked me out because his therapist told him to take chances. His therapist. This is a guy who’s in touch with his feelings, like Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle.”

  “Big whoop!” Chloe says, throwing her hands in the air. “Everyone’s in therapy. Gary’s in therapy. That doesn’t mean you need to date Gary.”

  “You girls know I’m happy with Martha,” Gary says from across the room. I wave at him.

  “Chloe,” Nick says, palms on the counter. “Planning on getting back to work at any point?”

  She smiles and faux-sweetly says, “Yes, sir!” then turns to me. “Listen, babe. All I’m saying is that you need to remember this kid he has is a person, not a plot device, okay?”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” She ge
ts up and heads back to the counter. She shakes Tobin by the shoulders. “Dude. Were you asleep?”

  “I was meditating,” Tobin says groggily.

  “Go meditate in the kitchen while you wash the forks,” Chloe says.

  I sigh. “Hey, did I mention that our date is tonight? Here?”

  Chloe leans over the counter. “So I get to see Mysterious Hot Blue-Eyed Older Man in the flesh, hmmm?”

  “Stop saying flesh like that. It sounds . . . lascivious.”

  “Good, because that’s how I meant it.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your new fella,” Gary says, stopping by my table.

  “He’s not . . . this is our first date, Gary.”

  Gary adjusts his hat. “But you never know what might happen.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of, I think as Gary walks through the front door and I’m hit with a gust of cold air.

  * * *

  • • •

  I choose a tight dress for my date. It’s perhaps too tight, but Carter primarily sees me in a puffy jacket, and I’d like to remind him that I do, in fact, have a body underneath my several layers of insulation. I don’t even know why I own this black dress with a neckline that’s entirely too low, but it’s probably a leftover from college, when Chloe and I had friends who liked to sometimes “go out,” which entailed going to some weird bar with a smoke machine and dance remixes that only served to make already terrible songs even more terrible.

  “Uncle Don! I’m leaving!” I call as I run down the stairs. I don’t want to pull a Barry and be late to this date. For starters because it’s rude, but also because I don’t want to disappoint Carter. I mean, he already sees me as a girl who drops a bunch of papers all over a snow-covered street—I don’t want him to think I’m a complete hot mess.

  Although, I think as I look at myself in the hall mirror, I wouldn’t mind him thinking I’m hot. I tug the neckline up a little bit.

  “Whoa,” Uncle Don says, stepping out of the kitchen. “Add some ears in and you’re halfway to a pretty good Catwoman cosplay.”