“Come on,” Alana says, as she finishes locking up the theatre from the inside. It’s midnight, and our shift has just ended. I follow her through the dark theatre by instinct, dodging the cardboard cut-out of Adam Driver and weaving around the counter. I follow her silhouette through the lobby and towards one of the doors to the theatres.

     “Alana, what—”

     She turns around, pressing her finger to her lips in a giggle. “Shhhhhh.” Turning around, she slowly eases the door open and beckons me to follow. Confused but compliant, I do. On the screen a movie is paused at its beginning, the A24 logo frozen on the screen.

     “You see, I’m friends with the projectionist, so I agreed to lock up tonight and he let me play a movie from the movie machine,” she explains in a whisper as she leaps up the stairs to the row at the top.

     “The movie machine?” I reply in an equal volume, suppressing my laugh.

     “I don’t know what it’s called, okay?” she says jokingly, rolling her eyes. “Come on. I’ll be right back.” She gestures for me to enter the row before disappearing behind the door in the back of the theatre. I respond dutifully, moving to the middle and sinking into one of the plush cushions, kicking back my chair and reclining to the maximum. 

    The movie on the screen begins playing, and Alana comes back to sit next to me, setting a large popcorn (which I know has sour patch mixed into it) between us. I recognize the opening shots immediately. 

     “It’s Lady Bird,” she whispers. “Have you seen it?”

      I pause, listening to the dialogue on screen before replying. “Too many times,” I finally say, smiling.

     “Perfect,” she murmurs, satisfied. “Me too.” We turn back toward the screen just as Lady Bird launches herself out of the car.

     Twenty minutes later, I am full on popcorn and have come to pull my legs up on the chair beside me in a more comfortable position. I watch the screen, completely relaxed for the first time in days. 

    “I’ve always found this scene so romantic,” I whisper between our chairs, watching Danny and Lady Bird frolic in the orchard of flowers. “Even though it ends up being fake.”  

    “Me too. Though I do think their relationship was genuine, even if they weren’t in love.” She pauses, and we watch them collapse onto the grass. “It’s so idyllic. What’s better than an empty field of flowers?” she says wistfully. 

     I shrug, considering. “I’ve always been more a ‘dinner and a movie’ type person.”

     I see her bite back a smile as she shovels more popcorn into her mouth. On the screen Danny and Lady Bird pick a star and name it.

     I stumble home from the theatre at two o’clock. Alana, who somehow still has energy, insisted I go and that she stay and clean up. I tried protesting, but she was very stubborn about it and had much more energy to fight back than I did. I yawn and pinch the bridge of my nose as I trudge home. When did everything become so complicated? I’ve been working with Alana for six months now, since she moved here at the beginning of the school year. We have seen each other at least once, if not three or four times every week, and yet I have never seen her outside of work. At first, of course, it was because we had just met and weren’t particularly close. But as time went on, it started becoming a purposeful decision. I realized I liked having someone who didn’t know where I lived or who my parents were. I liked that she didn’t know what we did to get by or see me at my lowest. I liked that I could associate her with all the good parts of my life and none of the bad. But how long could I really keep that up for? 

     I sigh as I reach my building and fumble with the door, all of a sudden too tired to think about it anymore. I finally get the handle to work and push open the door, stepping inside. At my door, I fumble with my keys, not bothering an attempt at stealth as I expect both my parents to be asleep: it’s 2:30am by now. However, as I stumble through the door, I see that the lights are still dimly lit and that my father is leaning on the table in the living room, body shaking. I must make a noise of surprise because he jumps and turns around, swinging a broken bottle I hadn’t seen in his hand towards me. I press my back up against the door behind me. His eyes can’t seem to decide on heart-break or rage. His knuckles are split and his hands shake. He hasn’t moved, and the hand holding the jagged bottle is still outstretched toward me. My voice trembles. 

     “Dad. Dad, where’s mom?” 

      He doesn’t respond but a tear leaks down his cheek and his hands begin to shake harder. 

      My throat is closing up and I struggle for air. Tears well up in my eyes but I blink them away. 

     “Where’s mom?” I ask again, now as a wet scream that tears from my throat. 

      This gets to him, but not in the way I hoped. The tragedy disappears from his eyes, and the rage takes over. Panic and adrenaline course through me as I see him start to move, and I quickly slip out the door, running down the stairs as fast as I can, not looking behind me. I will my feet to move faster and then I’m out the door, running. I don’t stop as my tears blur my vision completely and it becomes painful on my lungs to cry and run at the same time. I don’t stop until I reach the brightly lit police station six blocks away, yanking the door open and stumbling inside, quickly rushing to the counter. “Please help,” I say, voice high-pitched and desperate. “1450 Ferdinand Way, apartment 20. There’s an emergency.” 

        The serious woman behind the desk nods, and speaks quickly into her radio before turning to me. “Okay ma’am, I’ve sent someone on their way. Why don’t you sit down-”

        I push off the counter and stumble back out of the building, finding a spot in the shadows of the streetlights and sliding down the concrete wall until I’m sitting with my head between my knees. My lungs burn from the run. Or from the cold air, or from crying. I can’t breathe and cry and think all at the same time and I don’t know what to do and where do I go? and what now? and what have I done? and I’ve forgotten how to breathe and I don’t know what to do and - 

      “June?” 

      I jerk my head up. What? 

     Alana stands under the glow of the streetlight, bag slung across her body, one hand stuck in her coat pocket and the other holding her keys. 

     “What-,” I start, glancing around. In the confusion, my brain seems to have frozen.

     She sticks her right arm out, gesturing vaguely, eyes not leaving me. “I live right down the street.” Her brow furrows in concern, and she glances over at the police station. “But what are you doing here? It’s almost three a.m.” 

     And with that, my brain speeds up again and I break eye contact, head falling back against the wall. I hear her approach, setting her bags down and coming to sit next to me. 

     “June,” she pleads. “Please tell me what’s going on.” 

     I tilt my head to look over at her. The tears in her eyes glimmer under the street lights. Her eyes search mine and my resolve breaks. I turn back away from her, taking a shuddering breath. 

     “Um, my family. They’re kind of messed up. More so than most families, I guess.” 

     I stare out into the black street and study the outlines of the trees and the cars and the buildings as I talk. It spills from me in a giant rush of words as I tell her about my sister and my mother and father. I tell her about my father’s slow decline and deterioration, my mother’s unwillingness to recognize it, and their constant fights. I tell her that I almost didn’t recognize the man clutching the broken bottle; that I didn’t know who he was, or what he was capable of, or where my mother was. That I still don’t know where my mother is. 

     I stop, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my head back against the concrete firmly, trying to grasp onto the steady pressure I find there. A hand covers mine where it rests on my knee. 

     “June…” 

     “No, wait.” I open my eyes and turn to her, forcing myself to hold eye contact. “I also want to apologize. That I didn’t tell you sooner. I know it’s not fair to you, but I didn’t want you to think any worse of me or pity me, and I liked that you didn’t know any of this about me, and it was selfish-” 

     “June, stop.” She has shifted her shoulders so she looks at me head on. “You don’t need to apologize. Really. It’s not easy to let someone in and I didn’t mind being your escape from all that if it meant keeping you around. But I do care, June, and you’re right I have wanted to ask you about yourself for so long because I could see that you’re hurting and I just wanted to help it go away.” Her voice breaks and the brown of her eyes blur in her tears. 

     She reaches forward and touches my cheek. And I lean forward and kiss her lightly.

     She inhales sharply and kisses me back with equal care. I pull back slightly, resting my forehead on hers. I close my eyes and begin to breathe easier. We stay like that for a peaceful few minutes, warm breath mingling in the air between us. Finally, she pulls back slowly, a small smile on her face. Gently and regretfully she says, “As much as I love this, June, I think we need to go check on your family.” 

     My mood falls, and I nod silently. She helps me stand and we head inside. The receptionist from earlier tells me that when the police arrived my father was crying and clutching a broken bottle, trying to break down the door into my parent’s room. She tells me that he was apprehended and that my mother was taken to Portsmouth Hospital. She gives me a tight smile as I turn around and lean against the desk, trying not to throw up. 

     Alana insists on accompanying me to the hospital, which I’m secretly glad of because my spinning thoughts would have driven me insane without her calming presence to slow them down, hand gripping mine in the taxi ride there. I sink down into the seat, mind reeling as I stare out the window at the passing lights.

     “You go ahead, June, I’ll pay,” Alana says when we arrive, urging me out of the car as she takes out her wallet. I thank her and rush away, quickly bursting through the automatic doors, tepid air and antiseptic smell hitting me immediately. I head to the receptionist. “My name is June Garcia, my mother, Doris, was brought in maybe an hour ago? Can you tell me if she’s okay?” 

     The nurse glances up from her files and gives me a kind smile, assuring me gently: “Yes. She’s stable but asleep.” 

     Relief courses through my body and my tears spill over. “Oh thank you so much.” I pause for a minute, wiping my eyes and trying to gather myself. “Do you-do you happen to know what happened?” My voice breaks and my fingers drum nervously on the speckled marble. 

     “It’s clear from her injuries that she was hit a couple times,” she starts, as gently as possible. I suck in a sharp breath, tears pricking my eyes. “But the police said that even though her husband was holding a broken bottle when they arrived, it didn’t appear that he had hit her with it.” 

     I sigh deeply, and give her a small smile, struggling between despair and relief. Alana comes up beside me and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. “Do you think I can see her?”

     The room is dark and she is still. The nurse leaves with strict instructions not to wake her up, so we feel our way to the two chairs perched next to the bed. I fall into one with a drawn out sigh as Alana comes to sit gently in the one beside me. I stare despondently at the wall, suddenly exhausted. I can sense Alana glancing over at me every so often but she doesn’t push, squeezing my hand tighter instead. We fall asleep in those small chairs, legs outstretched, necks bent forward, and hands joined. 

     One week later, I’m in the passenger seat of her car and she won’t tell me where we’re going. “It has to be a surprise,” she says when I ask. “First dates are always a surprise.” 

     “First date, huh? And since when?” 

     “Since always,” she responds, cheerfully, not relenting any information. 

     I sigh good-naturedly and look out the window. 

     It’s a couple minutes before I say, “I gave my statement today.” 

     She glances over, reading my face carefully. “And?” 

     “And it feels good to have done it. Mom’s getting better; she still misses him, but I think she’s realizing now just how bad it got. She’s ready to give her statement but wants to see if we can get him sent to a government rehab facility instead of a prison.” I fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “I’m going to let her worry about that, though.” 

     Alana reaches over and squeezes my hand. We sit in silence as I stare back out the window at the passing scenery, lazily trying to figure out where we might be going. After a minute or two, she grins over at me. “Okay, close your eyes.” 

     I roll my eyes and do as I’m told. Eyes closed and trying to relax, I feel the car wind through the streets. I’m about to tell her that I’m becoming seriously sick, when the car comes to a stop. “Can I open my eyes now?” 

     “No, hold on one second.” She lets go of my hand, and I can hear her unbuckling and getting out of the car. She opens and closes the back door, and I think I’m left alone. I sit there for a couple long minutes drumming my fingers on my knee and wondering what she’s up to before my door finally opens. “You can open your eyes now.” 

     I blink them open and climb out of the car. We’re parked on the side of an empty road, facing a large field of cropped grass and wildflowers that stretches in front of me in every direction. The sun, rapidly approaching the horizon, sends pink rays racing across the empty blue sky. Alana runs down into the field, arms spread wide and grinning over a picnic she’s laid out. I let out a surprised laugh and rush forward, hugging her. She laughs and we spin around with my momentum. “Come on!” 

     She sits down and pulls out strawberries, whipped cream, and milk chocolate. I plop down beside her and pull one of the extra blankets around my shoulders. “Sorry, I only brought dessert,” she chirps unapologetically, filling a strawberry with whipped cream. I shake my head in mock disappointment and reach for one myself. We scooch under the two big blankets she’s brought and look up at the stars. The sky is black now, and the stars glitter enthusiastically away from the city lights. We choose an extra shiny one and name it.