“You know, JP, just because your life doesn’t work that way, doesn’t mean others don’t. Look at Lottie and Huxley, for instance. Their love story reads heavily like a romantic comedy, with all the twists and turns that a passionate love affair can offer.”
“They ran into each other on the sidewalk and struck up a deal to help each other. That doesn’t really scream romance to me.”
“It’s a classic trope.”
“A what?” he asks, his face twisting in confusion.
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes, girding myself to educate this man on the simple pleasures of the romance community. “A trope is a plot or theme that helps tell a story. For instance, if I were to label Huxley and Lottie’s romance, I would easily call it ‘enemies to lovers’ since they hated each other, with a smattering of ‘fake fiancée’ and a touch of ‘billionaire.’ All wildly popular.”
“Billionaire is a trope?” Both his brows raise now in suspicion.
“A very popular one.”
“So, let me get this straight—you think that your life is going to be some sort of romcom with these tropes?”
“No, but I was hoping for better company than the one currently present,” I snap at him, taking another sip of my water.
“What’s wrong with the present company? We’re having a healthy conversation.”
“This is what you consider healthy? I’m on the verge of either shooting my water up your nose or roundhouse kicking you to the ground. How does that scream healthy conversation?”
His lips press together and then after he casually leans back in his chair again, he says, “Seems to me like you need to go to some anger management classes.”
I wonder if I can get away with forking JP to death.
“That’s the dumbest movie ever.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. The audacity of the man.
“You’re telling me, out of all the movies in the entire world, your all-time favorite, the one you can watch over and over again is Sleepless in Seattle?”
“Yes. When Harry Met Sally is a close second.”
“Meg Ryan fan, are we?”
“How can you not be a fan of her delightful charm?”
“I mean, she’s fine, but I’m not going to seek out a movie because she’s in it.”
“Well, you should. Maybe you could learn something from watching her movies, become more desirable to be around.”
He smooths his hand over his jaw and says, “Haven’t had any complaints about my company being desirable.”
I roll my eyes and, because our food still hasn’t arrived, I ask, “So, what makes Sleepless in Seattle so far beneath you?”
“It’s unbelievable.”
“How so?” I ask in shock.
“Well, besides the fact that a child not only purchased a plane ticket by himself, but he flew across the country with no parental guidance, found his way to the Empire State Building, and reached the top without one person questioning him? Yeah, that would never happen. But also, because Meg Ryan is a clear stalker in this movie.”
“She’s not a stalker. She’s merely curious.”
“Be curious about your neighbor, not some questionable father all the way across the country.”
“His story touched her.”
“He’s a forlorn father trying to find some ass through a radio show.” JP claps. “Job well done, Tom Hanks. You were able to sweep lonely and desperate women off their feet from miles away.”
“Oh my God, you’re . . . you’re gross.”
“Gross?” he asks, his hand landing on the table. “How am I the gross one? I’m not chasing tail across the country, using my son as bait.”
“Um, Sam Baldwin had no idea that’s what was happening. If you recall, he was absolutely distraught over his son’s disappearance.”
“Okay, sure, he pulled his hand from under his woman’s shirt long enough to realize his son was missing. Great parenting. But put all of that aside, and you really think they would’ve fallen for each other? They caught one glimpse of each other and then all of a sudden, they were at the top of the Empire State Building, and in love? There’s absolutely no believability to their relationship. If that movie had an epilogue, it would show them awkwardly realizing the next morning that they live over three thousand miles apart, he lives on a houseboat, and they have absolutely nothing in common other than idiotic spontaneity.”