“I paid for the tickets online,” he says, waving a QR code on his phone. “Want some popcorn?”
I love popcorn; no movie is complete without it. At the very mention of it, however, my stomach suddenly lurches uncomfortably. I pause; that’s not the first time that’s happened lately. I’ve either eaten something that doesn’t agree with me or I’m coming down with something. I have heard that there’s some sort of stomach virus going around.
“Maybe just a lemonade,” I decide; the fizzy drink should help settle my stomach, if my mother’s home remedies are to be believed.
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Lyle asks, concerned.
“Yeah… I ate before I came here,” I lie.
“Alright,” he says. “I’m getting popcorn, anyway, so feel free to nab some if you need to.”
“Sounds great,” I laugh.
“I’ll go get our tickets and food,” he says. “Wait here.”
He’s gone before I can protest. I shake my head, smiling. Another thing about Lyle is that he insists on paying for everything. The guy must be somewhat rich considering how much money he’s blown on our dates. Or maybe he’s just not very money-conscious.
When Lyle returns, he’s carefully balancing two drinks and a large tub of popcorn. At the sight of the snack and the smell of the fresh butter and salt, my stomach lurches again, this time more violently. What is wrong with me?
“Are you okay?” Lyle asks, looking at me closely. “You just went a little green.”
Great, now it’s obvious that I’m sick.
“I’ve been a little off the last few days,” I admi
t.
He hands me my drink and I sip at it. The cool liquid slides down my throat, making me realize just how hot I actually feel right now. Maybe there is something wrong with me.
“We can go if you want,” Lyle offers.
“No way,” I protest. “You’ve already bought the tickets.”
“I don’t mind,” he says.
“I do,” I say firmly. “Come on, I’ve been looking forward to this movie.” Another lie, since I can’t even remember what we’re seeing. “I’ll be sitting down and not moving, so I should be fine. I can go to bed and rest after.”
Lyle looks unconvinced. But then he says:
“Fine, if you think you’re okay,” he says.
“I am,” I say.
To prove it to myself, I grab a few kernels of popcorn and pop them in my mouth. I grin at him, ignoring the bile that I have to force back down.
I’ll be fine. I’m definitely okay.
“Lyle, I don’t think I’m okay,” I groan.
“Shh, it’s fine,” he says, smoothing my hair off my forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say something?”
I don’t answer. Lyle is escorting me from the theater. Inside, staff are directing the rest of the movie-goers to exit through another door, the movie having been interrupted when I finally lost the battle with my stomach and threw up in the aisle. I feel a little bad, but the cinema has already promised a full refund to everyone, and an extra session at some point so we can all try to watch it again.
“Maybe you should go see a doctor,” Lyle says, worried. “You don’t look good.”
I’m draped over his shoulder and my legs aren’t quite holding up. On top of that, most of my effort is going into not throwing up again.
“Sorry,” I say with a weak smile. “This probably wasn’t the date you imagined.”