Free The Ordinary Life of Emily P. Bates by Anna Cackler Page A

third remote at the TV and hit play. “I’ve been trying to convince Dad to get one of those huge universal remotes, but they cost like seventy bucks and he doesn’t think it’s worth it.”
    “It’s not.”
    He shrugged and picked up the popcorn bowl. “Popcorn?”
    I smiled and took a handful, though I wasn’t hungry at all. Mom had been experimenting in the kitchen to celebrate two whole nausea-free days and had come up with an amazing twist on Chicken Kiev. All three of us had eaten almost enough to feed five people.
    I can’t say that I really paid much attention to the movie at all. I remember there was a professor demonstrating sex to a class of impassive college students and a very fat man exploded all over the other guests at a fancy restaurant. None of it really left much of an impression on me. Ethan would burst out laughing and look over at me fairly frequently, obviously checking to see if I was laughing, too. Of course I did, if only to let him think I was enjoying his movie.
    Every so often Ethan or I shifted our weight or changed positions, and each time we managed to inch a little closer to each other. By the time the fat man exploded, our thighs were touching. He had his arm resting on the back of the couch behind me, and even though it wasn’t anywhere close to my shoulders, I still felt the electricity flowing from his arm to the back of my neck.
    It was extremely difficult to keep from fidgeting with my cast, which was itching more and more with every second that I tried not to think about it. In the end I just jammed it under my right arm and tried to pay attention to the movie.
    Far sooner than I would have liked, the movie was over and Ethan was removing his arm from the back of the couch. He took the empty bowl and soda cans to the kitchen. “So,” he called from the next room. “What did you think?”
    I didn’t get it. “It was funny!”
    “I told you.” He returned to the living room and plopped back down into the center of the sofa, a good foot and half between us now.
    You sure did. “Yeah.”
    “So which skit did you like the best?”
    There were skits? “The exploding man was really gross.”
    He laughed and got up to turn off the equipment. “I know. That’s my favorite one too. I told you you’d like it.”
    “I know you did.” I watched his face carefully as he worked, and continued to do so without thinking about it when he returned to the couch.
    “What?” he asked when he saw that I was staring.
    “Nothing,” I replied, but still could not look away.
    “Well it’s got to be something.”
    “No, I’m just trying to figure out what you are.”
    “What I am?” His voice rose a few decibels. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “No, what you are racially.” I blushed. “I guess I could have put that better.”
    But he was suddenly laughing so hard that the entire couch was shaking.
    “It’s not that funny!” I cried.
    “No, no! It’s just that I was expecting you to say something completely different.”
    “Like what?”
    He shrugged, still smiling broadly. “I don’t know. But when someone questions what you are , then it carries some pretty negative connotations.
    “So?”
    “So what?”
    “So what race are you? I’ve been trying to figure it out for two months.”
    “And what have you come up with?”
    “I dunno. Middle Eastern? Partly?”
    He laughed. “Close, but no. My dad’s half Indian half Texan, and my Mom’s pure Hispanic.”
    “Oh,” I said. “I wasn’t aware that Texan was a race.”
    “Clearly you’ve never been to Texas.”
    “Yeah.” I laughed. Suddenly a hollow chiming sound echoed down the dark hall into the living room. I jumped. It was the grandfather clock. “Oh crap, what time is it?”
    “Ah, ten. Why?”
    “I’ve gotta go.” I got up and started gathering up my shoes and my bag.
    “Oh.”
    Did I imagine the disappointment in his voice? I hesitated at the front door and turned back, a tentative smile