I leaned against Owen and tried to focus on Spider-Man.
His arm went around me.
Then I noticed his thumb.
Rubbing against his finger.
After that, things got worse.
Ethan started kicking my chair repeatedly.
During loud scenes, I could almost ignore it.
During quiet scenes, each kick felt enormous.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
People nearby started turning around.
Then something cold hit the back of my neck.
Soda.
I turned again.
“Please stop kicking my seat.”
The mother sighed loudly.
“Can you just watch the movie?”
“I’m trying.”
“He’s nine. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to ask him to stop.”
“I already did.”
“Three times,” an older man behind them said.
Everyone looked back.
The man adjusted his glasses.
“He’s been bothering our row too.”
Ethan’s father finally looked up.
“Stay out of it.”
“It became my business when soda landed on my wife’s purse.”
The father rolled his eyes.
Then Ethan kicked my chair again.
Hard.
Normally, Owen would have said nothing.
That was who he had trained himself to be.
The man who tolerated.
The man who absorbed discomfort.
The man terrified that speaking firmly would somehow turn him into Frank.
I didn’t expect him to intervene.
I didn’t even want him to if it was going to cost him emotionally.
So I faced the screen.
There was popcorn in my hair.
My shirt collar was damp.
My back hurt from being kicked.
And I told myself I was not going to cry during Spider-Man.
Then Owen looked at me.
He reached into my curls and removed one more piece of popcorn.
He studied it for a moment.
Then he looked at my face.
Something changed.
Not anger.
Something calmer.
More certain.
He placed the popcorn on the armrest.
“Stay here.”
Then he left.
Four minutes later, the side door opened.
A young usher entered carrying a flashlight.
Behind him walked a woman around fifty wearing a dark blazer and a manager’s badge.
Behind her was Owen.
The manager stopped beside Row G.
“My name is Tamika,” she said. “I’m the manager tonight.”
