“It’s just that the whole thing that sets the plot in motion is Katharine Hepburn’s father cheating on her mother with a chorus girl. And Tracy Lord—Hepburn’s character—is the only one who thinks there’s anything wrong with that. Because she criticizes her father for cheating, she’s considered cold and uncaring—and a hypocrite because of one night where she got drunk and climbed on the roof of her house naked.”

Gabe was suddenly looking at the DVD with interest.

“Katharine Hepburn is naked in this movie?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just something they talk about.”

I kept going. Mostly because Gabe looked curious, not completely bored and/or horrified. Yet.

“Her father has this whole terrible speech about how basically the only reason he cheated is because his daughter didn’t worship him unconditionally and he had to go seek out the approval of a younger woman. Instead of Katharine Hepburn calling him a lecherous old man, she ends up apologizing for how she wasn’t a good enough daughter to him. She asks him for forgiveness. It’s a crash course in gaslighting and it’s gross.”

I was panting now, the way I always did when I really got caught up talking about something that needled me.

Gabe didn’t say anything for a while.

“So, you hate this movie.”

“No!” I tossed the DVD onto the bed. “I love this movie. It’s funny and romantic and has amazing banter. But it’s not perfect and I think it can be better.”

Jeremy had said that was ridiculous.

“It already exists,” he’d said. “It’s done. You can’t improve on something that was made over fifty years ago. You have to take it as it is.”

Maybe he was right.

Gabe looked thoughtful. “My sister didn’t mention any of this,” he said.

“There’s a lot more to the movie,” I said. “A lot of it is good.”

Gabe seemed doubtful. “You like the movie even though it has this horrible subplot.”

“I guess you could say that I love it, but I don’t worship it,” I said.

It had sounded extremely clever in my head but out loud it didn’t really make sense. Which, in a way, was the story of my life.

“It’s a good movie,” I said.

Gabe looked completely confused. I couldn’t really blame him. Jeremy had often said I didn’t make sense on the best of days.

Not that he didn’t have a point. Occasionally.

Gabe did seem like he regretted showing me the DVDs.

This wasn’t going well. I wasn’t supposed to be lecturing Gabe about misogynistic themes in classic films—I was supposed to be asking what he thought about the big-budget feature he was about to do.

Before I could, though, Gabe slapped his hands together, making me jump.

“I’m starving,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

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