Dean is 43 and Jo is 37 and he has his jammy knee and she has her bad shoulder and they both know they're not old but they're older than they ever thought they would be. She is older than her father ever got to be; he is older than his mother ever was. And they talk about this quietly while laying on the sofa, Dirty Dancing playing in the background and the scent of nail polish from their drying nails hanging in the air around them. It smells the same as it did in 2006 when painting them black in the backroom of the roadhouse was the scariest thing they both could do.
Today, they are older than they ever thought they'd be, and bright pink nails loosely grip the ciders they're sipping on as they fall asleep oh so softly on each other's shoulders.
