I vacuum under the cushions, scrub the bathroom sink, and load the handful of dishes into the washer.
It occurs to me then how little food we have on hand, so I grab my bag and keys and head out to wander the fluorescent-lit, mostly empty aisles of Tom’s.
I can’t buy much produce here without devastating Miles’s farm-stand-loving heart, but I grab a few apples and some broccoli, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a couple other essentials.
On my way to check out, I also detour to grab four new toothbrushes.
Just in case.
I still make it home before them and have just finished putting everything away when two very loud voices move down the hallway, and the door swings open.
I see Miles first.
“Hey,” he says, stopping short, grinning like he’s pleasantly surprised to see me here. Like he forgot we lived together. I’m not sure if this is a compliment or an insult.
His sister barrels into the kitchen right behind him. She’s tall. As tall or possibly taller than him, and string-bean skinny with the same impish nose, perfect teeth, and dark hair, though hers is chopped into a little wavy French Girl bob, complete with baby bangs.
“Hi!” she says brightly, hurling—actually throwing—her duffel bag in the general direction of the living room. “You must be the roommate, Daphne.”
“And you must be the sister, Julia,” I say.
“What gave it away?” She hooks an arm around Miles’s neck and shoves the side of her face against his. “We look nothing alike.”
“Total stab in the dark,” I agree.
She pulls away from him, scratching her jaw. “You need to scrape that roadkill off your face,” she says, beelining toward the fridge. “I think I just got fleas.”
She opens the door and looks over her shoulder at me, though not in time to catch Miles mouthing something along the lines of Told you. “Have you seen my brother without a beard?” Julia asks me. “He’s adorable. Like a fifteen percent less hot version of me.”
“I don’t know, I kind of like the beard,” I say.
She narrows her gaze on me. Then she straightens, lips pursing sourly as she considers me, like I’m a particularly tricky poker opponent. But I’m not. I’m terrible at lying, except when that one unhinged demon possessed me to make up a whole-ass boyfriend.
Suddenly, Julia spins toward Miles, pointing a finger in his face. “You fucking told her to say that!” she shouts, victorious.
He swats her hand out of the way. “Jules, inside voice. Our crotchety neighbor is going to come yell at us.”
“Admit it,” she cries, swatting his hand.
She spins toward me, face alight, a more extreme version of Miles’s lit-from-within, delighted-by-everything grin. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you tell me the truth, Daphne.”
“Daphne,” Miles warns, trying to get past her. Julia puts her arms out to her sides, stance wide, a defensive guard keeping us from passing the deceit between us.
“Daphne!” she shrieks through laughter as Miles tries to push past. “Tell me the truth!”
“I already did!” I cry, running past both of them to the far side of the counter. “I like the beard! It’s grown on me!”
“Daphne.” Julia straightens up, hands on her hips. “We’re supposed to be a team here.”
“You just met,” Miles says, rounding the counter to stand beside me. “We’ve been living together for over two months.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Julia says, turning to resume digging through the fridge. “Holy shit, you have food in here. Like, not leftovers, I mean.”
“We do?” Miles says right as I say, “We do.”
He glances at me. “Thanks.”
Julia snatches a grapefruit sparkling water and faces us as she pops the tab. “So how long have you guys been together?”
I choke on air. “What.”
“We’re not,” Miles says, clearly a little embarrassed.
Julia’s dark brows flick upward as she sips, then slams her can on the counter. If he’s a Labrador, she’s more of a clumsy pit bull, thwacking into corners and swinging her head into coffee tables without batting an eye, completely unselfconscious. I like her immediately.
Julia’s head tilts. “That’s not what Petra said.”
“You talked to Petra?” Miles says.
“Not in a Judas Iscariot way,” she blurts. “I chewed her ass out over text a few weeks ago, and I never heard back. Then last week, she messaged me out of the blue, to say she’s happy for you.”
“How thoughtful,” I grumble.
Julia’s gaze wanders back to me. “Is there any particular reason she thinks you guys are sleeping together?”
I wonder if I have hives visibly forming on my neck.
I also wonder if I have bruises where Miles bit me.
“That’s my fault,” I tell Julia. “Long story, but Peter—my ex—called me, and I accidentally just . . .”
Her brow rises as she waits for me to go on. It’s an exact Miles Nowak expression, but somehow it’s so much sharper on her.
“I straight-up lied,” I finish.
She stares at me for a second, then bursts into laughter, hinging over her hips and resting her whole face and arms on the counter as she shakes with giggles. When she finally peels her face off the granite, she says, “That’s fucking amazing.”
Miles smiles faintly. “That was my reaction too.”
Julia drums her hands on the counter for a second. “So. Should we get drunk?”
I laugh.
“Daphne works in the morning,” Miles says. “She hosts Story Hour at the library on Saturdays. Does all the voices.”
I don’t think he’s trying to embarrass me; I think he genuinely believes this is an interesting and maybe even impressive tidbit to share with his ultrahip, ultraconfident little sister.
“Oh, hell yeah, we should go see that,” she says.
“You really don’t need to do that,” I say. “Tomorrow’s book is The Stinky Cheese Man.”
“You can’t talk me out of it.” She angles herself back toward Miles. “What about you? You want to rage tonight? I’m sure you could afford to blow off some steam, judging by the . . .” She gestures toward his jaw.
He grabs the edge of the counter and lets his hips sink away from it, stretching his back with a groan. “Julia,” he says. “I’m thirty-six. If I get drunk, I pay for it.”
“Oh, bullshit,” I tease. “Last time, you were up on a breakfast sandwich run while I was still shaking with the sweats in bed.”
“Ha!” Julia cries. “Gotcha.”
“I can manage that every once in a while,” he allows, “but we’re supposed to go out Sunday night with our friend Ashleigh.”
I’m surprised he remembers. Then I look over his shoulder and realize he’s added it to the calendar, right next to the long arrow through the Sunday column.
“You’ll like her,” Miles tells his sister. Then his forehead wrinkles. “Or you’ll hate her. I’m actually not sure.”
“Time will tell,” Julia replies with a shrug and a slurp of seltzer. “Should we order pizza?”
He chances a glance at me, his voice a teasing scrape: “I’m sure Daphne would love that.”
A whisper shivers down my backbone: I love the sounds you make.
“Actually, let’s do something else,” I say.
I try to think of the least sexy food I can come up with. Most food, I realize, is at least a little sexy.
“Nachos?” I say.
OceanofPDF.com
14
SATURDAY, JUNE 22ND
56 DAYS UNTIL I CAN LEAVE
