“So you finally shut your sister in the pantry,” I say.
He looks up, breaking into a smile. “She’s bringing up packages from the lobby.”
I lean back to peer out of the kitchen, toward the living room. Three large cardboard boxes already sit stacked beside the coffee table.
I feel a flurry of panic that I might’ve forgotten to cancel some expensive order for the wedding, and thus Peter has forwarded it here. A life-size marble statue of us embracing, maybe.
No recollection of ordering that, but who knows? I was in a wedding fugue state.
The water in the pot starts to burble, and Miles dumps hand-rolled trofie noodles into it. In the food processor beside him, I see what appears to be fresh-made pesto, and my salivary glands kick into high gear. “You hungry?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“You’re drooling,” he teases.
“Is there enough?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says.
“Don’t you work tonight?” I call over my shoulder as I wander out of the kitchen toward the packages.
“Heading in right after this is done,” he calls back.
I scan the mishmash of shipping labels and find the sender’s name: Julia Nowak. An address in Chicago.
Then the receiver’s name: Julia Nowak, but with our address.
I pad back into the kitchen. “What are all these boxes?”
“No idea,” Miles says.
On cue, the front door flings open, and Julia crashes into the room with more packages. “Hey, Daph,” she says, bustling past.
I follow her into the living room, and she sets the boxes down with a huff. “What you got there?” I ask.
She passes me on her way back to the kitchen. “Just the essentials.”
I peek my head back in as she’s grabbing a sparkling water from the fridge.
“Essential what?” Miles asks.
She’s already squeezing between us to leave the room again, her voice growing fainter as she retreats to the cardboard treasure trove at the far end of the apartment.
“Whatever I can’t live without,” she calls. “Paid my roommate to box it up. Once I find a place, I’ll go back for the rest.”
Miles’s head snaps up from the pasta pot.
Our eyes lock. He shakes his head, a general I have no idea pantomime.
“It’s okay,” I say under my breath.
He shakes his head, calls loud and clear, “Jules? Come here for a sec.”
She pops her head back into the kitchen. “Yeah?”
“Quick question,” he says. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
With doe-eyed innocence, she asks, “What do you mean?”
“Why do you need more stuff,” he says. “Your stuff is already swallowing the apartment.”
“I told you I was thinking about sticking around longer,” she replies.
“Thinking about staying another week,” he says. “That’s what you said. A week ago.”
“Exactly. I’m going to stay for another few days. Then fly back to Chicago to pack up the rest of my stuff and drive it out here. But I needed my good clothes for job interviews, so I had Riley mail some stuff.”
“Job interviews,” he says.
“I’ll need a new job,” she says. “I can’t live with you forever.”
He runs a hand down his face. “When did you decide all this?”
“When I got here and realized you were in total denial about what you’ve just been through and you obviously need me.”
“Julia, I’m—”
“—fine,” she finishes with an eye roll. “You’re always fine.”
