“We can figure that stuff out, and again, I’m all for you staying here. I’m sure my landladies will be, too. We can run it by them next time we go downstairs.”
“Sounds good.” He was all smiles, but then he grew serious and said, “If we’re going to be housemates, I guess that means we shouldn’t mess around again. It might make things too complicated if we’re living together and sleeping together… right?”
I knew what he meant by complicated. It might become too intense, or lead to getting too attached to each other, when neither of us wanted a relationship. “You’re right. We’re better off keeping this strictly platonic from now on.”
Even though I knew that was the smart choice, it still came with a sting of disappointment.
We spent the next few hours in the studio, talking about random things while I sewed and Devon played tunes on his unplugged guitar. He really wasn’t a distraction. I had a lot of hand-beading to do, and the slow, monotonous task was much better with company.
At one point, he called his mom and stepdad to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. They carried on a lighthearted conversation for a few minutes, which made it obvious he was really close to both of them. But when they asked if he was coming home for Christmas, he wouldn’t commit one way or another.
I asked him about it after he got off the phone, and he said, “I can’t plan ahead. All I can do right now is take life one day at a time.” I wondered what his family thought about his gloom-and-doom psychic’s prediction.
In the early afternoon, we could hear people starting to arrive downstairs. I didn’t want to seem antisocial, so I suggested joining the party. Of course, Devon was all for it, and as soon as we got downstairs, he began chatting with and completely charming everyone. He was totally in his element.
I’d met the former tenants and most of my housemates’ friends before, but I didn’t know them all that well. After about twenty minutes spent awkwardly trying to make small talk, I retreated to the kitchen and busied myself by washing dishes.
Devon tracked me down sometime later and announced, “We’re all going to play flag football. I guess there’s a park really close to here.”
“Yeah, Mission Dolores Park is about a block away.”
“Awesome. Let’s get going.”
“There’s no way I’m playing any kind of sport.”
He seemed to deflate a bit, but he tried to sound cheerful as he said, “Okay, no problem. I’ll stay with you and help with the dishes.”
JoJo joined us in the kitchen just then and said, “I’ll keep Kit company. You should go have fun, Devon. Oh, and try to end up on Yolanda’s team. Trust me. Even though she’s the smallest person in the house, she’s fierce when it comes to any kind of competition.”
He asked her, “You don’t want to play, either?”
“Oh hell no, probably for the same reason as Kit.”
In unison, she and I said, “P.E. class trauma.” JoJo added, “Not that I was living my truth as a proud trans woman back then. But gym class and the locker room scarred me for life.”
Devon looked sympathetic. “I can only imagine. But don’t you two want to come along and hang out? I feel bad leaving you behind.”
We both declined, and I told him, “Seriously, go have fun. We’re good here.” He was reluctant, but he finally gave in and went to join the group.
Once we were alone, JoJo plucked the dish towel from my hands, tossed it aside, and poured us two glasses of wine from the open bottle in the fridge. Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and said, “Come sit down and tell me everything! How long have you been keeping that hottie a secret?”
“Actually, we just met yesterday.”
“Seriously? You two seem so close.”
“We bonded quickly, thanks to some felony breaking and entering.” I told her the story of how we’d met before saying, “He asked if he could sublet my studio, since he doesn’t have a place to live right now. It’ll probably just be for a few weeks, because he’s a traveler and doesn’t seem to stay in one place for long. I’m all for letting him move in, but obviously I told him I’d have to ask you and Yolanda.”
“I’m totally fine with it, and I know my wife will be, too. Devon’s a sweetheart, and he definitely fits in here. But are you sure you want to live under the same roof as someone you just started dating? That has the potential to turn awkward if things don’t work out.”
“We’re not dating, and last night was a one-time thing.”
“You sure about that?”
I nodded. “We talked about it and agreed that would be best. Living and sleeping together could get messy, especially if we started to develop feelings for each other.”
“Why would developing feelings be a problem?”
“Because I’m not looking for a relationship, and he says he won’t start something he can’t finish.”
