My mouth drops open. “That…That’s not super convenient for you.”
He shrugs. “It’s really no big deal.”
“I don’t mind sharing with you, Zach,” I say, making sure he understands.
His mouth flattens. “I know.”
Okay, then.
That means he minds sharingwith me.
It shouldn’t bother me. I mean, I should be glad to have a bathroom to myself, right?
But it does bother me.
And I don’t like the feeling that he’s doing me favors. I don’t need favors.
“We should share everything equally,” I say, not for the first time. “We’re partners, right?”
But he’s shaking his head. “I’m just trying to give you more privacy—”
“Why?” I challenge. “Why should I get more privacy?”
Zach rolls his eyes, exasperated again, like my question is ridiculous.
“And what’s wrong with my idea of us swapping beds every week? So you get the bigger bed and the private bedroom every now and then?”
He throws a hand up like the idea is silly. “Because. That’s not important to me, and it seems like a lot of extra work. Moving back and forth. It won’t feel like home if we keep bouncing around like that.”
Like home.
I blink at the phrase.
“R-Right,” I stammer, a little stunned. “Okay.”
Like home?
I have no expectations of anything feeling like home.
I’m not even sure what that means anymore.
I thought I knew what that felt like. With Josh.
Clearly, I was wrong there.
And the home where I grew up? I mean, my parents are decent people. Good people. It’s just that I think maybe I got switched at birth or something because growing up in their house, I always felt like a pretzel in a bowl of shredded wheat. Made of the same basic stuff, but also, not the same at all.
I liked the outdoors. They didn’t.
I liked science. They liked Fox News.
I liked questions. They liked answers.
By the time I graduated from high school, I couldn’t wait to move out. Not because we fought all the time or anything like that. Nothing so dramatic, but I was wearing on them and they were wearing on me.
Home didn’t feel like home. Where I could be myself. Enjoy myself.
Blossom.
