Knox stares at me. "You're couch-surfing. I thought you were staying at Maren's tonight foremotionalsupport."
"Iam," I say defensively. "And FYI, I'm guest-room-surfing. Except at Luna's."
"Oh my god Beth," Arthur says.
"It's fine."
"It's clearly not fine."
"It'smanageable," I say, which is what I say when something is not fine but I need it to be, and I know he knows that because he gives me a look that says he knows that.
"How long?" Mason asks. Eyes still closed.
"Started about two months after my breakup. So." I do the math. "Four months."
Mason opens his eyes.
"It's not—" I start, and then I don't know what it's not, so I just stop. "You know, I've been thinking and I could have a whole life in a storage unit on Route 9. A hundred and forty dollars a month. Which, fun fact, is only slightly more than what most people pay for a gym membership."
Adele fades out. For about four seconds, the venue is completely silent, and then she starts up again from the top.
I let out a deep breath. "I just want a door." And I don't mean for my voice to go wobbly ondoor, but it does. "A door that locks, a bed that's mine. That's it. That's the whole wish list."
"That's exactly what we gave her," Arthur says, sniffing. He's turned his head sideways, cheek still on his arms. "God I miss her. You don't realize how much space one person fills until they stop filling it."
"It's so quiet now," Knox says. "At dinner. There's just this—" He makes a gesture that doesn't mean anything, and somehow means exactly the right thing.
"I set four plates last Sunday," Mason says. "Force of habit. Didn't notice until I sat down."
"I still buy her oat milk," Arthur says. "It's been four months and I still put it in the cart. Every time."
"She had this succulent collection on the windowsill," Knox says. "Heard she moved them all to her parents' when she left. The succulents were nice. I didn't expect to miss the succulents."
"I've been thinking about drywalling over her door," Mason says. "It hurts too much to keep walking past it, expecting her to walk out."
I lift my cheek off the bar. "Wait. You didn't all just... sleep together in one room?"
"Most of the time," Mason says. "But not twenty-four seven. Everyone needs room to breathe."
"Every member of Pack Leroy has their own room," Knox says, sounding strangely proud.
"So your apartment has—"
"Four bedrooms," Knox cuts in.
I blink. "Four."
"It's a not an unreasonable amount of space for a working pack," Knox says, a little defensive. "We all have jobs so—"
"Can I be your roommate?" I ask.
4
Beth
One month later
The coffee grinder wakes me up.
