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“Hey—”

“I’m moving in,” she said. “But just for a few months.”

My grin ripped across my face. Instant happiness.

She came in carrying the duffel and the cooler, an excited Lieutenant Dan hopping around her feet.

“What’s in the cooler?” I asked.

“More Salvadorian food than you and I could ever eat. And it’s going to keep coming.”

I beamed as I took her luggage straight to my bedroom closet. I cleared out a space for her on the rack and consolidated a few drawers so she could have them.

I couldn’t even describe how happy I was to have her here. She would be the last person I saw before I went to bed and the first person I saw when I woke up.

I pictured my bathroom, steamy after her shower, smelling like her perfume and her shampoo. Her things scattered through my house. A sweater on the back of a chair. Her shoes by the door. Her lipstick on my cups. These little insignificant things that felt so huge and meaningful.

I came back down the hallway as she came out of the kitchen. “I managed to get it all to fit in the freezer,” she said.

She looked around the living room with hands on her hips. “I think it’ll fit here.”

“What will fit here?”

“The air mattress.”

She began pulling a crumpled rubber wad and a black pump out of her duffel bag. My smile faded. I thought she would sleep in my room. In my bed. With me.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I said. “We can share my bed. It’s big enough.”

“No. I think it’s more appropriate if we don’t share a room.”

“But we’ve done it before. And that bed was way smaller—”

“It’s just better, Jacob.”

There was something final in her tone. She plugged in the pump and started blowing up the mattress while I watched, deflated.

Even when I was getting more, it was still not enough. It still wasn’t real.

I stood there hoping the mattress wouldn’t fit. It did.

When she was done, she sat on the bed and gave it a little bounce.

I frowned at her. “Well, what are we going to do if someone knocks on the door?”

She shrugged. “I’ll just shove it in the plant room.”

“And you think you can do this fast enough?”

“Sure.”

Then, almost on cue, someone knocked on the door. She looked at me and her eyes got wide. Then she bolted to her feet and grabbed the mattress.

She lifted it sideways. “Help me!” she whispered.

I crossed my arms. “Don’t you think you should be prepared to execute this plan on your own? I might not always be available. What if I was in the shower?”

“You’re not in the shower!” She was shuffling sideways, holding the clunky mattress against her legs.