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“When do we have to leave for your parents’ house?” I ask.
“Um…ten minutes?”
“Gah! I guess I’m taking a quick shower and skipping makeup.”
“It would have just melted off anyway,” she calls as she sweeps past me, full garbage bag in hand.
“She knows we’re not a couple,” I tell Ro in a low tone as she rings her parents’ doorbell thirty minutes later.
“I told you, she doesn’t believe me and she never will. My parents can’t understand why we’d want to be roommates if we weren’t also lovers.”
“I know she thought that at first, but she hasn’t said anything in a while,” I remind Ro. “I think she knows.”
The front door of the modest two-story house swings open and a plump, dark-haired woman opens her arms to us.
“My girls are here! Get into the air conditioning, you two!”
We walk inside and Eliza Harmon hugs each of us. The Harmon house is full and loud, as usual.
“Hey, guys,” Ro’s older brother Lance says, waving at us as he chases after his two-year-old daughter, who is naked from the waist down and shrieking with delight as she eludes her father.
“Ro! Gia!” One of Ro’s younger brothers, Jack, runs up and puts an arm around each of us.
Jack is eight and he hardly ever stops moving. He’s quickly distracted by his eleven-year-old sister, Margo, who gives us a quick wave before she and Jack run off again.
“Ro and Gia, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Eliza says, leading us over to a middle-aged man sitting on the living room couch talking to Ro’s father, Gus. “Girls, this is Lance’s coworker Elliott. His wife is out of town this weekend and we didn’t want the poor man to starve to death! Elliott, this is our daughter Ro, our second oldest, and her special friend Gia.”
“Mom, we’re not a couple,” Ro deadpans.
“We love you unconditionally,” Eliza assures her, giving me a glowing look. “Both of you.”
“Mom, I know that, but we are not a couple. We’re just roommates and friends.”
Eliza nods. “You don’t have to tell us until you’re ready; it’s okay.”
Ro throws her hands in the air and looks at me. “Will you try? She wouldn’t believe me if I said the sky is blue.”
“We’re just friends,” I say weakly, feeling uncomfortable because the room has gone quiet and everyone is now listening.
Eliza gives Ro a stern look. “Look what you did! You made Gia think you’re ashamed of her.”
“If I was gay, I’d have no problem telling you!” Ro insists for at least the tenth time since bringing me over to her parents’ house for the first time right after we became roommates. “I like men, Mom. Preferably tall and capable of fidelity. Gia likes men, too.”
Everyone in the room looks at me, and my cheeks burn. “It’s true,” I say with a nervous laugh. “I’m Team Penis. Or penises, I guess. But not…I mean, only one at a time.”
Oh God. Why do I say such awkward things in social situations?
Lance’s wife Mindy saves me, wrapping an arm around me from behind and saying, “I’m Team Food. Why don’t you guys come help me chop veggies for the salad?”
“Yes, let’s chop veggies,” I say, giving her a grateful look.
We walk into the tiny kitchen, the refrigerator covered with photos of Ro and her siblings. The garlicky scent of Eliza’s marinara sauce makes my stomach rumble.
“Team Penises, huh?” Mindy asks with a grin as she passes me a well-worn wooden cutting board.
“Yeah, I should probably have a jersey made or something,” I say, reaching into a colander for a cucumber and smiling wryly as I hold it up. “My mascot here.”
“Should we leave you alone with your mascot?” Ro asks with a snort.
“Can you peel that and chop it into bite-sized pieces?” Mindy asks me, moving on from the penis joke at last. “And Ro, can you peel and chop those carrots?”
“Sure,” I say at the same time Ro says, “Yep.”
“How’s work, guys?” Mindy asks us.
She’s a stay-at-home mom expecting her second child, so she says she lives vicariously through us. She really means Ro, though, because I don’t talk much about how I make money. Not that there’s much to tell.
“A drunk guy got past security while I was backstage the other night,” Ro says as she chops. “He offered me all the cash he had for a blow job, which was eight dollars. I told him to fuck off and get this—he pulled out a checkbook and asked if he could write me a check for one.”
“Ewww.” Mindy wrinkles her nose in disgust.
I’m used to these stories from Ro. Since moving to Vegas, I regularly encounter sleazy men who seem to think anything goes here.
“The security guys got there and tossed him out extra hard,” Ro says. “The guy was so wasted I don’t think he even felt it, though.”
