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I liked her there all the time, no matter what she was doing. Even when she was invading my bathroom or drinking the soda in my fridge. Sometimes she hung out with me quietly while I drew, reading back issues of Lightning Man comics and eating my snacks. Sometimes she talked, which in turn made me talk.
I never talked. Not if I could help it. But with Tessa, I talked.
“I don’t know,” Tessa said a few days later as she came out of the kitchen. I was sitting on the sofa, surfing the internet on my laptop. She handed me a glass of ice water and sat down next to me. “I think the best Spider-Man was the first one. Or was it the second one? The one where he kisses her while he’s hanging upside down.”
I rolled my eyes. “The usual layman’s opinion.”
She sipped her iced tea. She was wearing a knee-length skirt of some kind of thin, swishy material and a tank top. “There’s such a thing as an expert in Spider-Man?”
“Is there such a thing as an expert in bra modeling?”
Her blue eyes widened. “Touché.”
“That version of Spider-Man isn’t the best one,” I said. “Everyone knows that.”
“What’s the best version?”
“They haven’t made it yet.”
“So they have to keep making them over and over forever?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is there a question in there?”
She leaned back against the cushions, smiling. “Right. Comic-book geek.”
“What tipped you off? The fact that I’ve illustrated hundreds of pages of comics, maybe?”
She sipped her iced tea. “Your comics are better than any of the Spider-Man movies,” she said dutifully.
I clicked another page on the website I was on. “I told you, I don’t write them. Nick does. Do you like pickles?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m ordering groceries. I know you like terrible bright-yellow mustard on your sandwiches, but I don’t know if you like pickles.”
She folded one long, bare leg and tucked her foot under her other thigh. Whoever said her calves were too skinny was either blind or crazy. “I love pickles. You don’t?”
“Sure, I love something that reeks of salty, disgusting brine. What’s not to like?” I clicked the pickles and added them to my cart.
“But you’re still ordering them,” she said.
“Because I’m an excellent host, yes. I’m also ordering the yellow mustard.” I also added ginger ale, because she liked that, too.
“My sandwiches are going to be amazing,” Tessa said, smiling. “Maybe I won’t get my air conditioning fixed after all.”
She had a repairman scheduled to come in two days. Then she’d go back to her house, because she’d have no reason to come to mine. It crossed my mind to go across the street and sabotage her fucking air conditioning just to keep her here, but I wasn’t very agile and I’d probably get caught. So I tried not to think about being alone again.
Nick was due back in a few days, anyway. But the words of Donna the wellness therapist came back into my head.He’s found his union with another. That leaves you alone. The honeymoon only outlines what you know deep down is true.
Nick was married now. Maybe there’d even be a kid soon, or more than one. Sad old Uncle Andrew in the wheelchair was going to get fewer and fewer visits.
Yeah, maybe I’d still sabotage Tessa’s air conditioning. Her heat, too, so she’d have to stay here in winter.
“What’s Nick like?” Tessa asked, as if she was reading the thoughts going through my mind. “You don’t have any family photos in this house or anything.”
“Nick is ugly,” I said emphatically, clicking to check out my grocery cart. “He’s hideous. His personality sucks. It’s possible he’s a serial killer. He has zero personal hygiene. And he is very, very married.”
She licked a drop of iced tea off her bottom lip, and every nerve below my waist jangled. The ones that still worked, anyway. “So he’s hot and awesome like you,” she said. “Interesting. I’d like to meet him.”
