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“Thanks for buying the pizza,” I say, grabbing a piece and plopping it onto a paper plate at the kitchen counter.
“Of course—I mean, after all…you’re unemployed.”
The joke has been following me all day. First, Jackson said it, and it led to everyone following suit. I start at Baker & Park on Monday, so this “unemployed” joke only really works for the thirteen days I’ve spent between my waitressing job in New York and here, but Jackson couldn’t resist.
“Barely.”
“Still counts!” She chuckles, stuffing half a piece of pizza into her mouth after shefolds it in half.
Before we know it, the box is nearly empty and we’re both a human embodiment of Violet inWilly Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, busting at the seams.
“So, what’s the deal with the blond guy?” I ask, approaching the topic I’ve been feeling her actively avoiding all day.
“As I said—just some guy.”
Normally, I’d read into it. I mean, most people who say it’s nothing when referring to a romantic entanglement are typically downplaying, but something about Sage’s demeanor has me thinking it really is to be taken at face value.
“Fuck buddy?”
“Basically, yeah. I don’t know. I get bored.” She shrugs, pulling her fourth beer to her lips. “What about you? Anyone special in your life?”
I should have seen the question being returned, but it still stings on impact.
“No,” I say as Sage looks at me as if the answer isn’t good enough. “I was seeing this girl in New York, but she was kind of a commitment-phobe…like someone I know.”
“I’m not a commitment-phobe…people just suck.”
“Fair point.”
“So, this girl…any actual feelings?”
“Ish—I don’t know…it’s hard to date in the theater scene in New York; everyone knows everyone and, frankly, it started to feel like my hometown after a while. But she was fun.”
Downplaying things with Esme stings, but I can’t find it in me to think about it right now. Telling a practical stranger that your ex-girlfriend didn’t think you were exclusive and subsequently slept with over half of the acting community while you were the picture of commitment is embarrassing.
Sage nods, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s deep in thought or is just absorbing what I said.
“What do you do?” I ask.
“A little of this, a little of that—a career isn’t really a goal of mine.” Sage shrugs as she stands up to grab another beer from the fridge. “Want one?”
“I’m good, thanks.” My mind travels back to the guy from earlier. “At least you’re getting laid. I’m pretty much terminally single.”
“Terminal means it will kill you…”
“It might.”
“Okay, Miss Drama Queen.”
“It’s what I do, Sage. It’s what I do.”
She laughs, tossing a throw pillow in my direction as she finds her way back to the couch, popcorn and beer in hand.
I can’t say I’m disappointed as we settle into a rapport together. Moving in with a near-stranger is stressful, but I’m sure Sage and I will undoubtedly make good friends.
A yawn pulls from my throat as the day catches up with me. I look down at my iPhone to find that it is almost midnight, and I have to be up early. Sage, however, is bopping around, filled with energy as if it is midafternoon.
“How are you not tired?”
