Page 50 of Home With You

"Yeah." He sets the backpack by the door and comes around in front of me. "I assume you like having fun."

"It's been so long since I've had it that I don't really know."

"Movies? Sports? Roller coasters? Any of those sound fun?"

"I like movies but I haven't been to one for over a year. Sports? Not at all. My dad used to bet on sports and if he lost he'd get really drunk and yell and throw shit until he passed out."

"I could see how that would ruin sports. I, myself, love sports, especially football. But I've never bet on a game and never would. I'm not a gambler. So if you ever want to try watching a game, just to see if you'd like it, I'd suggest you watch one with me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He motions to the couch. "You want to sit down? I feel awkward standing here by the door, like we either need to leave or go sit down. My vote is to sit down."

"I guess I could for a minute or two." I go over to his couch and sink down on the soft leather. It's heavenly. So much better than sitting on a milk crate.

"Want anything to drink?" he asks, going to the kitchen. "I have water, soda, milk, beer."

"I'll take a soda."

He grabs a bottle from the fridge and brings it to me. "Want anything to eat?"

"We just ate."

"We didn't have dessert. All I have is ice cream. You want some?"

"Sure," I say, like it's no big deal, even though the very thought of having ice cream has my mouth watering. I love ice cream and haven't had it for forever.

"Cookies and cream okay?" he asks, handing me a huge bowl of it.

"Yeah, it's my favorite. But you didn't have to give me so much."

"Eat what you can. I'll save whatever's left for your next visit."

"I don't think I'll be coming over again."

"Why is that?" He sits beside me with an equally large bowl of ice cream.

"I don't think people in your building want some homeless girl hanging out here. This is a nice building. I'm sure rent cost a fortune."

"They don't get to tell me who I can and can't have over. And you're not homeless. You're just in an atypical living situation in which your home is a tent. Technically, that could be called camping."

I laugh. It shouldn't be funny that I live in a tent but the way he said it just now made it funny. And it's true. I AM living like a camper. Thinking of it that way doesn't sound so bad.

"You want to watch TV?" He tosses me the remote.

"You're letting me pick the channel?"

"You're the guest. You pick the channel."

I quickly turn on the TV, excited because I haven't watched TV in months. And I never got to pick the channel if Rob was home.

I find a movie to watch but we end up talking and missing most of it. When it ends, I check the clock and see we've been sitting here for two hours.

"I really need to go," I say, getting up from the couch. "It's late and I don't want Gladys to be alone."

He hops up from the couch and grabs his keys and phone from the counter.

"You don't have to walk me back," I say, going to the door.

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