Page 31 of Promise Me Sunshine

“So?”

“So, you should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

We hold each other’s glare until he drops his head and does the thing that people with buzzed hair get to do where they rub their palm all the way from the crown of their head to the back of their neck. “Lenny, I didn’t suggest this because I thought it would be easy. I don’t care if it’s hard. Ofcourseit’s hard. But in order for me to be there for you, I need to actuallybethere. So what if I lose a couple hours of sleep.”

“So…say I do call you. What would you even do?”

“Call and see.”

I don’t say anything and he sighs. “Just promise me that you’ll try it once.”

Well, I guess once can’t hurt. “Okay, fine. It’s your REM cycle, I guess.”

There’s a flash of triumph in his eyes and he stands up. “I’m heading to the grocery store. You stay here and sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Sleep here? Why?”

“You look like you can barely make it to the elevator on your own two feet. I have a perfectly good couch.”

The thing is…the world is splashy Technicolor nonsense and I could really use a couple winks. But when I imagine dragging my—okay, okay—rotting carcass back to the studio apartment and collapsing into the twin bed,in theory it sounds luscious. But come on. It’s the scene of the crime. The exact place I didn’t sleep for a literal second last night. The blankets are on the floor, twisted, feverish, blighted.Who knows what happens there.

But here? Look, what a fluffy pillow. And I can see dust motes in a shaft of sunlight. There’s a fan going in one of the rooms and it creates an oceanlike fog of sleepy sound.

Miles must take this for hesitation because he leans down, takes my backpack off, and sets it on the ground.

“Not to sound like a dick, but this is seriously for your own good.” Then he plants his pointer finger smack-dab in the middle of my forehead and gently pushes me backward onto the couch.

Even if I hadn’t given up Pilates after one horrific session, my core still wouldn’t have been able to defeat basic physics. I collapse back into the couch cushions and decide not to fight the good fight. I curl onto my side, take a spare pillow, and squash it over my head. Blocking out him and the world. But mostly him.

I stay awake just long enough to hear the front door click closed and then I’m out.

—

When I wakeup,the light has changed and one of my socks is halfway off my foot. I sit up so fast I scare the shit out of Miles, who is sitting at the kitchen table behind the couch, reading a newspaper.

“Holy shit!” He’s got a hand over his heart as a page of the paper sifts to the floor. “You popped up like a mummy.”

“What just happened,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes and trying to make sense of my life.

“You just slept for five hours. You should see your hair right now. It’s a real work of art.” He’s back to the paper.

“What am I smelling?”

“I made you lunch. Well, I guess it’s more like dinner now. You want some?”

I stand up and groan. My muscles are aching, but not in a bad way. “Bathroom first.”

“Through that door.” He points without looking.

I head that way and actually laugh out loud when I see my hair. My bun has somehow migrated ninety degrees to one side and come halfway loose. The other side of my hair is floating in static. There are pillow lines on one cheek and my eyes are bloodshot and puffy.

I spend a few minutes unabashedly snooping around his bathroom. Hand towels that match his bath towels. No mildew in the shower. More 2-in-1 shampoo, which should be illegal, but his hair is a half inch long so I’ll allow it. His toilet paper is upside down, though, feeding from the bottom side, so I take a quick second and flip it. There’s a box of condoms in the medicine cabinet, which I nosily shake, trying to guess how many are in there. Other than that, nothing fun. I do, however, see a spare toothbrush. So I commandeer it and brush my teeth, tossing it in the cup next to his when I’m done. I wash my face and hands and slather some lotion on and that’s pretty much that.

“What’re we eating?” I ask when I reemerge, lifting the lid on a pot in the middle of the kitchen table. Steam billows out and a savory scent greets me.

“It’s just chili. Sorry. I know it’s still summer. But I wanted to make something that would stick to your bones.”

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