Page 8 of Hold the Pickle

Evan pauses. “I would assume so.”

That didn’t fix anything.

Before I can try again, he pushes a printout toward us and says, “Here’s the layout.”

Dalton and I lean forward to look. It’s not much, a single big room with a kitchen in one corner, a bar with two stools, a bed on one side, and a sofa on the other. The bathroom occupies the corner opposite the kitchen.

“Is there a closet?” I ask.

Evan points to a narrow rectangle between the bathroom and kitchen. “That’s it here.”

Gosh, it doesn’t look like it would hold a set of bath towels, much less a wardrobe. I have a ridiculous number of clothes here. My brothers made big fun of the number of suitcases I brought.

But I wasn’t sure what I’d end up doing. Working at the family deli? I needed jeans and T-shirts and comfortable shoes.

Getting a desk job with my MBA? Suits and heels.

Being a beach bum? I have a terrific assortment of bathing suits and sandals.

It doesn’t matter. I’m out of options.

Evan points to the rent amount in the corner. “Upon move-in, we ask for the first month’s rent, plus fifty percent as a deposit.”

That’s more reasonable than the last place. And Evan seems much nicer.

“But no bills are included,” Dalton says.

“Correct.”

Oh, that’s worse. It means it will be even more expensive. I’m really stretching how far my paltry deli paycheck will go. I’m definitely not asking for money from my family. If they think for even a second that I’m struggling, they’ll swoop in and take over my life.

But I have to do this.

“Can we see it?” Dalton asks.

“Certainly.” Evan stands, and we follow him out the back of the office to a beautiful courtyard with an actual pool.

Okay, big perk there.

He unlocks a door thatdoesn’tlook like it was involved in a police raid, and we step inside.

It smells clean. The sofa is gray and nondescript, but seems fairly new. The mattress sits on a pretty white iron frame and is covered with an allergy-protective cover.

The kitchen is bright white, with reasonably updated appliances. I peek in the bathroom, and it’s clean and shiny.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

“So will I,” Dalton throws in.

“Good, good, we can have you fill out the application.” Evan leads us back to the door. “Will you file for it jointly?”

“Hold on a sec while we figure that out.” I grab Dalton’s hand and drag him to the kitchen.

“He thinks we’re doing this together, you dolt!” I hiss. “You said it wrong!”

Dalton runs his hands over his stubble. “I see that.”

“What are you going to do to fix it?”

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