Page 44 of This

Dane nods, agreeing without knowing. “Okay, we are…”

“Together.”

It feels like a confession, difficult to admit and weighty to say aloud. Of all the things I didn’t want, this one topped the list. But I don’t want to lose it more.

He hasn’t said anything, leaving me exposed, emotions bared to him. I can’t take the silence anymore and go to look away when he catches my chin, keeping me there with him.

“We’re together.”

It happens on a Wednesday.Nothing special or monumental triggers it. I step out of my bathroom, and the purple and blue look different. The walls closer, the air stale. I’m late for work because I rearrange the furniture to find more space. The bed and dresser scrape over the floor as I drag them from one side to the other, but everything ends up where it started, and I feel on edge the entire day.

Aria curls up on the couch next to me that evening. I don’t know if she sees the computer screen or notices the change as much as I do, but she sighs. “You’re leaving.”

“Not right away,” I tell her. “I’ll wait until you two find another roommate.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waves it off. “We knew you were a flight risk when we took you in.”

“Me, a flight risk?” I drop my jaw, feigning offense.

She laughs and moves the laptop from my legs to hers. “So, where are we going?”

The question I’ve been asking myself for the last few hours. Financially, it makes sense to stay no more than a state away from Keaton and my wedding duties. In the next few months, I’ll need to travel for two bridal showers, a bachelorette party, and a final dress fitting. Plus, any unforeseen emergencies, which I anticipate at least one of when reality strikes Keaton that she is, in fact, getting married in five months.

“Have you ever been to Nevada?” I ask.

“You’re not moving to Nevada,” Steve says from behind us.

I tip my head back as he walks across the catwalk. “Why not? And how did you know I was moving?”

“Harmonious vibes, remember?” He jogs down the stairs and jumps over the couch, landing on the cushions on the other side of me. “And you’re not moving to Nevada because you’ll think it’s too much like Phoenix.”

“So then, what about Colorado? It touches Arizona, and I haven’t been there before.”

He juts out his chin, thinking it over. “I thought you hated the cold.”

I shrug. “Only because I don’t know it.”

A down jacket, wool mittens, I could steal one of Dane’s beanies. I’ll rock the winter look, build a snowman, and then watch the world melt into spring.

“Here.” Aria moves the computer between us, already having found several Roommate Wanted posts. She clicks through, giving me enough time to scan them. “This girl is our age,” she says. “And here’s one with a cat.”

After my adventures with Little Stevie, I don’t consider it a selling point and let her move on. Post after generic post. Respectful of privacy. Clean. On-site laundry. 420 friendly. Recycled words off a How to Write an Ad site.

She speeds over one that’s, from what I catch, different than the other listings. A fresh flash on the screen that snags my attention.

“Wait,” I tell her. “Go back.”

Aria stops on a two-bedroom in Durango with a roommate who enjoys LARPing on the weekends.

“One more.”

“You won’t like that one,” she says.

I pull the computer onto my lap to read the description anyway. “Compassionate young lady wanted for housemate. Only kind souls will be considered. Furnished west-facing room with tranquil sunset views, ample space, private bath—”I cut off, turning to her. “What’s not to like?”

“It’s in the middle of nowhere.” She points to where I left off. “Must commute for work/shopping/play.What if it snows?”

One of a dozen points I should consider—road conditions, a job, the length of the lease.

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