Page 26 of Fluffed and Folded

He sighed, in contentment this time, his head suddenly swimming with visions of their future. “This place is okay, but I don’t think it’s my style. It’s a little too…something.” He wanted somewhere cozier, somewhere homier, somewhereJosier.

“Like it’s trying too hard? That’s what Eli says.”

“If he thinks that, why does he still live here?” Tristan asked.

“Sometimes you can figure something out but it takes longer to act on it, you know? He’ll get there. He’s…” She tipped her head, searching for the best words. “Eli’s insecure about some things. Everyone always liked him, but he was neverthat guy.The ‘it’ guy. I think there’s still a little part of him that thinks he wants to be. He’s getting there, but eventually I think he’ll realize he’s already exactly who he needs to be. In the meantime, he spends a fortune on Shangri-La here.” She motioned to the apartment around them.

It was hard for Tristan to imagine Eli being insecure. Smart, studious, steady, with a good job and a supportive family, he was so solid, everything Tristan had never been. How could you launch from that and still end up doubting yourself? “Everyone has junk in their past they have to work through, I guess,” Tristan mused.

“Yeah,” Josie agreed, resting her head on his shoulder and nestling again. “Unless you’re Gabe, and then you forgo any self-reflection in favor of projecting your insecurities onto others.”

Someone knocked on the door and they tensed. “I’ll get it,” Tristan said, easing her aside. He slid into his role of new guy, which was harder to do than usual because Josie followed him to the door, intent on talking to whoever it was. “Eli,” he blurted when he wrenched open the door and saw Eli’s hands extended, holding something in greeting. “And a chicken.”

“It’s like prom all over again,” Eli said, and Josie snorted a laugh.

“Why are you holding a chicken?” Tristan asked, still staring at it with puzzlement.

“It’s a Costco rotisserie chicken,” Eli announced, as if that explained everything.

Fortunately Josie interjected herself as interpreter, saving them both what would probably be a long back and forth until Tristan finally understood the implications of presenting someone with a chicken, if he ever did.

“When people move in, neighbors bring food,” Josie said.

“But I didn’t really move in, and I already know him,” Tristan said. He made no move to relieve Eli of the chicken, and now Eli began to shift, as if the chicken filled him with regret. All in all, it was a lot of pressure to put on a dead chicken.

“This is how it’s done,” Josie declared, and she reached for the chicken. “It’s proper. Now we invite Eli to join us while we eat it.” She turned and headed toward the kitchen, both men in her wake.

“Bringing a chicken justifies foisting your presence on others?” Tristan asked.

“You know I can hear you,” Eli said, closing the door as he fully entered the apartment.

“I don’t care ifyoustay,” Tristan amended, flicking him an impatient look. “I’m trying to understand how this works, in case it ever happens again.”

“No one where you actually live brought you food?”

Tristan looked horrified by that suggestion. “If they had, I’d probably have it tested for meth and have them arrested. No, no, no, no, no.” He gave his head a hard shake. “This is a suburban thing, I’m telling you. City people ignore each other completely, like all strangers should.”

“Who hurt you?” Eli queried, helping himself to a stool at the bar while Josie opened the chicken and Tristan reached for plates.

“My neighbors,” Tristan said. “I thought I just explained that.”

“We’re not ready to eat yet,” Josie said, stopping him when he reached for a chicken leg.

He froze. “Why not? The chicken isright there.”

Josie made an exasperated sound. “We can’t only have chicken. Obviously I’m making potatoes and a salad.”

Now Tristan stared at her, confused. “I don’t have any of those things. My fridge and cupboards are a wasteland oasis.” The company Darby hired to clean took away all of Asher’s old food, emptying the cupboards and fridge until they sparkled. It hadn’t occurred to Tristan to restock.

He watched in continued stupefaction as Josie bent, opened a cupboard, withdrew potatoes, scrubbed them, and popped them in the microwave before opening the fridge and withdrawing a tub of pre-made salad greens.

“What is even happening right now?” Tristan demanded. “How have I entered the Twilight Zone where food magically appears?” He stepped around Josie and opened the fridge, staring it mute surprise at the ingredients there. “I have butter and sour cream? And yogurt? Cheese? Jam? You bought me salsa?”

“You love salsa,” Josie said, sliding her arms around his waist.

“This is so normal and domestic. It’s freaking me out,” Tristan said, though he eased his arms around her and pulled her closer.

“You’ll get used to having salsa,” Josie assured him.

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