Page 46 of Roommating

I wonder if that’s all it is, but don’t dare ask. “True, true. And that scene inThe Magicians.” I whistle.

Adam’s hand travels from his pecs down between his legs and his voice is breathy as he impersonates Alice. “Bite me, Quentin. Not there.Here.”

I breathe out a laugh. “Nothing good can come from doing it again. We live together.”

“You’re my grandma’s roommate.”

“And you’re my roommate’s grandson!”

Adam smiles. “We’re in agreement then? It was a one-time slip?”

“Yes.” I answer quickly, though my brain, heart, and other parts are one step behind and not as convinced. I’m dying to know if he’s struggling with the same thing, but it wouldn’t change anything.

“Goodnight, Brina.”

My heart skips a beat. “What did you call me?”

He frowns. “Brina.”

“Why?”

“It just slipped out.” His eyebrows furrow. “No one calls you that?”

I drop my gaze to my feet and back up at him. “Only my grandparents.” Nana Lena and Grandpa Lou called me Brina Bear. My mom does too, but only when she’s feeling sentimental.

His mouth forms anO, but he doesn’t comment.

“Goodnight, Adam.” I turn and walk away before he can respond.

Back in my room, I change into my pajamas. I skip washing my face and brushing my teeth because I’m afraid to run into him in the bathroom. I slip into bed. I try to read for school, but the words blur on the page as my eyes close. It’s been a day.

Behind my lids, Adam is everywhere. Straightening chairs in the library at work, snacking on Cheetos at home, under me on the couch, his eyes hooded as we rock together.

I flip to the fetal position. Considering we work and live together, keeping our distance to the extent we can is smart. It’s a good thing we both decided fooling around again is a bad idea.

Now to figure out how to stop thinking about his mouth on mine and daydreaming about a repeat performance, only minus our clothes this time.

Chapter Twenty-One

The following weekend, I’m at my childhood home in northern Connecticut to celebrate Passover and my mom’s birthday. It’s just the three of us tonight because Mom’s long-term boyfriend, Bob, is out of town.

My family isn’t religious. For the most part, Jewish holidays are limited to presents on Hanukkah and consuming large dinners on Rosh Hashanah and Passover. We don’t do a full seder or keep kosher, but we have our own Passover traditions, like reading short passages from the same children’s Haggadahs that Audrina and I colored in as kids, playing hide-and-seek with a piece of matzo (the afikomen) to win a special “jumbo size” matzo ball, and, most recently, celebrating our mom’s birthday at the same time. We started combining the occasions after Audrina and I moved out and it became harder to visit twice in the same month. It works great for everyone except Mom, who has to cook her own birthday meal.

When we’re done with the main course, I stand from the table. “Can you help me with something, Audrina?” I cock my head knowingly.

She gives me a blank look before understanding washes over herface. “Oh, yes. Of course.” We giggle and race toward Mom’s second freezer in the garage like excited children.

“Whatever could my daughters be doing?” Mom wonders out loud behind us, even though she knowsexactlywhat we’re doing since we’ve done it every year before.

Together we remove the Carvel ice cream cake from the freezer and bring it into the kitchen. “Cover your eyes, Mom!”

When we’re sure she’s not watching, we light birthday candles with the numbers five and four and bring the cake over to her. “You can look now!”

She opens her eyes, and we sing an exaggeratedly off-key version of “Happy Birthday.” To clarify,I’mexaggerating. No one would mistake me for Billie Eilish, but Audrina’s natural singing voice sounds like a screaming cat in a horror movie.

During cake, we laud our mom’s cooking skills. Growing up, Nana Lena’s meals were a given and therefore taken for granted. She’d spend hours cooking five-course meals with pleasure, yet we’d beg our mom to make her special ziti, which was only special because she made it.

Mom shrugs. “I can only take credit for the soup and chicken this year. Audrina made all the side dishes.”

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