Page 15 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Moonie, don’t be petty.”

“I’m being…mathematical?”

“Can you come home for a week or not? You know I don’t trust anyone but you with the boys after we had that identity theft incident with the Craigslist nanny.”

I want to tell her that’s what you get for hiring someone off a buy/sell/trade website, but I’m afraid she’ll call me petty again.

I process Nora’s question.

On my Uber ride over to Little Italy tonight, I looked up apartments and everything was out of my price range—even with my severance and Gerda’s refunded rent. I went on to sell a piece of my soul, texting Gavin that I’d take him up about a position at the studio in Claremont, but he replied and said the rest of the Laid Off Club had already taken all the available positions. Without proof of income, no landlord will let me even apply to rent.

Sure, I could throw myself into job hunting, but I’ve been here for two years.Throwing yourself into thingsisn’t how it’s done. We take it easy. We take it slow. The last job I had was a lifestyle. No matter how many hours I log in front of a screen combing through job boards, I know it won’t be easy to find another opportunity like that—perfect location, perfect energy, perfect people.

Esther said my time was upfor now. So I close my eyes and clench my fists like I’m gearing up for a shot of cheap tequila.

“I can come home for...”

“...ever?!”

“Fuck no,” I quickly correct her. This is temporary. It has to be. “But I can come home fora while,” I say softly.

I hope the instant regret I feel is just heartburn from the spicy hummus I dipped a carrot into on my way out of Yas’ condo.

“Are you shitting me?” says Nora.

“I’m not. It’s a long story, but…it’s time for me to come home,” I say. I may be borrowing Esther’s words, but I sure sound like a foreign exchange student whose Visa expired.

“Look, I’m not one to turn down help watching my kids, but I feel like I’d be the worst big sister in the world if I didn’t throw in a hearty, ‘Are you sure about this, Moonie?’”

No.

But also yes.

But also no.

I settle on: “Yeah.”

“Oh my god. The Miller sisters all in one city again? Pinch me.”

Before she gets lost in the kumbaya of it all, I bring her back down with a logistical request of my own.

“I need you to let me live in your coach house for as long as I’m watching the boys.”

“Done.”

The way Nora instantly clamps down on my offer, I debate layering on a few more asks: a first-class ticket back, an actual salary, health insurance (Iamtwenty-six now…), PTO. Instead I go with: “And I need a steady supply of coffee beans stocked at all times.”

“You can use our Keurig whenever you want. It’s instant.”

Her response reminds me that I better start mentally adjusting to the hurried, press-of-a-button kind of life that awaits me in Chicago.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll check flights later, and see you sometime this weekend. Just…can you wait to tell mom I’m coming back until I’m settled in? I don’t want her to feel like she needs to run home and check on me.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about momrunning home,” Nora says. “But yeah. It’ll be our little secret.”

As I hang up, a lady with a pet snake on her shoulder passes me.

God, I love it here.

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