Page 163 of I Can't Even Think Straight

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as he returns his attention to me.

“You know how aunties love me,”

he says with mock-cockiness,

before he becomes more earnest.

“Is that okay with you?” he asks.

“Yes, you have to stay,” I say.

“Theía Estélla is making my favorite:

mακαρ?νια του φο?ρνου.

It’s a pasta bake, like lasagna.”

“Isn’t fish and chips your favorite?”

Matt asks, confused.

“I meant my favorite thing

that Theía Estélla makes.”

“Oh, okay,” Matt says, oddly.

“What’s up?” I ask, suspicious.

“Nothing’s up,” Matt says

as he carefully collects

the stack of Vass’s books,

my phone, notebook, and pencil case,

and places them on the floor.

“Don’t you need these?” he says,

picking up my boot and sling.

“I think Vass is trying to

hold me hostage here,” I joke.

“Are you here to break me free?”

He chuckles. “I’m here for

whatever you need me for.”

He sits beside me on the bed,

cradling the boot and sling,

one in each arm, like two babies.

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