Page 13 of We Can Stay
“Everything okay?” I set the pizza on the coffee table, worry creeping in.
“What?” She blinks up at me. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I was just checking my Twitch?—”
“What’s Twitch?”
Her head tilts, lips quirking like she’s fighting a smile. “You’ve never heard of it?”
“Nope. I’m painfully out of sync with the rest of society. Sorry.”
Her laugh is delighted rather than mocking. “That’s okay. I get to be the one to introduce you to it then, I guess.”
“You won’t hear me complain.” I wink at her, and her smile grows sweeter, more genuine. She’s pleased I’m interested, I realize. How often do people dismiss her interests?
She scoots over, patting the floor beside her. I abandon the couch immediately, settling close enough that our knees almost touch. “It’s a streaming platform. It’s mostly full of video game streaming, but there are other things too.”
“You game?”
“Not much. I mean, I used to, actually. I wanted to design games.”
“Really?” Another layer revealed, another facet of this fascinating woman.
“Yeah.” She shrugs, but there’s old hurt in the gesture. “A long time ago, in another life.”
“So, who do you watch on there?” I nod at her phone, steering away from what seems like painful territory.
“I have a page. I stream while I dye yarn.”
“What?” The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean— It’s cool and surprising. That’s why I laughed. Can I...can I see it?”
She hesitates, vulnerability flashing across her face before she makes a decision. A few taps on her screen, and she hands me her phone. “Here are my reruns.”
I scroll through her videos, fascination growing. The screen shows her hands working with yarn, transforming white skeins into brilliant colors while her voice narrates the process. It’s mesmerizing. “You have a lot of followers.”
“Not as many as some people, but yeah. I just started the channel, and it’s awesome that I have those subscribers.”
“What else is on here other than gaming and yarn dyeing?”
“Hmm. How about this?” She takes the phone back, her fingers grazing mine. The brief contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. When she returns it, I have to force myself to focus on the screen instead of the lingering sensation.
“What am I watching?” The woman on screen is methodically sorting embroidery floss by color gradient.
“She’s organizing her embroidery floss.”
I shake my head but can’t look away. “Is it crazy that this is compelling to me?”
“You and thousands of other people.” She laughs and points at the view count.
“I am kind of a freak for organization.”
“Oh, a bad boy.” She sets the phone aside, eyes dancing with mischief. “I don’t know if we can hang out anymore.”
The playful challenge in her voice makes me feel bold, reckless. “I’m glad you called it hanging out, because I didn’t come by just because I wanted to drop off cat supplies.”
She holds my gaze, unflinching. “Hm. Good to know. I do have one question, though.”
“What’s that?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She leans past me toward the pizza box, her body brushing against mine. The contact is brief but devastating. “There is pepperoni on this, right?”
