Page 20 of A Bittersweet Summer

“Your favorite,” he answers, moving to the galley kitchen of his apartment. Cabinets open and close, followed by the running of the sink. “I got pizza, but made sure it’s sat for at least an hour, just like you like it.”

I make a small gagging sound. “Gus, you better be joking because you know I won’t eat pizza once it’s cold. It has an expiration date.”

Gus appears by the kitchen table and hands me a glass of water, one eyebrow raised. “Technically, everything has an expiration date.”

I shove down the urge to contradict him as some kind of reassurance.

“Don’t look so sad. It’s General Tso’s, Cass. Relax.”

One corner of my lip pulls upward as Gus throws his awkward limbs onto the couch, leaning forward to pluck the remote from the coffee table.

Aside from the couch, the kitchen table, the coffee table, and the TV complete with a TV stand, his apartment is bare—clinical.

“So listen,” I start, my thumb tracing the outside of the box. “This apartment is ugly, and if you’re ever to get a girlfriend, I figured I could add some pizzazz.”

Gus squints at the TV despite the dark-framed glasses resting on his nose. “I can tell you right now, I’m not interested. I don’tthink it needs pizzazz. In fact, using the word pizzazz tells me everything I want to know. I don’t want it.”

My shoulders slump, and I smile. “Oh, come on. You’ll love it.”

I shove the open box toward him, and he fumbles the remote, looking at the pile of carefully looped yarn inside.

He pulls out crocheted vines—lots of them with little daisies attached.

“Cassidy.” Gus frowns, holding my creation aloft. “I asked for a blanket.”

I sit on the couch next to him, feeling no remorse.

Okay… a little remorse.

“You could say thank you,” I say, pointing to the large sliding door that leads to a too-small balcony. Any luxury of a balcony is eradicated by the presence of the ugliest blinds anyone’s ever seen in any apartment. They’re white, plastic, and would be put to far better use in the trash. “I think they’d go nicely right there.”

“If you think this is going to get me a girlfriend, I am deeply concerned for your love life.”

I laugh, leaning my head back on the couch. “Okay, fine. The blanket will just takeforever. This was faster, and to be honest, I don’t have any need for them.”

“Wow,” his tone is flat. “This is worse than regifting.”

Another chuckle, and Gus has set the box aside, crocheted vines and all. The streaming app comes alive, and he’s quickly navigating to our tried and true seven-season show we started over three weeks ago.

“Looking awful over there,” Gus says when I haven’t spoken. My head still rests on the back of the couch. “How was your second day?”

“Believe it or not,” I start, “really good. Though I think I was sexually harassed this morning.”

A look of horror washes over his face. “What the fuck, Cassidy. You need to report that shit.”

“I just walked in on my boss’s sister topless. It was my bad. I should have knocked or something.”

Gus stands abruptly, scrambling to the kitchen table where he gets two bowls and a bag of take-out containers. He brings them over to the table, his brow furrowed. “Not sure that makes it any better, but I trust you, I guess.”

The bare, white walls surround us, reminding me of hours spent in hospitals and the beeping of monitors. “Trust me enough to be my new roommate?” I ask. “I get a nice house at the end of the driveway as part of the gig.”

Gus’s frown turns a touch sour—angry, even. “I do not need a roommate.”

“I never said need!” I defend, smiling to soften the slip-up.

I know exactly what he’s thinking, and I never should have brought it up. He’s spent his entire life fighting for independence, and I know he’s thinking that I don’t believe he will be fine on his own.

Hecando this on his own. He has been doing it on his own. I just want him to know he never has to.