I’m home when my phone buzzes.
I’m nursing two fingers of whiskey, but I set it down on my coaster to check it.
[text: Naomi] You up?
I glance at my watch. It’s almost ten. I could pretend to be asleep.
But I’m not that guy.
[text: me] Yes. All good?
I see a dialogue bubble with three dots pop up. She’s typing. Then it vanishes. She’s stopped typing.
Finally, she starts again.
[text: Naomi] I’m still here
[text: Naomi] Hannsett I mean
[text: Naomi] can we talk?
I don’t hesitate. I tell her to come over.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. Naomi looks small standing in my doorway. Shoulders hunched, head tilted downward. Her sweater is knitted and has holes in the knitting.
She must be freezing.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
Her mascara is raccoon-dark around her eyes. She’s been crying.
I let her in. She doesn’t make herself at home. Instead, she takes a couple of steps inside and then stops, holding herself.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
“Please.”
“Whiskey?”
“On the rocks.”
I fix her a drink at my standing bar, but she hasn’t moved from my foyer, jacket still wrapped around her shoulders.
I move to the couch. I pull a coaster forward on my table and set her drink on it, inviting her over. She takes the permission and sits on the couch beside me. Her bright orange sweater makes her stand out on the stark white couch.
Silence lingers between us. I’m okay with it.
I lift my glass, and she clinks hers against mine. We both take a sip.
She hasn’t been here without Otto. Otto’s room is like a separate entity, tucked away down the hall. He moved in after my mom passed away, and then it was like he just forgot to leave. I enjoy having him around, even if he exists like a squirrel. He stays in his room to write and occasionally only ventures out to grab something from the kitchen.
Since he started dating Naomi, he’s been splitting time between both places. Naomi has spent the night a few times, but for the most part, he goes over to hers.
Now, it’s strange to be here with her without Otto in it. I catch her staring at my house.
It’s funny the things you take for granted. I’ve lived here three years. I’m used to it. But when Naomi’s chin tilts, I see how it must look through her eyes.
Stained oak walls. A spacious, open-air floor plan. Long, slanted ceilings punctured with rectangular skylights.
It’s a clean night. You can see stars through the skylight tonight, tiny dots pricking the black.
“Why do you have such a nice house?” Naomi asks.
The way she says it makes the edge of my mouth curl upward.
“What?” she says. “Did I say something funny?”
“No, it’s just…” I smooth my hand down the leg of my trousers. “People don’t really ask me that. They usually just…give me that look.”
“What look?”
“That what cartel are you associated with look.”
Elbow on her thigh, she perches her chin on the flat on her palm and curls her fingers around her lips. “Nah,” she says. “You’re too gentle for organized crime.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I clear my throat. “I was on a game show. The Million Dollar Answer.”
Her eyes widen. “Did you win?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“You must be like…next-level genius.”
I chuckle softly. “Not really. The theme was pop culture and entertainment. Thirty questions. A million dollars. My mom…she worked part-time at the hotels. Turndown service. When I was a kid, I’d come with her, and she’d just sit me in front of the TV while she worked. So I became well versed in TV shows.”
“Ho. Ly. Shit.” She tilts her glass to her lips. The ice cubes clink around in her glass, but at least she’s stopped shivering. She puts her glass down (she misses the coaster, but I’m not going to mention it). She finally takes her sweater off, letting it crumple behind her. “So you bought this house with the money?”
“With the remainder. First thing I did was pay off Mom’s medical debt. That was like a guillotine over us.”
“She must have been grateful.”
“She was. And then she passed.”
Naomi stares off into the distance. “Life is a bitch.”
“Amen.”
We both drink in the silence and the whiskey.
“My dad died when I was young,” Naomi says. “He could’ve gotten treatment, but he refused it for religious reasons. This thing with Otto…it feels like that all over again. I can’t watch another person I love leave this world with a chip on his shoulder.” She sniffs then and presses the back of her hand to her nose. “I’m sorry—”
My heart breaks open for her. I reach over and set my hand on her leg.
“Naomi…”
She looks up at me. Unfallen tears shimmer in her eyes.
I wind my arm around her. She leans into my chest, curling herself into my body. I put my glass down (I also ignore the coaster—now is not the time for coasters). I take her in my arms and squeeze her tightly. She shakes with quiet sobs against my shoulder.
“I love you,” Naomi says suddenly. She sniffles and wipes her nose on her sleeve. “I don’t think people say that enough, you know? To the people they care about. When they’re still…”
Still alive. That’s what she means to say, but she can’t get the words out.
“I know.” I take her shoulders and squeeze them. “I love you, too.”
