Page 25 of Jesse's Girl

She checks her phone. “Any minute now. Oh! We should come up with a secret signal. For if I’m feeling uncomfortable and need you to… you know… step in.”

“A… secret signal.” I smooth a hand over my beard, conjuring up visions of my little league baseball coach. “Do you mean, like, something you say, or something you do?”

“It should be something I say, right? Otherwise, you’ll have to follow us around the entire time, like a weird lurker. I’ll call something out.”

“Okay.” Don’t be a weird lurker. Got it.

“How about: Hey, Jess! Don’t forget to wish your mom a happy birthday.” She gives me an expectant look.

“It’s not my mom’s?—”

“Ugh,” she says, cutting me off. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a line.”

A knock at the door pulls her attention, and she brushes past me to answer it.

For a moment, her sweet scent surrounds me.

Jesus. No. Focus on the impromptu drama club thing, here.

“What do you want me to do?” I try to keep my voice down. “If you give me the signal?”

She turns to me, still retreating toward the door. “I don’t know!” she hisses. “Pretend you’re my jealous boyfriend?” Her expression is screaming duh, like I should know what she’s thinking. As she grasps the doorknob, she adds, “Just act possessive or something!”

Instant tension knots my stomach. “Ada, I…”

Fuck. Alone in the kitchen, I run my hands down my face, bracing myself for whatever lecherous, murdering Casanova type is about to waltz in here and force me to showcase my mediocre acting skills.

How did I get wrangled into this shit so fast?

But any concern about needing to posture as Ada’s scary boyfriend—whatever the hell that entails—evaporates the moment the guy walks in. For starters, he’s not alone. An older woman accompanies him, a protective hand on his shoulder like he’s a flight risk. I try to work out their dynamic. He stares at his feet a lot and at the woman—who introduces herself as his mother—the rest of the time. He barely speaks, and everything about the guy’s slumped posture screams a defeated kind of insecurity.

“So, this is it, I guess,” Ada says. “Did you, uh, wanna see the second room?”

They nod and follow her.

“Have you had any issues with mold?” the mother asks. “Because Alex has asthma, and these basement apartments can be quite damp.”

I don’t hear Ada’s reply, but the glimpses of her I do catch suggest she’s trying her best to be polite—and struggling.

I smile to myself and sit at the kitchen table to scroll on my phone while I wait.

Ada walks them through a perfunctory apartment tour, explaining the practicalities of Katie’s old room and the common living spaces. When they finish, they return to the main entry near the kitchen.

“So, what would my Alex be needing to do in terms of chores?” the woman intones. “He’s a very good boy; I raised him right, don’t get me wrong!” She forces a laugh that neither Ada nor I return. “But he gets squeamish with handling yucky things like the garbage or the goop in the bottom of the sink.” She makes a sour face to accentuate the point. “He has a sensitive stomach, you know.”

Ada and I share a glance, then resume acting like this is a normal way for an adult man to tour a potential apartment.

“Sure,” Ada says tentatively to Alex. “We’d basically clean up our own messes, I guess. We could talk about a system… if you need that.”

He doesn’t return her inquiring look.

“Oh, one more thing,” Alex’s mother ventures. “And sorry if this is a personal question, but… do you have a boyfriend?” She eyes me briefly, clearly assuming that’s why I’m here.

“Uh,” Ada starts, visibly fighting to keep a neutral facial expression, “sorry, why do you ask?” She throws me a quick we-will-be-talking-about-this-later look before returning her attention to the overbearing woman.

“Oh, it’s just Alex isn’t…”—she drops her voice to a stage whisper—“sexually active just yet.”

“Moooooom,” Alex groans, tensing up in a full-body cringe. “Oh my God!”

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