Page 15 of Friends with Benefits

Her eyes meet his.

She tries it out, clueless in this moment that her life has just changed. “Okay, Theodore.”

“I think I like Theodore.”

His nose crinkles when he smiles at her, dissolving her anxiety just as Miss Stella turns on the music. Evie remembers every detail of that first dance class—warming up toThe Lizzie McGuire Moviesoundtrack, learning her first sixteen counts of choreography, realizing that she could dance in front of,with, other people. She remembers Theo’s one-dimple smile, his nose crinkle, his kindness. She remembers not saying another word to him that day, giving him nothing more than a tiny wave goodbye.

She remembers obsessing over their interaction for the rest of the night.

Him saying,I think I like Theodore.

And her last thought before drifting off into a dreamscape beingI think I like Theodore, too.

4

“This isendless.”

Theo and Evelyn are in the middle of packing up the bungalow’s office–slash–guest room when she flings herself onto the taupe suede futon, her Snoopy slipper–clad feet dangling off the armless end. Shoulder-length blond hair falls in front of her face, obscuring her forest-green eyes.

“You really don’t have to subject yourself to this, Theodore,” Evelyn continues. “It’s not your fault I’m a low-key hoarder.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Low-key?”

She flips him off, then stands and declares it’s time for a bubble tea break and exits the room without asking him what he wants. She doesn’t have to. Alone, he returns to the boxes. Theo has spent the weekend helping Evelyn pack up nearly two decades of memories—their entire childhood, adolescence, early adulthood—into cardboard boxes. Pep and Mo’s bungalow has been a second home to Theo, a place that always felt warm and safe, even more so after his mom’s diagnosis. Colorectal cancer. Stage three. At home, Theo had to be okay, strong,a man. He was fourteen. A kid. But that didn’tmatter to Jacob, his dad, who drilled those words into Theo over and over during the two years of treatments that spanned between Lori’s diagnosis and initial remission. At home, Theo felt nothing at all. Emotions were for the bungalow, where he could feel his feelings without judgment. So losing this space?

It’s a lot to process.

Theo doesn’t process.

He’s too busy packing, taping, and labeling boxes:

BOOKS

TCHTOCHKES

BLANKETS

So many blankets—all crocheted by Evelyn in various colors, patterns, and textures. Theo has lost count of how many blankets he’s folded. Just when he thinks he’s pulled the last one from the closet, another one appears. He folds and boxes and folds and boxes blanket after blanket while his favoriteSurvivorpodcasters recap the most recent episode in his ears. A necessary distraction. Without gameplay analysis to keep him grounded, Theo would surely be losing his shit over some of these blankets. A blue-and-white checkerboard one that Evelyn was proud enough of upon completion to gift to his mom. A soft sage blanket that his mom started after she relapsed and Evelyn finished after she—

Theo pauses the podcast.

Wipes his eyes and forces himself to finish the thought.

—died.

After she died.

It’s been five years since her relapse and grief still bowls him over. Sometimes the trigger is obvious—Tom Hanks’s voice, any Dolly Parton song, a sage blanket. Other times, it hits him out of nowhere. Earlier this week, it was a perfectly ordinary day at school until Milo, a struggling speller, got a perfect scoreon a quiz using a memory trick that Theo learned from his mom back whenhewas a struggling speller and he just… wanted so badly to call her. Random moments like those are the worst, because that’s when Theo must sit with the truth that it’s never going away, this grief—and it’s always going to hurt. He has to be able to move through it. With Milo’s breakthrough, he sat with the grief as he slapped a Buzz Lightyear sticker on top of the quiz, then continued grading. In the case of the soft sage blanket that is still in his hands, he will fold it and box it and move on to the next blanket because sometimes it’s just easier to do than to feel.

Theo resumes the podcast.

Folds.

Boxes grief with the soft sage blanket.

And moves on.

Twenty minutes later, Evelyn returns with a lavender oat milk boba tea for herself and a peach green tea with mango pearls for him. Then she settles next to him and wraps some ceramic tchotchkes from the bookshelf. A cow, a crepe, a teacup. Her phone vibrates and she glances at the screen, her shoulders sagging before showing Theo. It’s a listing for a one bedroom in Lamanda Park, the area of Pasadena where he grew up: $2,100 a month.

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