Page 22 of Friends with Benefits

She and Theo need a reset.

So they order their dairy-free mint chip in a cup and ube brownie in a cone and sit at their picnic table. Evie comments on the weather, how hot it still is for mid-October, as she scrapes the perfect scoop with a bamboo spoon. Fresh mint on her tongue is a sweet respite from the heat, from her grief. The bungalow is gone. Pep and Mo are gone. But at least after a shit day, there’s always Afters.

Theo looks at her. “Evelyn, I’m—”

Evie cuts him off, reaching across the table to take his cone and smush the tenth, twentieth,millionthsorry right back into his face in sticky-sweet ice cream form, and only when his nose, mouth, and chin are purple does she say, “I know.”

His purple mouth quirks. “I deserved that.”

“I know.”

Then she hands him some napkins.

He takes them.

And they reset the same way they always do—with Theohanding her an earbud and them watchingSurvivoron his phone. After the episode, Evie recounts her harrowing week of apartment hunting and the bloody T-shirt.

“It’s brutal out there,” she laments, crushing a now-empty ice cream cup in her hand. “Never give up your lease.”

Theo snorts. “I think I have to. Micah and Pranav closed on a condo in WeHo.”

“What?” Evie’s eyes widen at information that could solve at least one of her problems.

“How they swung that is a mystery to—”

“I’ll take it.”

He hasn’t offered. But it’sTheo. After a week on Imogen’s couch, Evie could tear up at just the idea of a bedroom. With a door. In this moment, she’s more than relieved to let Theo be the solution to her housing crisis. She isnota damsel in distress, but her bank account is very distressed by the prospect of shelling out more than half her monthly income to rent an apartment without a necessity—arenter’s right—as basic as a fridge.

“I wish it were that simple.”

“It’s not?”

“I had that thought, too, so I spoke with Sal. My landlord. He informed me that we’re not eligible to take over the lease, like, financially.”

Not eligible financially? What?They’re both adults with full-time jobs. W-2 jobs. Salaried jobs. She’s aware that neither of their chosen paths has provided them with the financial stability of padded savings accounts and stock market portfolios. But they’re fine.

Evie’s brow creases, confused. “I thought the unit was rent-controlled?”

“There’s a stipulation in the lease that, sans a guarantor,each tenant must provide proof that their monthly salary is at least three times the rent.”

Evie does the calculation once, twice, three times, triple-checking her mental math because the number she gets every time is obscene.“Each?”

Theo nods.

“You’re sure?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fuck.”

“I know. Micah’s parents were on the lease, so it’s never been an issue.”

Evie doesn’t have a financial safety net. Her father literally fled the country, working on an excavation site in Argentina and pretending his six-figure student loan debt disappeared… so his credit is presumably in the toilet. Naomi has money. Well. Jean-Paul has money. But she’d rather take the Palms apartment where someone was probably definitely murdered than ask her mother for help. Theo asking his dad is as much of a nonstarter as Evie calling Naomi.

So.

Pep and Mo’s crumpled check is still in her back pocket. Evie supposes she could call her grandparents, but that feels more like a last resort than a viable option. They’ve already done so much—too much—to help her out. She wants a worry-free retirement for them. Doesn’t want to burden them with her financial woes.

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