Page 78 of Roommating

Not helping.

Dinner continues without drama. Marcia entertains us with tea from her morning spin class: the married thirtysomething guy who stares at the ass of the woman whose bike is in front of him each time she stands in second and third positions; the woman who wears the same smelly heavy sweatshirt and pants to every class; the man who grunts the entire time like he’s having painful sex. Soon we’re cracking up and I start to forget what truly motivated me to make this dinner in the first place.

“Speaking of smelly gym lady,” Marcia says with a chuckle. “She mentioned a dog comedy event in the park tonight.”

Adam blinks. “The comedian is a dog?”

At the word “dog,” Rocket comes flying into the room and sticks his head on my lap. I lean down and kiss it. “Rocket should headline. He’s the funniest pupper ever. Aren’t you, sweet boy?”

Rocket bites a piece of cucumber right off of my plate. “Okay, maybe not so sweet, but definitely funny.”

Marcia laughs. “It’s stand-upaboutdogs with pet participation from the audience. Rocket would love that. Wouldn’t you, Rocket Man?” Rocket barks. “You in?”

I open my mouth to accept the invite when Adam says, “I’ll go. Unless Sabrina needs help cleaning the kitchen.”

I glance around the room and my breath hitches. I’d been so focused onpreparingthe meal, I didn’t think about the “after” part or the mess I was making in the process. The room looks like a plane crashed into a train wreck at a bus station. The sink and counters are piled high with all the pots, pans, dishes, and utensils I used. And there’s…fuck… a sauce stain on the wall by the stove. My heart palpitates. Maybe no one will notice.

“I hope that comes out,” Adam says, pointing right at it.

Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.

Marcia follows the direction of his finger with her eyes and low-key cringes.

I vault off my chair. “I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it right away.”

“It’s not a big deal. I can always paint over it if it comes to that. I worked for a house-flipping company one summer during college. Paint is expensive but we might get lucky with a sale,” Adam says. Apparently, one of us didn’t forget about our competition.

“Or maybe it will come out with soap and water. It’s not blood.” I stop short of making a dig at yet another of his many short-term jobs.

“Just scrubbing it with soap and water on a paper towel might make it worse. Gently rub it with baking soda and water and let it dry. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try apple cider vinegar and some ammonia when we get home.” His expression softens as he looks at Marcia. “Don’t worry about it.”

She reaches for his hand across the table. “You’re the best.”

“So are you.” He stands. “I’m gonna change, but then I’m ready for the park whenever you are.”

Picturing them enjoying a fun evening in the park, laughing at dog jokes while I stay behind to clean the kitchen, leaves a pit of sadness in my belly. It’s something Marcia and I would normally have done together, like when we watchedForrest Gumpin Bryant Parklast summer and a cooking demonstration at the Big Apple BBQ in Madison Square Park. If I end up moving out, will we ever do things like that again?

“I’ll help Sabrina with the dishes so she can come with us,” Marcia says.

My breath catches. “You will?” I’m probably supposed to turn down her offer to help. I’m the one who insisted I had dinner covered from beginning to end, but I desperately want to come with them.

She stacks her dirty dishes over mine. “Of course. Like I’d really let you stay back and clean up after us while we have a fun evening in the park laughing at dog jokes?Please.”

I breathe out a laugh while also blinking back tears. “Thank you.”

She furrows her brow. “Are you okay?”

I answer her with a nod and stand to bring more dishes to the sink.

“I’ll help too,” Adam says.

He’s at my side in a moment. “How about Grams clears the table, Sabrina rinses the dishes, and I put them in the dishwasher?”

“Teamwork,” Marcia says.

Here is where I should quietly brag that his plan to leave me out of the evening’s festivities backfired. But he willingly got with the program, and I have no idea if he’s actually cool with it (maybe even secretly happy) or pretending while silently tweaking his strategy to beat me.

“Nicely played,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

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