Page 28 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Yes, darling. Whatever you say.”
What is her angle? Wanting to keep tabs on me? More likely, she wants a steady stream of information about Adam. “Fine. You pay for the meals.”
Mom sniffs, not snorts. Never snorts. It’s another mannerism that she has in common with thePathfindercaptain. “Of course. My idea, my treat. Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Small price for being able to never commute to work with Dad again.
“Excellent. Despite what your father said while he was having his temper tantrum, you are welcome to stay until you find a place.” Mom pulls a dried, crinkled leaf from one of my succulents. “You are always welcome to stay.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Mom sounds a little teary. But I do know better. Emotions are just part of her arsenal when it comes to negotiating and getting her way. “Thanks, Mom, but Adam offered me his couch.” It’s a sore spot that Adam has never once invited Mom and Dad over to see his place. She’s too proud to bring that up, though. Dad is still too angry. I heard him shouting the other night,The nerve. He didn’t even ask us. He just up and invests a small fortune into some fanfic indulgence. All those years, all that money we thought he was saving for law school!
I stuff the final pair of sweats into my duffel and zip it up. “I’ll look forward to our lunch date, Mom.” I heft my bag onto the floor. “And as soon as I find a place, I’ll come back for my other crap.”
“Language,” Mom says reflexively.
“My other belongings, furniture, and personal effects.”
Chapter 9
It’s one week later, one long week with a soul-atrophying stint sleeping on Adam’s couch, before my brother texts me an address and price. I call him immediately. “Is this for real?”
“A studio with its own private patio. Did I come through, or did I come through?”
“That depends on what it looks like.” Even I recognize I’m being a bit of a diva about this. As gracious as Adam has been, I’m desperate to get out of his apartment, out of his space, and into my own. I should take any hovel. “When can I see it?”
“Anytime. How’s the new-gig hunt?”
I toggle through the slew of job-search apps on my phone. While grocery delivery is a bridge I’m not willing to cross at the moment, FroggoDoggo is a different story. I put myself into the app as a dog walker yesterday. Nothing sounds better than being outside, walking around San Diego with a dog I’m paid to spend time with. Fools don’t realize I’d do that for free. Too bad this app, like all social media, favors well-networked, established accounts.
“Slow,” I say.
The front door opens. “Starting up a new business is not for the faint of heart,” I watch Adam say into the phone and hear in my ear at the same time.
He hangs up, tosses his keys on his kitchen counter, and pulls out a carton of kefir from his fridge. “If cash flow is a problem—and when is it not in the beginning—I’m happy to book you for a few shifts at the escape room. It’s really taken off since Comic-Con.” He pulls out a bowl of eggs. “Can I make you an omelet?”
I don’t have the heart to eat another burnt omelet with too much spinach and not enough cheese. I also don’t have it in me to cheerfully do any more dishes. “I had no idea you love to cook so much.”
“It’s so fun. Half the stuff I make doesn’t turn out.”
I’d put that number higher than half. Three-quarters of his baked goods end in flames or in the trash or both.
Adam chops a red bell pepper. “But it is so satisfying when it comes together. Totally worth chasing.”
He’s grinning and whistling the theme ofMississippi Bake-Offand is probably one diced pepper away from setting off the smoke alarm.
My phone pings. I pick it up and squeal. FroggoDoggo tells me I’ve got a potential gig. “Yes. Pick me!” I confirm my availability and interest before someone else can snag the walk.
“Changed your mind about the omelet?”
“Nope. I gotta go walk a pooch. I’ll check out the apartment after. Thanks, Adam.”
He shrugs. “I owed you one.”
“You totally did. You want me to bring back pizza or something for lunch?”
“I’m going to be on campus all afternoon. TAing for Dr. Birnbaum.”
Grad student as well as entrepreneur. Talk about burning the candle at both ends. But he’s not miserable doing it. Must be nice. “You need me to take any ‘first day back’ pictures?” I ruffle Adam’s hair. “Do you have a chalkboard sign we could letter? First day of eighteenth grade.”
