Page 46 of Triple Play
I’m doing it anyway.
Then Grant walks to the cabinet and slams it so hard the dishes rattle.
Elise and I both jump and step apart.
The moment shatters.
Grant doesn’t look at us. He just grabs a glass, fills it with water, and drinks it in three swallows like he’s trying to drown something.
I laugh because what else can I do?
Elise’s cheeks are pink. She goes back to chopping with more focus than vegetables require.
Grant sets his glass down hard. “Pasta almost ready?”
“Ten minutes,” I say.
“Good.”
He leaves the kitchen. We hear him in the living room, turning on the TV too loud.
Wyatt takes a long drink of his beer. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression says plenty.
I finish the sauce, drain the pasta, and toss everything together with fresh basil and too much parmesan because that’s how Nonna made it.
“Dinner’s ready,” I call.
We all sit. The table’s too small for four people, but we make it work—elbows bumping, passing bowls, the forced intimacy of shared space.
I serve and make sure everyone has enough. It’s what I do: take care of people, make sure they’re fed and comfortable and feel like they belong.
Even when I’m not sure I belong anywhere myself.
“This is incredible, Jordie,” Elise says, biting her lip.
For a minute, we just eat. The silence is loaded, charged with everything we’re not saying.
Then I break it because I can’t help myself.
“So.” I twirl pasta on my fork. “How’s everyone doing with Carol’s rules?”
Wyatt chokes on his beer.
Elise looks up, eyes wide.
Grant’s jaw ticks. “What?”
“You know. The roommate agreement. No overnight guests of a romantic nature. Stay clothed in shared spaces. Don’t fuck your roommates.” I grin. “Just checking in. Making sure everyone’s compliant.”
“You’re an idiot,” Grant mutters.
“Just being thorough.” I look around the table. “Anyone struggling? Need support? A sponsor?”
“Jordie—” Elise starts.
“Because I’ll be honest.” I lean back in my chair. “I’m struggling. Like, really struggling. It’s been ten days, and I’m already losing my mind.”
Wyatt’s lips twitch. Almost a smile.
