“Damn it,” I mutter, smiling, as I let him hug me again. I catch Fred’s eye and he shrugs, signaling that he’s already well aware of Milo’s charm. “Just come inside,” I say into Milo’s shoulder.
* * *
* * *
“So how long has it been since you’ve been home?” I ask as Milo and Fred settle into the couch. My apartment, which is a glorified room above a garage, is tiny; one room with my bed, a couch, and a small, round kitchen table, with a sloping ceiling that means you can only stand up straight if you’re directly in the middle of the room. At the back is the kitchen, separated from the rest of the apartment with a half wall, and only big enough for two people to squeeze in.
Milo shifts on the couch. “It’s been . . . a while. Things have been busy.”
“But now you’re back,” I say slowly, waiting for him to explain what he’s here for.
“Now I’m back,” he says, staring at me. A long silence hangs between us.
“This coconut cream pie is divine,” Fred says, holding up the slice I gave him from the pie I had chilling in the fridge.
“Thank you, Fred.” I smile. Frankly, Fred seems great. He’s polite, he never abandoned me while I was taking care of my father, and he likes my coconut pie; what more could I want in a person? But right now, I’m a little more concerned with what my brother’s doing here.
“Listen, I want to be here for Dad, all right? I know I missed a lot—”
I snort-cough.
“But I’m here now, okay?” Milo leans forward and looks at me with those big blue eyes that are also my big blue eyes and we’re back to being seven years old, to me giving him all the cheese from my Lunchable because he asked nicely. I’ve never been able to resist him.
“Why are you really here, Milo?” I ask quietly.
“To see Dad,” he insists. I look at Fred for help, but he’s curiously focused on his pie.
“Is that the only reason?” I ask, familiar with Milo’s belief that lies of omission don’t count.
He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe the lease on our place was also up so it seemed like good timing. Among other reasons.”
I stare at him. “You’re not here for Dad. You’re here because you need a place to live.”
“Can’t it be both?” Milo says, charming smile aimed in my direction.
“You can’t stay here,” I say, standing up and grabbing their empty plates. Milo follows me into the kitchen.
“I know. I know. I forgot that your place was so small.”
“At least I have a place,” I say icily, turning on the water and rinsing off the plates.
“Touché.” Milo sighs. “I think we can stay with Mikey Danger. Remember him?”
I eye Milo. “How could I forget a high school classmate who tried to convince everyone his last name was Danger?”
“Well, he’s no longer seventeen and he legally changed his last name to Danger. He’s a delivery driver now but from what I’ve heard, he can still land a pretty sick ollie.”
He trails off and gives me a wry look, and that’s it. I can’t help laughing. This is the allure of Milo, the reason I can’t be mad at him even though he left me alone here to care for Dad, the reason I’ve never been able to be mad at him no matter what crap he pulls. The time he took my junior-year prom dress, the one I was saving because I loved it so much, and used it for a zombie bride costume. The time he ended up leaving that same junior prom with my prom date. All the times he was either too clueless or self-absorbed to notice anyone but himself—I’ve forgiven it all.
“Milo.” I look at him until he looks me in the eye. “What’s the deal with Fred?”
“We’ve been together for a few months,” Milo says. “He’s great, right?”
“I mean . . .” I peer over the half wall at Fred, who’s on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. “Yeah. What does he do? Like, for work, if you guys work at all . . . ?”
“We work,” Milo says, an edge to his voice. “Fred’s a model.”
“Oh,” I say, still staring at Fred. “That makes sense.”
“And I work—well, worked—in an upscale men’s boutique. We met because Fred was a customer.”
I frown. Milo says “upscale men’s boutique” the way a server at a pretentious restaurant says “house-made artisanal sausage” when everyone knows it’s just meat stuffed in a tube.
“And he’s kind, and he’s funny, and, I don’t know. This feels . . . different than all the other guys I’ve dated.”
“So you’re settling down with Fred?”
He pokes my shoulder. “Settling down isn’t so bad. You should try it.”
I’ve never known Milo in a relationship, and not just because he’s been living in another state for the past several years. He just never seemed all that interested in dating, but the way he’s looking at Fred is something I’ve never seen on him before.
“Also, the man can put together a puzzle.”
“Um,” I say. “Is that some kind of euphemism?”
Milo shoots me a look of disgust and pokes me in the shoulder again. “No, you perv. That’s what we do for fun—puzzles. You really get to know someone when you’re putting together a thousand-piecer of hot air balloons. Puzzles take patience. Attention to detail. Stamina.”
I shake my head. “So what are you guys gonna do for work while you’re here?”
Milo shrugs. “I’ll get a job at a store.”
I’d question his nonchalance, but he’s right—this is the way it always works for Milo. Retail is where he shines, probably because he can talk to anyone and, after five minutes, know the name of their first pet and convince them to buy $500 worth of merchandise.
“And there’s catalog work here. Fred can get a job anywhere. Look at him.”
Fred looks up at us. “Fred can hear you, you know. Fred is about three feet away from the kitchen.”
“Right.” I nod.
“Small apartment,” Milo says, but he’s smiling at Fred, not caring even a little that Fred overheard him say that he plans on settling down. Fred smiles back at him and I get the distinct feeling that they no longer know I’m here.
I frown. “Maybe you two lovebirds should go make out at Mikey Danger’s now. I feel like a third wheel in my own place.”