Chapter 3 Beth #2
***
Knox connected his phone to the venue's sound system about twenty minutes ago. He said one song. Then the algorithm took over, and now Adele is on her third loop and nobody's turned it off.
And it looks like nobody's going to.
The bottle is empty. Arthur tried to pour from it about five minutes ago and got two drops and a sad dribble, which he stared at for a long time before setting his glass down and putting his forehead on the bar.
"Why, though?" he says into his arms. "Like—genuinely. Why?"
"You've asked that four times," Knox says.
"And I've gotten zero answers," Arthur says.
I've got my cheek on the bar top. It's cold and slightly sticky and smells like lemon cleaner. "No, I get what you mean. I mean, for instance," I lift one finger, then put it back down. "I'm a catch."
No one replies, so I continue.
"I have good hair. I own a business. I remember people's birthdays." I think about it. "I have very strong feelings about cheese."
"And we're a good pack," Knox says. He's two stools down, phone still face-up on the bar, Jessica's Instagram glowing like he's daring it to say something. "I cook. Arthur's funny. Mason..." He trails off.
"Mason what," Mason says. His eyes are closed. His chin is on his chest. He hasn't moved in about ten minutes and I genuinely thought he was asleep until right now.
"You're very..." Knox searches. "Protective."
"You're trying to sugarcoat the tackling," Arthur mumbles.
"I'm not," Knox says defensively. "I'm just trying to say Mason's approach to conflict resolution is very... hands-on."
"I'm right here," Mason says.
"We know," Arthur and Knox say together.
Never mind, I'll find someone like youhouuuu...
Knox's hand drops to the bar to do a slow, little two-finger sway to the chorus.
"The thing that gets me," I say, mostly to the wood grain, "is that I had a life.
Before." I roll my empty glass between my hands.
"In Chicago. Friends. A Tuesday-night trivia team.
.." I pause. "And I left all of that. Drove nine hours with a car full of houseplants and a loan I'm still paying off for a flower shop in a town where I knew one person, and that person—"
"Left," Arthur finishes.
"Dumped me," I say. "And took the apartment with him. Well, not literally. But he might as well have because I definitely can't afford that place alone, and now—"
"Wait," Knox says. He lifts his head. "You don't have an apartment?"
"I have a system," I say.
"What system?"
"Tonight I'm at Maren's. Next week, probably Luna's. After that—" I shrug. "I rotate."
Knox stares at me. "You're couch-surfing. I thought you were staying at Maren's tonight for emotional support."
"I am," I say defensively. "And FYI, I'm guest-room-surfing. Except at Luna's."
"Oh my god Beth," Arthur says.
"It's fine."
"It's clearly not fine."
"It's manageable," I say, which is what I say when something is not fine but I need it to be, and I know he knows that because he gives me a look that says he knows that.
"How long?" Mason asks. Eyes still closed.
"Started about two months after my breakup. So." I do the math. "Four months."
Mason opens his eyes.
"It's not—" I start, and then I don't know what it's not, so I just stop. "You know, I've been thinking and I could have a whole life in a storage unit on Route 9. A hundred and forty dollars a month. Which, fun fact, is only slightly more than what most people pay for a gym membership."
Adele fades out. For about four seconds, the venue is completely silent, and then she starts up again from the top.
I let out a deep breath. "I just want a door." And I don't mean for my voice to go wobbly on door, but it does. "A door that locks, a bed that's mine. That's it. That's the whole wish list."
"That's exactly what we gave her," Arthur says, sniffing. He's turned his head sideways, cheek still on his arms. "God I miss her. You don't realize how much space one person fills until they stop filling it."
"It's so quiet now," Knox says. "At dinner. There's just this—" He makes a gesture that doesn't mean anything, and somehow means exactly the right thing.
"I set four plates last Sunday," Mason says. "Force of habit. Didn't notice until I sat down."
"I still buy her oat milk," Arthur says. "It's been four months and I still put it in the cart. Every time."
"She had this succulent collection on the windowsill," Knox says. "Heard she moved them all to her parents' when she left. The succulents were nice. I didn't expect to miss the succulents."
"I've been thinking about drywalling over her door," Mason says. "It hurts too much to keep walking past it, expecting her to walk out."
I lift my cheek off the bar. "Wait. You didn't all just... sleep together in one room?"
"Most of the time," Mason says. "But not twenty-four seven. Everyone needs room to breathe."
"Every member of Pack Leroy has their own room," Knox says, sounding strangely proud.
"So your apartment has—"
"Four bedrooms," Knox cuts in.
I blink. "Four."
"It's a not an unreasonable amount of space for a working pack," Knox says, a little defensive. "We all have jobs so—"
"Can I be your roommate?" I ask.