“Crisis line shift,” John said. “He does it on his laptop from his room.”
“Ah.” Lauren already knew from her previous visits to the house that Kiki’s room was through the door leading off the dining room. She’d never gone to the other side of the house, through the kitchen, so she assumed Asa’s room would be somewhere over there. Either way, it didn’t matter. It was probably for the best that she didn’t have to worry about facing him again.
“Which is perfect,” Kiki said, “because he’d make us watch A Christmas Story again.”
“I like that one,” John said.
Elliot made a disgusted sound, scrolling through the recommended movies on Netflix, each of which looked cheesier than the last. “Manufactured nostalgia,” Elliot said. “Hear me out, but are we sure the live-action Grinch isn’t so bad it’s good? Or maybe it’s just good? I haven’t seen it in years.”
That really set off the bickering, with overlapping opinions coming in from each side, somehow degenerating to a heated debate about whether The Nightmare Before Christmas was a Halloween movie or a Christmas one (“Which of those holidays is in the fucking title?” Kiki said, while Elliot started listing all of the creepy features and characters in “Halloweentown, you know, the actual setting”).
John stayed out of that one, until he turned to Lauren. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”
Lauren was tempted to just pick one of theirs, provide a majority vote so they could move on to actually watching it. She knew Kiki the best, so it would make sense to choose Love, Actually, although the idea of a two-hour-long ensemble romance made her think wistfully of her bed. John had always been nice to her, and looked like he actually cared about her answer, so she could say Elf and align herself with him. But then again, Elliot seemed like someone who took their media very seriously, and everyone knew It’s a Wonderful Life was a classic.
“I don’t know,” she said instead, a total cop-out. “They’re all good, I guess.”
“Miracle on 34th Street it is,” Kiki said, taking the controller from Elliot to bring it up on the screen.
“The sad consequence of groupthink,” Elliot said. “Everyone compromises and no one is happy.”
“Whatever,” Kiki said. “I’m making pizza rolls.”
Lauren followed Kiki to help, even though there wasn’t much to do other than lay the aluminum foil out on a cookie sheet for Kiki to dump the frozen rolls onto.
“So,” Kiki said. “You have to at least tell me. Did the special underwear come into play at all last night, yes or no?”
The oven was preheating, which had to be the reason why Lauren suddenly felt warm all over. “He never even saw it,” Lauren said. Not technically a lie. Asa had touched her through it, he’d touched her under it, but he’d barely gotten a glimpse. She slid her finger under the collar of her button-up shirt, wishing she’d changed out of her work clothes before coming over. “I think it’s ready. The oven, I mean. It seems hot enough by now.”
Kiki slid the sheet of pizza rolls in, frowning down at the bag before setting the timer. “Can you tell I don’t cook?” she asked. “Even this is stretching my limits. Elliot does most of it, although Asa makes this amazing potato soup. John will just eat whatever. If left to his own devices he’d make a sandwich for every single meal.”
Lauren thought again how nice that sounded, having people to come home to, to cook for, who’d cook for you. She’d always said she loved living alone, and she did—there was something to having her own space. She played whatever music she wanted on the Bluetooth speaker in her living room, she could read in peace without anyone interrupting her, she didn’t have to share food or toothpaste or covers.
But it could get lonely. And lately, it was starting to feel lonelier and lonelier.
“You’ll have to excuse me for being so focused on this thing with Daniel,” Kiki said. “Even Asa thinks I should lay off. It’s just that I know how long you’ve been into him, and I think it’s great that he’s finally paying attention. Also, I need some excitement in my life.”
There was so much to unpack, starting with that comment about Asa thinking she should lay off. When would they have discussed that? After what happened last night?
He’d agreed to keep it between them, and Lauren found that she trusted him completely. Somehow she knew that he wouldn’t even tell Kiki.
Which was almost a shame, because Lauren would’ve loved to get Kiki’s perspective on what he had said, what she thought about the situation, whether she saw any future there . . .
Silly, really. Of course there was no future.
“How are things going with Marj?” Lauren asked. “Is she still stressed about her work party?”
Kiki frowned. “It’s coming up—the night before ours, actually. I get the feeling that she’d almost be happier if I didn’t go, because then she wouldn’t have to deal with introducing me around to everyone and hearing me say ‘I work in a fake winter attraction gift shop’ the eight hundred times someone asks me what I do.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Lauren said, then realized that it very well could be true, and Kiki would be in a better position to judge that than she was. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Whatever.” Kiki opened the oven door to check on the pizza rolls. “It’s a minute early, but I think once they start oozing everywhere you can take them out. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Lauren had no idea, but she grabbed the oven mitt from the counter and reached in to pull out the rolls anyway. Kiki warned her that they’d have to sit for a few minutes, and grabbed her phone, starting to text. Lauren took that as a good time to check her own phone, not that she would’ve missed any messages.
To her surprise, there was one from Daniel. Thinking for date I can take you to party next Saturday, it said. How does that sound?
It didn’t sound much like a date. She would be going to the party anyway, and the whole idea had been to get Daniel alone, in a one-on-one situation where hopefully she could open up and show him she was more than just the mousy girl who could print him out five different charts analyzing the same data.
She was starting to type her reply when she heard a door open, and Asa walked into the kitchen, carrying his laptop, his earbuds still in. He did an actual double take when he saw her, stopping momentarily in the middle of the black-and-white checkered floor.
She didn’t know if the crisis line involved any kind of audio or if it was all text, if she would disrupt him if she spoke. So she just lifted her hand in a small wave, and his mouth quirked in a smile even as his gaze drifted down her face to her throat.
Lauren had chosen her button-up very carefully that morning, because its starched collar hid the small love bite Asa had left on the dip of her neck into her shoulder. Or at least, she’d thought it did. She reached up to ensure that all the buttons were still done up, tugging at the bottom of the shirt in case it had started to gape over her chest.
“Careful,” Kiki said in an exaggerated whisper, handing Asa a small plate of pizza rolls. “They’ll burn your taste buds off.”
“All part of the experience,” he said. “Thanks.”
He balanced the plate expertly in one hand, his laptop in the other, before disappearing back into his room. At least Lauren knew where it was now.
“How long has he done that?” she asked. “The crisis line thing?”
Kiki shrugged, dividing the rest of the pizza rolls onto four separate plates. “As long as I’ve known him,” she said. “A couple years at least.”
“Because of what happened with his dad?”
Kiki paused midbite, setting the roll back down on the plate. “Wait, how do you know about his dad?”