“It’s a challenging age,” I whisper, “in terms of bathroom etiquette.”
“She asked me if periods ‘hurt’ the other day.”
“And what did you say? I wouldlovea man’s perspective on menstrual cramps.”
“The blood part is confusing to her,” he says. “She kept asking, if you’re bleeding, doesn’t it hurt? I can’t argue with that logic.”
“I went through a phase where I was obsessed with blood,” Romily remarks. “It’s a very natural curiosity.”
With that topic definitively ended, Nick offers me a slice of his pepperoni and mushroom pizza.
“I haven’t unpacked the plates yet,” he says, tearing off a piece of paper towel from a roll sitting on the counter. “But I do have some drinks in the fridge.”
I’ve grown used to living in a place with a consistently stocked fridge and pantry, so I’m a little shocked when I open Nick’s refrigerator and find Gatorade, some sparkling water, a filtered water pitcher, and a half-empty two-liter bottle of Cherry Coke. In the door there’s an overflowing container of individually sized condiments: packets of hot sauce in three different levels of hotness from Taco Bell, those little mustards and soy sauces from the Chinese takeout place nearby, tiny containers of barbecue and honey mustard sauces.
“How long have you been building this collection?” I ask.
“I haven’t been to the store in a couple days,” he says. “And why would I throw away perfectly good condiments?”
“You’re very resourceful.”
We hear the toilet lid slam. Instead of a flush, there’s Kira’s muffled but chipper voice. “Hey guys! It’s Kira…”
“What’s she doing in there?” I whisper.
“Hope you’re all having a great day!” she says. “Things are pretty good here…”
Nick and I stay very quiet, both bending our heads toward the bathroom in the way that you do when eavesdropping.
“Sounds like she’s hosting a Twitch stream,” Romily says at a normal volume.
Nick and I stay huddled for a few more seconds, listening to her talk about her day at school in that particular cadence that people do in social media videos. She’s already mastered a fakey animated lilt to her voice.
“She doesn’t even have a phone,” Nick says, keeping his voice down. “She pretends to film vlogs on her game controller, which doesn’t even have a camera. At least, I don’t think it does. Maybe she’s practicing? I don’t really understand it.”
“It’s probably like a form of journaling,” I suggest. “It doesn’t matter if anyone’s watching it.”
“It makes me glad I grew up in a world without tablets. My kid wants total privacy from me, but she begs to use my phone so she can send all her innermost thoughts out to the internet. Kids used to have diaries with actuallockson them.”
“Yeah, get off my lawn!” I say, raising my fist like an old man yelling at a cloud. To my surprise, I make him laugh again.
“Yes, we’ve already established that I’m ancient. Almost forty. I belong in a community for active seniors.”
“Then you moved to the right apartment complex.”
“You’re right.” He doesn’t exactly laugh this time, but he’s sort of grinning at me in a way I find…flattering. Like I’m worthy of his full attention. For a second, I forget where I am. I don’t even notice the bathroom door open.
“I’m named after Major Kira Nerys,” Kira says as she rejoinsus.
“Who?” Romily asks.
“Guess,” Kira says.
“A…historical military figure?” I say, because I don’t see Romily participating in a guessing game.
“She’s afictionalmilitary figure,” Nick says. “From the Bajoran resistance.”
Rom and I stare blankly.
