“I am,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You’re here all the time, and I think we like being together.” He peers at me. “We do, right? The place is big enough for us, and Murphy and Saber.”
It’s true—in the last six weeks I’ve spent more time in Wilshire Corridor than I have in West Hollywood. I’ve even become friends with Jake’s neighbors, Mrs. Madden especially. She bakes me almond crescent cookies for Shabbat. Every Friday there’s a tin outside Jake’s door.
“Of course we do. I love being here.”
But I also love my place. It’s funky and likely molding. There are cracks in the kitchen floor and peeling paint in the closets. But it’s been my home for seven years. I know all the corners, the way the floor bows in the bedroom by the dresser, and how the bathroom tiles always get loose and you have to put them back like puzzle pieces. I have no idea if I’m ready to give it up.
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a big step.”
Jake nods slowly. “I know. I’m not scared of it, though. Feels right to me.”
I turn back to our sushi. In the past five months we havegotten to know each other in small and big ways—areas I’ve never crossed into with anyone else. Jake has met my family, and seen me hangry and knows, now, I need to get my hair colored every three weeks otherwise I have a ton of premature gray. But he does not know the thing I keep trying to tell him. He does not know about the pieces of paper, what they mean.
I feel Jake’s hands on my shoulders. He begins to knead them, and as soon as he does I can feel the tension leaving my body. I feel the way I always do around him—calm and good.
“This is a lot at once, I know,” he says. “Especially for the commitment-phobe.” I can hear the play in his voice, that easy chuckle that is so very Jake.
“Not anymore.”
He smiles. He cups my shoulder with his palm. “All I’m asking is that you think about it.”
I turn to face him, and he leans his lips down to meet mine. He tastes like pickled ginger and beer. Delicious.
“OK,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”
“It would be fun,” he says. “We could stay up late and eat tons of sugar.”
“We’re not twelve.”
“We’re not?” He clears his throat. “Well, that explains the sex.”
He puts both of his hands on either side of my rib cage. I peel away in laugher.
“It would just be nice,” he says. He holds me gently, now. “Murphy likes it here, too.”
“Murphy is afraid of heights,” I say. “He still hasn’t made up his mind.”
“We’ll work it out. I’ll put up a silk screen of a dog park.” He pauses. “I want you to be here.”
I kiss him. “I want to be here, too.”
I think about all that intimacy, the impossibility of secrets. How do you hide anything in eight hundred square feet?
“You don’t,” Kendra says when I tell her. We are in Irina’s kitchen the following night. Kendra is perched on a counter stool, nursing a Starbucks mint tea, and I’m going through Irina’s mail.
“I love my place. You know that.”
Kendra shrugs. “Change is the only constant in life, babe. Bless it. You had five great years there.”
“Seven.”
“Even better. Jake is an amazing guy, and he cares about you, and he wants to make a life with you. And I think you feel that way, too. Things could be a lot worse.”
“I know,” I say. “Obviously. But isn’t it a little bit soon? We haven’t even been dating for half a year.”
“When it’s right you just know,” Kendra says. “Joel and I got married after six weeks.”
