He laughed—short and surprised, like it had escaped without permission. "Fine. No summaries."
We watched another episode, then a third. I found myself making observations about the plot, while Vance kept telling me I was overthinking it. Somehow, we ended up debating whether a witness was lying based on how she held her coffee cup.
"Nobody holds a coffee cup like that," I insisted.
"It's a TV show. People hold things however the director tells them to."
"But it means something. Everything in a frame means something."
"Or the actress was cold and needed something warm to hold."
"You have no appreciation for visual storytelling."
"I appreciate it plenty. I just don't assume every coffee cup is a metaphor."
By the time the clock read almost eleven, my eyes were starting to droop.
"You should sleep," Vance said. "You've had a long day."
"You've had a longer one. You went to work."
"I'm used to it."
I didn't move. The couch was comfortable, the apartment warm, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn't want to be anywhere else.
"Tobias."
"Hmm?"
"Bed. Now."
I stood, my body protesting the movement. "What about you?"
"I'll be fine out here."
"You can't keep sleeping on the couch. It's your apartment."
"And you're my guest." His tone made it clear the discussion was over. "Go."
I went.
Later, lying in Vance's bed, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the quiet sounds of him settling onto the couch. The creak of springs. The rustle of a blanket. Then silence.
One day. I had survived one day on my own.
I'd washed dishes, folded laundry, made an omelet, and argued about a TV show with a man who thought salt was the only necessary spice.
Small things. Ordinary things.
The most extraordinary day of my life.
Tomorrow there would be another. And another after that. Slowly, piece by piece, I would figure out how to be a person.
The thought was terrifying.
It was also, for the first time in my life, something I actually wanted.
Chapter 6
