“Cause it’s comfy,” he said, setting his plate of food on one of the two foldable TV trays in front of the couch.
It was like our bedroom had become a portal into the past, though I wasn’t exactly sure what decade. A red lava lamp bubbled away on our nightstand, and an Art Deco-styled three-tiered lamp with red, black, and green bulbs brightened the corner next to a few creased posters with tie-dye colors and peace signs.
“I knew you had the TV, but where were you keeping this other crap?”
“The shed,” he said, smiling. “You really don’t like it?”
“I hate it,” I muttered, setting my plate on the other TV table. “If you brought bugs and rats into this house—”
“Nah, I checked it all before bringing it in,” he said, popping in one of the VHS tapes. “Just some roaches, but a few bugs ain’t gonna kill us.”
I froze. “We just got rid of the roaches, and you brought more in?”
Roscoe’s ears folded downward. “I’ll get it clean tomorrow.”
The Last Starfightertheme song whined and warbled through the speaker as Roscoe adjusted the tracking. The faded, staticky picture of the standard definition screen cleared.
“Ever see this?” he asked.
“When I was a kid.” I hesitated to sit on the dirty sofa, but Roscoe plopped down and patted the space next to him.
“What day is it today?”
“Sunday,” I replied, checking the cushion thoroughly for any critters before sitting. “Why?”
“This’ll be our old movie night,” he said, squirting a packet of barbecue sauce onto a pile of pulled pork and brisket.
Once again, Roscoe’s disgusting antics took on a sweet sentimentalism. My mood shifted from annoyance to comfortable and nostalgic as I leaned against him while watching the old television. The opening credits of the movie faded, and I stared at Roscoe while he watched. He was genuinely happy at that moment.
“I promise I’ll clean it tomorrow,” he said, turning to me after catching me staring, his lips coated in grease and sauce.
“It’s gross, but… really sweet,” I said, leaning against him while biting down on a forkful of shredded meat.
The tip of Roscoe’s tail thudded into the space between us as he leaned in and kissed my cheek, leaving behind a thick, sticky mark.
After the movie, I got up and collected our trash before heading into the dining room to put away the leftovers. Austin sat alone on the living room sofa, blankly staring at the television.
“Where’s Adam?”
“The backyard,” he grunted, changing the channel.
“Did you talk to him?”
“Mmhmm.”
“And?”
Austin shrugged. “And he went outside. What else do you want me to say?”
I chewed on my lower lip and headed into the kitchen to throw the garbage away before sprinting to the back door. Adam was already in a very temperamental state, but I wondered if Austin had managed to push a little too far. If they had fought, Roscoe and I would have heard them from the bedroom, but there hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary.
The back door creaked open, and I stepped out into the cool, smokey air. Adam sat next to the lit fire pit, poking the flames with a stick.
“Uh oh,” I said, sitting next to him. “Are you angry with me?”
“Huh?” he looked up, tilting his head.
“Never mind. I thought you were upset.”
