“I needed the dryer, so I figured I’d just leave your laundry here for you. It felt too weird to go into your room without you here,” I explain.
He jumps up and grabs the basket, taking it down the hall to his room. When he comes back, he sits down and grins at me. “Thanks. Sorry you had to mess with my laundry. I forgot to grab it out before work this morning.”
“No problem.” I take a long sip of the cold Mountain Dew.
He glances at the can of pop in my hand. I raise my eyebrows at him. He mirrors me.
“Are you going to judge my life choices or watch a TV show with me?”
“Definitely watch TV,” he says with a mock-serious look on his face.
“Good choice,” I reply as I hit ‘play’ and grab a big handful of popcorn to shove in my face.
The show’s intro starts playing, and we start an easy rhythm of taking turns reaching into the popcorn bowl. We both make sure not to bump hands—ever—because that would be weird as roommates. It’s okay to share a bowl as long as you never touch.
Halfway through the show, Miles starts coughing after a bite of popcorn. I don’t know if I should pat him on the back, attempt the Heimlich, or simply pretend I don’t notice as he slowly chokes to death.
He’s turned away from me, coughing into his elbow, so I simply shove my can of Mountain Dew in front of him.
“Here.”
He turns to see what I’m holding and snatches it up to take a long drink. He’s lucky I have anything left. Usually, I can pound a can in about fifteen seconds.
I watch as he tips it back, his throat working as he finishes the rest of the can. Hypothetically, yes, we all have muscles. But when Miles tips his head back like that, I cancounthis neck muscles.
He sighs as he looks back at me, holding up the empty can. “Thanks. Guess I shouldn’t inhale popcorn, huh?”
“Let’s just say, I’ve been there and done that. I’m pretty sure anyone who eats popcorn has had a near-death experience.”
Miles chuckles at that and looks at the can in his hand. “I forgot how good this stuff is.”
“Hmm, not so judgy now, are we?”
He grins and stands up to walk into the kitchen. He comes back with another can of Mountain Dew for me. “No wonder you still drink it.” He plops down on the couch and passes it to me.
“Why don’t you drink it if you like it?”
He shrugs. “I went on a kick of clean eating.”
“So, you took all the joy out of life?”
“Exactly.”
“So, you don’t do things like drink pop or eat sugar?”
He shrugs. “The sad part is that I have more energy when I don’t. But it doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally mind a good ol’ sugar crash.”
His little grin is contagious when I see him pull up a second can of pop and crack it open. “I’ll grab you a new box at the store tomorrow.”
“Will you be able to make it through the haze of your crash?”
“You can come with me and push me in the cart.”
I laugh at that. “Now,thatI’d like to see.”
We spend the rest of the evening in companionable silence, watching TV and drinking pop.
For some reason, it’s the most comfortable I’ve ever been around someone, and I can’t help but think how nice it is to not be on edge in my own home.
