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I try to think back to our emails. Without my phone, I can only go by memory. We had several back and forth. They were mostly transactional. There were a few get-to-know-you questions, but I don’t know if I ever specifically asked Mackenzie their gender. I guess from the start, I just pictured a lanky brunette in my head.

“Wait.” I suddenly recall the evidence I’ve been looking for. “I asked you if you played your tuba regularly.” I recall the email clearly. “And you wrote back, just a normal amount. Why would you say that if you don’t play the tuba?”

There’s a notable pause before he answers. “Um…I thought that was a metaphor.”

“A metaphor for what?”

It clicks the moment the words leave my lips.

“Oh, god.”

My back presses against the door, and I slowly melt to the floor in a mortified heap.

His laughter becomes audible through the wood.

“It’s not funny,” I say to the door.

“It’s pretty funny,” he answers. His laughter begins to fade.

“Listen,” he finally says. “I am sorry if I didn’t clarify. I didn’t realize…I can try to find another place if you’re not comfortable living with a man, but if there’s any way you’d let me stay for a bit—even the night—I’d really appreciate it. I don’t know too many people in the city. I definitely don’t know anyone well enough to crash on a couch, but I’m sure I can work something out.”

My brain works through the ramifications of what he’s proposing.

I don’t really want to look for a new roommate, and I’m only here for three and a half more months. Larry and I had no issues living together and he was a man, although he was family.

“You’re not like a sex pervert or anything, right?”

His laugh returns. “I promise you, I’m not, but if you’re worried, I can give you a few names of some female friends. I could probably even get the other Mackenzie’s phone number for you. She’d vouch that I’m a good guy.”

“Okay.” I pull myself back to a standing position. “Give me a few minutes.”

I emerge from my room two minutes later, as promised, with wet hair and in a pair of jeans. Mackenzie is back on the couch, the plate of Harmony’s cookies sits in his lap, and he freezes with a half-eaten cookie en route to his mouth.

“Your neighbor also gave me these,” he says, setting the plate on the coffee table. “She said you’d tell me about them. I wasn’t sold on the flavor combo initially, especially when she asked if I carried an Epipen, but they’re surprisingly good.”

I take a seat in the chair across from him and reach for a cookie. I could get used to a roommate who doesn’t mind being the guinea pig for Harmony’s baking. That was always Larry’s job. He’d eat anything that showed up on our doorstep and tell me which ones were safe for consumption.

I take a bite, and the wild combination of acid and herb has me closing my eyes in a concerted effort not to moan in appreciation.

When I open them again, it’s to the sight of Mackenzie watching me.

“Good, right?” he asks.

My mouth is full, so I nod.

“Harmony is a really wonderful person, but the thing with her baking is that as much as it goes very right sometimes, it can also go very wrong. She once made a flan from SpaghettiOs that still gives me nightmares.”

Mackenzie coughs a little, then pats himself on the chest and swallows.

His smile settles into a firm but friendly line. “So you’re sure you’re okay with me staying?”

I consider my decision one last time, knowing this is my one chance to get out before feeling like an asshole.

“I am, but we should probably have a bathroom schedule,” I tell him. “And a few house rules, like always wear pants on the couch.”

Mackenzie nods. “I can do that.”

“Also, no drugs.”