Page 7 of Headstrong Like Us

Living back herewithFarrow is like descending into the movieLabyrinthand I’m just waiting for David Bowie to pop out. Surreal. Bizarre.

The Rittenhouse-Fitler townhouse burned down less than two weeks ago. Still no news on the cause: electrical or arson.

Thewhydoesn’t matter as much to me. We’re all alive. Everyone is okay, and I have the means to start over. But finding extra time between Farrow’s security meetings, his med calls, my job as a youth swim instructor, and wedding planning is harder.

We’ve only bought a few new pairs of clothes and keep tossing them in the wash.

I don’t want to task assistants to personal shop for me. They have better things to do than pick out jeans and tees andboxer-briefs.

“Overwhelmed?” Farrow asks, running a hand through his bleach-white hair. His ash-brown roots are growing in a lot. To where he’d usually dye the strands weeks ago.

“Not exactly.” My face heats. I shake my head.

I’m picturing the look on my sixteen-year-old face if he knew about this—someone, quick, invent time travel. Just so I can tell my teenage-self about the future where I’m temporarily living in my childhood home with my childhoodcrush.Who’s now my fiancé.

Maybe it’s good that time travel doesn’t exist.

I think I’d die.

“Maximoff.” Farrow waves his hand at my face.

Jesus.I blink a few times.

He looks me over. “Where’d you go, space cadet?” Despite his casualness, he seems concerned.

I lick my lips. “I’m just not fully adjusted to being back here with you.” I gesture to him. “Living under my parent’s roof, all of my siblings in rooms next door. I feel younger, and I’m twenty-three.” Gotham crawls off my lap to sniff a dog bone.

Farrow leans back on his palms. He’s grinning.

I rub my reddened neck. “Thank you for your sympathy. It was totally refreshing and so unlike you.”

He tries to smother his smile for me. “You keep flashing to your teenage years—”

“No,” I deny.

His rough voice is too attractive. “Sixteen-year-old Maximoff with a hard-on for me—”

“I never even thought about you.”That hurt.“Just kidding. I thought about pushing you out of my bedroom window.”

His brows ratchet up. “After I crawled up there to rock your world.”

He’s too good at this, but I’m better. “I don’t remember you rocking anything.” I make a face. “Was that you?”

His lip quirks. “Always a smartass.” Farrow watches me stand up.

This living situation is temporary, but Farrow’s place in my life is permanent. That’s what breathes air into my lungs.

He’s okay with staying here for however-the-fuck long.“As long as we’re together,”he told me with ease. I didn’t think he’d care. Farrow has always been low maintenance where room and board is concerned.

Gotham barks, and I find an extra bag of kibble on my wooden dresser, a bowl already next to his round Batman-logo bed.

“You’re still doing Xander’s chores?” Farrow asks, his usual amusement receding with more concern.

“This is the last time.”

Farrow nods slowly, disbelieving.

I don’t really believe myself either. It’s easy for my little brother to slack on his chores at home when I’m here to pick them up. And I don’t mind taking out the trash, feeding the dog, or vacuuming the living room. It feels right to pull my weight around the house when I’m living here too.