Page 82 of Necessary Space

“Right. Well, kid, sometimes when a corporation and an individual tolerate each other…” Grayson’s explanation of pensions faded into a hum as Miles cranked up the stereo and pulled out of the parking lot.

While he drove, I took my phone out of my pocket, returning to the earlier text message from Rome.

Rome: I was thinking of you earlier and wanted to know if you sorted out your inconvenient attraction to your hot young neighbor.

Me: I have.

He answered quickly, like his phone was still in his hand. But I knew better than to think he’d been sitting around waiting for a reply. Even when things had been good between us, they’d never been like that. Silence had been part of our normal, and I realized in that moment just how different things were with Miles. The silence between us was what had caused every disagreement or misunderstanding we’d had.

Rome: For the better?

I threw a quick glance at Miles, who was trying his best to look like he was watching the road and not my phone screen.

Me: He thinks so.

Miles scoffed.

Me: And so do I.

Rome: Good. I want you happy.

Me: So does he.

Rome: Good. Well. Keep in touch.

“He says he wants me to be happy,” I repeated to Miles, hoping he’d pay attention to the road. “And I told him you want the same.”

“Did you tell him I’m not inconvenient?”

“I’ll tell him you’re insufferable,” I offered, dropping my phone into the cup holder between us.

“Wait,” Wes’s voice broke through the chatter in the back seat. “You’re really saying you just put money in an account, but if you want it before you’re a hundred, you can’t get it back without paying a fine?”

“Well, not a hundred,” Grayson hedged.

“This sounds like a scam.”

“It is,” Miles assured him. “There’s much better ways to grow a retirement fund than a pension or a 401k.”

“Like what?” Wes asked.

“Other investments, property, things like that.”

“David always said landlords are scum,” Wes said.

I chuckled, thinking of Wes’s childhood best friend.

“They can be,” Grayson agreed, “but speaking as someone in real estate, not all of them.”

“Sounds like propaganda.”

“Whoever owns my brother’s rental is scum,” Wes said.

I turned over my shoulder to see his face, which had an approving kind of frown, like he knew he was right, but he was sad about it.

“Have you seen the carpet?”

“Up close and personally,” I mumbled.