Page 46 of Pieces of Ash

My room.

Oh, shit.

Jock is cool with me letting my sister sleep in the upstairs room whenever she visits, but now that room’s taken by the chicken ’n’ biscuits foundling.

“Actually, um, you can have my room instead.”

“What? I don’t wantyourroom, Jules. I want mine.”

“Well, it’s either mine or the couch. Jock and Gus have a friend staying.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah. Some friend of Gus’s. She’s here for?—”

“Wait!She?”

The question hangs between us, and I count 3…2…1…

“Your roommate is agirl? Is she nice? Is she single? Is she pretty? Oh, my god. Do youlikeher? I can’t wait to meet her!Julian’s got a girlfriend…Julian’s got a girlfriend…”

Aside from constantly riding my ass about opening a glass shop—even to the point of suggesting that I lean on our dad’s old Simon Pearce contacts to get started—my sister has this notion that I’m lonely and need companionship. She’s made it her mission in life to jump on any and all opportunities to pair me off with someone of the opposite sex.

Partially this is my fault. I never told her the whole truth about what happened in Cartagena. She doesn’t know that I’ve sworn off women. Possibly, and probably, for life.

“Merde, tamia!You are the most ridiculous person on the planet. I don’t even know her. I’ve barely exchanged two words with her.”

“Oooo! Listen to you, cursingen français!You’re…affected by her. Eeeep!”

“If, byaffected, you mean that I’m annoyed to suddenly have to share my home with some stranger, you’re exactly right.”

“Now I’mdefinitelycoming home next weekend!”

She sounds happy again, and I roll my eyes. Fine. If fantasizing about my nonexistent love life makes my sister’s breakup easier, I’ll take the bullet.

“Great.”

“Blow up a mattress at the foot of your bed. We can be roomies. Like when we went to Sault.”

A rare—veryrare—grin tries to turn up the corners of my lips and almost succeeds. Almost. During those summer vacations to my father’s native Provence, Noelle and I always griped about having to share a bedroom at our grandmother’s house, but deep down, I think we both loved it. I know I did.

“Text me when you leave, and drive safely, yeah?”

“Yeah. Always,” says Noelle. “See you Friday, Jules. Love you.”

“You too.”

She hangs up, and I lower the phone from my ear, wondering if my new housemate will mind my sister’s visit, and then quickly deciding that I really don’t give a flying fuck if she likes it or not.

ASHLEY

As I step into the kitchen the next morning, my eyes skitter instantly to the drying rack beside the sink. There is a clean white dinner plate there, gleaming in the sunlight, and it makes me smile. I wonder if he enjoyed the chicken and biscuits. I hope he did because I really don’t want to feel unwelcome here. I have no idea how long I’ll need to stay, and it would be so much nicer if we didn’t have to avoid each other the whole time.

Not that I don’t love my attic retreat. I do. I am so grateful for it.

Last night, I had dinner in the upstairs sitting room, washing out my dish in the bathroom sink so that I’d stay out of Julian’s way. Around eight o’clock, he turned on the TV in his bedroom, which, I now realize, is directly below mine.

I don’t know what he was watching, but it was in French. Because I study French at school, I was able to understand some of the words that floated up through the floorboards between us—bonjourandmerci, je t’aimeandau revoir.