Where Nerves End

day.”
“Why dont we go over there now?”
    * * *
    Michael parked beside me in the driveway. As I got out of the car, I glanced around the cul de sac. I had a few nosy neighbors who didnt have a lot to do—and still hyperventilated about the fact that one of them lived in this respectable neighborhood instead of in the Light District where we belonged—and they were probably already speeddialing each other to announce that Id brought a man home. Again. In broad daylight, no less, shameless bastard that I was.
    I laughed to myself.
I wish, ladies. Believe me, I wish.
I keyed open the front door and led Michael inside. As I
    entered the code for the security system, he looked around the entryway. I followed his gaze, taking in my familiar surroundings like Id never seen them before.
    This place was way too big for one person. Every floor was hardwood, the kind that creaked with the slightest pressure, and the cavernous rooms and towering ceilings amplified every sound. A house this big had seemed like a good idea when Wes and I were talking about things like “forever” and “a family,” but living here alone made my skin crawl almost as badly as paying the mortgage on my own.
    I shook myself out of my thoughts and led Michael down the hall. On one side, the living room. On the other, the kitchen and barely used dining room.
    In the living room, the walls and built-in shelves were conspicuously almost empty. Not completely bare like they would be in the house of someone who deplored clutter, but occupied by just enough small items—the odd framed photo on a shelf, a couple of books on the coffee table—to imply there should have been more. And there would have been, except most of what I had beyond furnitureand basic electronics was either in Wess new place on the other side of the country, or in Els pawn shop.
    “Its all pretty bare right now,” I said with a self -deprecating laugh. “Sooner or later, Ill get around to making it look like someone lives here.”
    Michael laughed. “If a seven -year-old moves in, you probably wont have to worry about that.” He glanced at me, eyebrows up as if checking to see how I reacted to the idea of his kid potentially trashing my house.
    I waved a hand. “Wont be any worse than anything Ive done to the place. Just be glad you werent here when I thought I could retile the kitchen.”
    “Didnt go so well?”
“Uh, no.”
“And Im sure your shoulder had nothing to do with that, did
    it?”
“Well, maybe a little,” I said. “But mostly Im just completely
inept at home improvement projects.”
He laughed. “You too, huh?”
“Not much of a handyman?”
“Definitely not.”
“So much for getting free labor out of you,” I muttered. We both laughed, and I led him into the kitchen.
“The kitchen doesnt get a lot of use, Im afraid,” I said. “Im
not much of a handyman, and Im even less of a cook.” “I wasn’t much of a cook,” he said as he looked around the
kitchen. “That whole single parenting thing kind of threw a wrench
into that.”
“I suppose if someone else is depending on you for food…” “Exactly. And no kid of mine is subsisting on fried, processed
shit.”
“Comes with the territory of your job?”
He nodded. “Id be a hypocrite and a half if I told all my
patients to eat right, and then parked my son in front of the TV
with a plate of fish sticks and a Coke, you know?”
“Yeah I guess you would be, wouldnt you?” I made a
sweeping gesture around the kitchen. “Anyway, use whatever you
need in here. Just, you know, dont drink my Coke and eat my fish
sticks.”
Michael laughed. “Duly noted.”
“Lets see, what else?” I looked around. “Oh, the garage. Its
big enough for two cars, but I suspect its going to wind up storing
everything thats in the two rooms upstairs.”
“My car can sleep outside,” he said. “Im not worried.” “Mine too. When it gets to be winter, well deal with clearing
shit out so we can bring the cars in, but this time of year…” I
shrugged.
“Perfect.”
“The bedrooms are upstairs.” I gestured for him to go up the
stairs, and as he did, I followed. Totallywasnt an excuse to check
out his ass or anything. Totally didnt check out his ass. Or how
those jeans fit just right, especially when he walked, and— God. I’m going to live with this guy? He’ll be treating me for
tennis elbow in a week.
At the top of the stairs, I gathered what wits I had left and
cleared my throat.
“The master