Page 57 of You'll Love it Here

I don’t mean to wince. Sami’s face drops as he notices. For a second I’m afraid he can read my mind. “Mona. I’m—”

“It’s okay,” I cut in. “I get where you’re coming from.” And it’s true, I do technicallyunderstandit. Sami might not want anything at the diner or the world around it to change, but refusing to adapt is how animals go extinct.

My gaze again lands on the letter Abu dropped off. “And for what it’s worth,” I continue, “I hope your petition gets enough signatures to slow the construction. It’s amazing you’ve put that together.”

Also true. At least Sami is trying to do something about it, no matter how hopeless his ventures may be.

“Thank you.” His hand grabs mine. It’s so sudden, but for some reason I don’t flinch. There’s a softness to it, and the way he looks at me. A buzz in the warmth from his fingertips reaching mine. He leans closer. “I think you’re amazing too. The way you’re helping Irene, and Ernest, and all these tenants.”

His eyes soften on me in a way that feels like he’s seeing something so clearly about me. It draws a warmth through my skin and makes me feel like I’m glowing. I lean closer to him, the warmth of his presence drawing me in. But as his hand makes its way tomy cheek, it’s like there’s a shitty alarm clock buzzing too early through a dream.

The truth is, I’m destroying his community.

I pull away. “That’s kind of you.”

He withdraws his hand. I can’t quite look in his eyes.

This is why it can’t be more. I like Sami, truly, but the truth is, we’re fundamentally different. I do think forward progress is okay. I’m not passionate about preserving outdated buildings. I like taking pictures of my food sometimes and drinking artisanal coffee. If he knew what I was really doing around here, he’d know I’m just as bad as everyone else.

Sami pats Ernest, who’s curled up between us in a tight little bagel. “We should take some syrup. Once I’m high enough I might even pull out my reenactment of a JG Wentworth commercial for you.”

I haven’t thought of that commercial in what feels like several decades, and already I can feel it clawing into my brain like an earworm that never left. “Lots to look forward to.”

He settles farther into the couch, as his gaze draws to me. “That’s the point.”

I don’t know when I passed out or what exactly happened, but I wake to a dark apartment, Jerry fucking Springer on in the background—YouTube must’ve somehow found its way here when I fell asleep. I’m lying fully across the couch, one of my softest blankets covering me. There’s warmth—Sami’s body is across from me. My right foot is enveloped in the palm of Sami’s hand.

I raise myself up to see him pressed against the back of the couch. The arm not touching my foot is bent behind his head as a pillow. His soft deep-sleep breath pairs with his chest rising and falling. We must have passed out head to foot at some point.

I sit up and groggily pick up my phone from the coffee table. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow.

The clock on my phone tells me it’s 1:13 a.m.

As soon as I shift to grab a glass of water, Sami stirs—then he jolts awake. “What the—”

“It’s me, Mona,” I whisper. “We must have passed out... for hours.”

He sits up, his groggy face lit by the TV light. His hand doesn’t let go of my foot, and it feels more intimate than it should after today.

“How you feeling?” he asks, blinking heavily.

“Okay—a little better actually. I don’t remember anything. Did you drug me?”

“We did chug NyQuil, but we probably needed the rest.”

Someone on the TV screen does the splits in an inflatable pool filled with shaving cream. The caption reads, “Springer Break #5.” I nod pointedly. “Or maybe it was the ambience in here that conked us out.”

His grin is drowsy. “Valid.”

There’s a silence that is only filled by the quiet buzz of my TV. He suddenly seems to catch that he is still holding my foot and lets go as he eases up. “I should... My back is going to hate me if I don’t go sleep in a real bed.” He gets up a little too fast and rubs his eyes. His T-shirt clings to his stomach, defining the muscles below.

I pull my weary eyes away. “Don’t forget your medicine.”

“Those are yours. I have my own supply at home.”

“Thank you.” I put my hands to my chest while Ernest, who must’ve also passed out, lets out a pointed huff at our chatter disturbing his fourteen hours of rest. “Nobody has ever given me something like this before.”

“You’ve been hanging out with a bunch of bums, then.” Sami’s lips curl up to the side. We catch each other’s eyes. I want to hug him goodbye, but that’s, of course, ridiculous.