The Muse's Undoing

“I’m kidding. God.”

“You’re hilarious,” my sister deadpans.

“Genuinely,” I say to her, “I apologize. This place is great,” I tell Stuart.

He smiles at me, unbothered. I wish I could say the same.

The rest of dinner is less annoying. The food is good, our mom drinks enough wine to chill her the fuck out, and Dad is in storytelling mode.

It’s not until we’re leaving, and Maggie pulls me aside that things go south again. “Seriously—you’re not planning to live with Fischer indefinitely, are you?”

“Why does it matter?” I ask, but also—no. I’ve been saving money, enough to put a down payment on a place if I find the right one, but I’m not in any rush. I’ve gotten a small promotion at work, putting me behind the front desk, squarely in the hospitality category, and I’m enjoying it. I’ve started looking at higher paying jobs in the field, but again, I like to be where I’m needed, and Fischer doesn’t need to be sleeping alone right now.

Not that I think he wouldn’t survive without me, but he’s never so much as hinted at it being time for me to move on.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” my twin asks.

“I don’t know.” Also, I’ve never dated. I hook up. I’m not trying to get married anytime soon, unlike some people in their heels with their fancy UES updo.

“Is Fischer dating?” she asks.

“No.”

“Then what are you guys doing?”

My head rears back at the question. “Fischer’s straight.”

“A better answer would be ‘Fischer’s our brother.’”

“Yeah—who’s straight. Is it a crime to live with my brother all of a sudden?”

“You don’t think it’s weird that you share a bed? I mean whose idea was that?”

“You need to stop listening to Mom,” I tell her. “And she needs to join this century.” Our parents are old. Maggie and I were an accident-slash-miracle when my mom thought she’d entered early menopause. She was forty-four when we were born.

I go on, “If I can let you slide by looking like a Stepford wife, I think you can open your mind to the fact that guys can share accommodations without it being weird. You should be glad I have a friend. Otherwise when would you get to meet fun guys like Stuart?”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No—he seems okay.”

“He’s great.”

“Sure. He’s awesome.”

“And I don’t look like a Stepford wife. I got this at a vintage store.”

That sounds more like the sister I know. “Anyway would you have a problem sharing a bed with me?”

“No,” she says. “But we shared a womb. Naked.”

I laugh. “I haven’t slept naked in months if that makes you feel any better.”

She seems to check herself and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry. You’re totally right.”

Mom steps into the conversation, tipsy and grinning. “You need to get out more, Matty.” She pats my chest as she’s speaking. “You’re too young to hide yourself away.”

“Note taken,” I tell her.