“Okay,” David said after finishing his bagel. “Give me a sense. I know what I see on Craigslist, but how much do you and your roommate pay for this apartment?”

“Two thousand altogether.”

“Two thousand fucking dollars?”

“I pay twelve hundred for my studio,” said Iris’s boy. “I live in Williamsburg, though.”

“Welcome to the big city.” Iris bagged up the trash and gave it to the boy.

“If you didn’t score a job yet, how are you paying rent?”

“Called my mom whining.” She said without missing a beat, without pretension. She made fake-crying sounds. “Mommy, mommy. Helllp.” “That so?” David said grimly.

His mother had worked very hard for that kind of future. In Connie’s view, David had thrown this away.

“Do you want to come with me to Ridwan’s?” he said, changing the subject. “I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

“Oh honey, here’s another lesson. You’re on the ass end of the park and the F train comes like once a year. You visit someone in New York, it doesn’t take an hour; it takes half your day. Sorry, sweet cheeks. Call me if something goes wrong, ’kay?”

Ridwan set the last of David’s boxes down in the living room. It’d been a few years since they’d seen each other, but they’d been instantly warm. David had mostly known Ridwan as a quiet goth from a Toronto South Asian family who was always at parties but sat in the corner, usually under a fog of weed. Now, they were bouncy and chipper, with a fuzzy moustache and a buzz cut. Doing a master’s at NYU, so David heard.

“The living room’s big, so it’s no trouble giving you the space,” Ridwan said, standing among plants, posters from activist rallies, and two couches, one of which now faced the wall. “You could get a curtain and close it off for privacy. If you wanted. And it’s five hundred a month, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” said David, entranced. “This is fine.” He opened his bag.

“Cool.” Ridwan pocketed the cash. “It’s hard to find a place in this city, so you can stay as long as you need, ’til you find something permanent. But we’d probably—we’d like to have our whole living room back by at least spring. Will that be okay?”

“Promise,” David said. “I’ll be out of your hair by March 1. How about that?”

“Cool. I have to study, but I’ll be in my room. The others will be home tonight and you can meet them. My girlfriend, too. We can all hang out, if you want! But, hey”—suddenly, their tone grew serious—“one other thing.”

“Yes?” David said fearfully, sweaty in the overheated apartment, liquid rivuleting under his tank top, his matted, tangled hair.

Ridwan looked hesitant. “Iris told me you’re thinking about hormones?” Then, seeing the shock on David’s face, they said, “Sorry! I didn’t even know if she was supposed to tell me, or if she was outing you. I didn’t want to assume anything—”