“You think Ellen being kidnapped by aliens means she’s queer?” Lisa said. “That’s a messed-up interpretation.”

Mel shrugged. “I just call it like I see it.”

Steph caught my eye and grinned.

—

After the movie, Lisa went out to the courtyard to smoke. I tried to help Mel and Steph put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, but the kitchen was so small we kept bumping into one another. I ended up back on the stool outside the kitchen, where I couldn’t help but notice how run-down the apartment was. The beige linoleum, printed with fading tan flowers, was peeling up along the edges. The white stove had electric burners, the black coils embedded in stained metal bowls. The fluorescent-light panel overhead was smudged with black spots where the corpses of dead insects had left indelible stains.

Steph opened the fridge and took out more beers, handing one to Mel and offering me another Diet Coke, which I refused. I asked for some water instead.

“I’m going out front for a minute,” Mel said. “You wanna come?”

Steph shook her head. “I’m good.”

Mel glanced at me, but I also shook my head. “I didn’t know you smoked,” I said.

“Not cigarettes,” Mel said with a grin.

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid.

But then Steph said, “You wanted to borrow that book, right?”

“Yeah,” I said gratefully, and as Mel went outside, I followed Steph to the back of the apartment, past the bathroom and into her and Lisa’s bedroom.

There was a single queen-sized bed, unmade, with pale blue sheets rumpled up in the center. A nightstand stood on one side, and wedged between the bed and the window on the other side was a narrow desk. Beneath the window was a bookcase crammed full of CDs, books, and stacks of papers that I realized were musical scores. Two guitars were in the corner. I recognized the acoustic guitar in its case from the open mic, and there was a shiny white electric guitar on a stand. On the dresser I saw a framed photo of Steph with her arms around Lisa’s waist, her head resting on Lisa’s shoulder. Steph was smiling only slightly, but Lisa looked radiant—as if this was the one place she had always wanted to be.

Steph was sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling out a thin blue paperback from the bookcase. I went to join her, and the mattress sank softly as I sat beside her. I made sure to leave several inches between us.

She gave me the book and said, “This is the one I was telling you about.”

The spine was cracked, and the book opened on its own to a series of poems titled only with roman numerals. I flipped back a page and read the title: “Twenty-One Love Poems.”