“—I kind of have some news,” I blurt.

Her brows shoot up. “Do tell.”

“I’m going to culinary school.”

Dawn does an adorable little hop. “Ah! Siri!”

I grin. “In Napa.”

She does a double take, looking behind her and then back at me. “As in California Napa?”

I nod, laughing now.

“As in same time zone, I can drive there within a day, Napa?”

I nod again, more eagerly this time. “Mom, Jamie, and I are headed up there together to check out the area tomorrow afternoon.”

We stare at each other for a long moment, smiling.

“Um,” I start, “I was wondering … I haven’t seen it on your Instagram, have you hunted down that chicken adobo pizza?”

Her eyes flit to the ground for a moment. “I kind of gradually stopped looking for it because I’ve maybe been holding out hope I’d get to make it with you.”

The bees in my torso tornado excitedly. I hold up my bags. “Are you hungry? I’ve kind of been working on this recipe for like, a year and six months.”

Dawn’s eyes sparkle as she waves me into the house. “Get the intercourse in here, Siri Martine.”

JAMIE

Z and I follow yet another dude through another condo complex. He unlocks the front door of the vacant unit and lets us head in to take a look.

This might be the one. It’s bright, the rent is in our budget, and it’s halfway between Burbank and the veterinary school Zarar will be starting at this fall.

It took him all of three days shadowing a vet at a clinic to realize that was it. The guy knows what he wants when he finds it.

I let Z drag me through the place by the hand. He’s brimming with enthusiasm about this move. I am too.

A talent manager adopted me as her client about eight months ago. Since then, I’ve gotten a few paid comedy gigs opening up for rising comics around New York and Los Angeles, I booked a cheeky commercial with the major cell phone company Sprintal, and yesterday I auditioned for a new Netflix stand-up competition. I’ve got my fingers crossed.

Zarar leads me into the bedroom. It has a high ceiling, hardwood floors, a nice walk-in closet, a big window. I can see us here.

“Janu.” Z fully side-smiles at me. “I think this is it.”

I smirk back at him. I asked his brother what Janu meant a couple of months back when he first used it. It’s apparently super cheesy and romantic. It comes out to something like sweetheart, darling, forever lover: an incredibly intimate sentiment to match my incredibly starry-eyed boyfriend. “Stop calling me that. Jay says it’s embarrassing.”

Zarar smolders at me. “You love it.”

I squint at him, “You’re lucky you’re extremely good looking.”

He gestures to the room around us. “Thoughts?”