“Nothing.”

I squint. “Are you looking at me weird?”

“No! Nope.” She shakes her head emphatically. “It’s just . . .”

“Just?”

“You’ve been talking about Liam nonstop for”—she lifts one eyebrow—“eight minutes straight, Mara.”

My cheeks burn. “I’m so sorry, I—”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love this. Listening to you bitch is my jam, ten out of ten, would recommend. I just feel like I’ve never seen you like this, you know? We lived together for five years. You’re usually all about compromise and harmony and Imagine all the people.”

I try not to live my life in a perennial state of flame-throwing anger. My parents were the kind of people who probably should not have had kids: checked out, not affectionate, impatient for me to move out so they could turn my childhood bedroom into a shoe closet. I know how to cohabitate with others and minimize conflict, because I’ve been doing it since I was seventeen—ten years ago. Live and let live is a crucial skill set in any shared living space, and I had to master it quickly. And I still have it mastered. I really do. I’m just not sure I want to let Liam Harding live.

“I’m trying, Sadie, but I’m not the one who keeps lowering the damn thermostat to freezing. Who doesn’t bother turning off the lights before going out—our electricity bill is insane. Two days ago, I got home after work, and the only person in the house was some random guy sitting on my couch who offered me my own Cheez-Its. I thought he was a hitman Liam had hired to kill me!”

“Oh my God. Was he?”

“No. He was Calvin—Liam’s friend, who’s tragically a million times nicer than him. The point is, Liam’s the kind of shit roommate who invites people over when he’s not home, without telling you. Also, why the hell can’t he say hi when he sees me? And is he psychologically unable to close the cupboards? Does he have some deep-rooted trauma that drove him to decorate the house exclusively with black-and-white prints of trees? Is he aware that he doesn’t have to slam the door every time he goes out? And does he absolutely need to have his stupid dudebro friends come over every weekend to play video games in the—” I finish crossing the street and look at the screen. Sadie is chewing on her bottom lip, pensive. “What’s going on?”

“You were going off and didn’t really seem to need me, so I did a thing.”

“A thing?”

“I googled Liam.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I like to put a face to people I talk about for several hours a week.”

“Whatever you do, do not click on his page on the FGP Corp website. Do not give them the hits!”

“Too late. He actually looks . . .”

“Like global warming and capitalism had a love child who’s going through a bodybuilding phase.”

“Um . . . I was going to say cute.”