“You guys are sharing a toilet seat. Same level of intimacy, if you think about it.”

Milo stares at me. “Why are you like this?”

I shrug and grab another pizza box.

Milo gets even closer to me and whispers, “Do you actually like him?”

I concentrate on the pizza box. “It’s nice to be around someone who isn’t complicated, you know? The rest of my life is a pretty big mess, and all Mikey wants to do is watch randomly selected movies on Netflix and eat pizza.”

Milo gestures at the pizza box pile. “Clearly.”

“Have you seen Dad lately?” I ask, tossing another pizza box on the pile and finally looking Milo in the eye.

“Uh, yeah,” Milo says, suddenly evasive.

“When?”

“The other day! Geez, Chloe, what are you, my mom?”

“Obviously not, as proven by the fact that I’m standing here and talking to you.”

Milo rolls his eyes, but in a measured voice, he asks, “Speaking of which . . . do you ever think about, you know . . . getting in contact with Mom?”

I raise my eyebrows and look at him as if he suggested I get in touch with Prince Harry to see if he wants to get coffee sometime. “Uh, no?”

“Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because she walked out on us when we were children, leaving our family in shambles and making me the de facto head of the house?”

“People change, Chloe,” Milo says, tilting his head the way he always does when he’s trying to convince me of something.

“Leopards don’t change their spots,” I say.

“Lepers?” Milo asks, squinting. “Do they get spots? I thought that was when your limbs fell off in olden times.”

“Leopards, Milo. Listen, I’ve enjoyed the catch-up sesh where you casually berated my life choices, but where’s Mikey?”

Milo gestures over his shoulder. “Watching an infomercial about knives on the futon.”

I nod. “Cool. That’s . . . pretty much what I expected. Wait, I keep meaning to ask. Do you have a job yet?”

Milo nods. “I’m working at a denim purveyor.”

I stare at him for a moment. “So . . . a jeans store?”

He sighs. “There’s no poetry in your language, Chloe.”

I look at Milo again, into those eyes that look just like mine. “Hey,” I say, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah.” He ducks slightly to get out from under my hand, but he’s smiling. “Me too. Go make out with your boyfriend.”

“On a futon? Never,” I say in a low voice, then walk into the living room.

Mikey Danger is, indeed, watching an infomercial about knives, and he’s so into it that he barely notices when I walk in.

“Uh, hey,” I say, because I’ve never been in a situation where I’ve had to compete with an infomercial before. Am I supposed to announce myself?

He looks up. “Oh! Hey, babe!” He stands up and pulls me into a quick and sloppy and not-altogether-unpleasant kiss. As previously discussed, Mikey Danger is good looking, but he’s also a more than competent kisser. I’m in no danger (ha) of falling for him, but he certainly has things to recommend him.