“Gross,” I hiss, scrubbing at my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater.

“How about this?” Jeremy opens a cupboard next to his wall-mounted TV. With a strong enough wind, that TV could bring the whole wall down on our heads. He holds a worn DVD case over his head.

“No.” I groan.

“Yes.” Wes pumps his fist.

“I’d watch the actual 2004 World Series rather than watch this movie again.”

“Sorry, Amy.” Jeremy shakes his head as if he is truly sorry. “Two to one.”

The tray of his DVD player opens with a mechanical whirr, and he gingerly places his well-loved copy of Fever Pitch inside.

I stomp my foot, only half faking my level of annoyance. For a woman with only a platonic love of baseball and a distinct dislike for heterom-coms, I have seen this film way too many times.

Wes throws himself onto the folded-up futon, the only seat in Jeremy’s small space.

“Come on, Amy.” He presses his hands together like he’s begging. “I took PTO so we could all spend time together today.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. Wes has unlimited PTO and one of those millennial bosses who encourages their employees to use it. Today wasn’t a hardship for him. But I appreciate it, nonetheless.

I poke at a questionable lump on the backrest of the futon. “Is that...his bed?” I whisper once the sound of popcorn popping comes from the galley kitchen.

Wes nods. There’s only one other door in this room and it must lead to a bathroom. I peek inside. There’s a stand-up shower that Jeremy most definitely has to crouch in to get his hair wet.

“We have to get him out of here,” I whisper, flopping onto the couch beside Wes. “This place is so small and so...so...”

“Jeremy likes it.” Wes shrugs, his eyes only on the TV screen as previews for movies almost two decades old start to play.

“Yeah, but...” I gesture to the yellow-stained walls.

“Amy.” Wes turns on the couch to face me. “You don’t have to save everyone. You know that, right?”

“I know.” I pull my hands into my sleeves. It’s not cold, it just feels necessary to protect myself from this blatant attack.

“Do you?” he asks, his attention back to his precious previews.

Jeremy pokes his head out from behind the kitchen wall. “You want Coke or fruit punch?”

What I want is water but I’m worried about the concentration of lead in these pipes. “I’m good.”

“Punch me, Jer,” Wes says.

“I do know that,” I say once he’s gone again. “I’m not trying to save anyone. Especially straight men.”

He sighs, smashing the remote to pause a preview for a straight-to-DVD rom-com. “You love your people, Amy. Fiercely. But sometimes your love...” He pauses, glancing over my shoulder like he’ll find the word he’s looking for there. The acrid smell of burned popcorn floats in from the kitchen. “Manifests in ways that are a little...”

“Right?”