“Look, he’s right in the back of the photo in the blue shirt,” I said my finger hovering over the glass. Alissa peered over my shoulder.
“Huh,” she mused, “it totally is him. He’s probably been stalking you since graduation.”
“Lis!” I laughed, “That’s so creepy!”
“Hey, he’s your boyfriend, not mine,” she shrugged.
“Connor is not my boyfriend. We’re just dating.”
I shrugged and looked at the photo again, the one of me and Alissa at our college graduation. I’d invited Connor, the boat captain I’d had my eye on, over for dinner the previous night, and he’d pulled the picture down and recognized himself in the background.
“Why was he there, anyways?” Alissa asked, moving back over to the stove to stir her marinara sauce.
“His sister was graduating. He’s two years older then us.”
I rolled my eyes and put the picture back down, joining her in our microscopic kitchen.
We’d been living together in a ramshackle apartment exactly 57 steps away from the canal for 3 years now. The apartment was tucked away on a badly paved road facing the inlet, a street officially named Canal road, but popularly called Bird Shit Alley because of the poor level of maintenance and the flocks of geese and seagulls who liked to gather on the short strip of grass separating the street from the water.
The apartment itself was barely holding it together. The blue paint was peeling off of the splintering wood porch and the floor creaked and shuddered at the tiniest vibration, but it was home.
Right now, home smelled like spices and tomatoes and charred meat. Alissa looked over at my pan of meatballs and wordlessly handed me the tongs. I nodded and stirred.
“Wanna spoon me?” Alissa asked absentmindedly.
“I think that’s your girlfriend’s job,” I quipped, pulling out the silverware drawer and handing her a long handled spoon. She laughed and dipped the spoon into the simmering marinara, tasting it gingerly.
“Hmm,” she mused, re-dipping the spoon and holding out for me to try. I licked the tip and smacked my lips together.
“Hmm,” I said. I grabbed the salt shaker and flicked it liberally over the pot. Alissa stirred and tasted it again, giving me the thumbs up.
“Mangiamo!” she yelled.