“Guess so.” Casey took a bite of her food. “Guess so.”
“You’re funny,” he said.
“Why?” She stopped fiddling with the long plastic chopsticks.
“Because you could’ve had a free ride. Still can. She hasn’t taken back her offer.”
“I know.” Casey bit her lip. “I’m crazy. Poor and stupid. This is the reason why poor people stay poor, you know that? They spend all their money on pride.”
“I would’ve taken the money.” Unu laughed.
Casey knocked her knee against his under the table. “Well, you’re smart, then. That’s why you make the dough. I just eat it, apparently.” She put some brown rice on his plate.
Her defeated expression saddened him. He’d noticed how she was often arguing against herself.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Casey glanced up.
“You were right, I think. I’m just teasing you. You can’t contract out your life. If you took her money, she would have expected you to do things for her. It’s just her way. I think you’re very brave.”
Casey stared at his face. He had a kind heart. And in the time they’d been together, she’d noticed that he tried to understand her point of view, even if he didn’t agree. For the effort alone, she was quite grateful. They were friends. That bit, she didn’t question.
When the bill came, Casey reached for her wallet. She’d cashed her check that day.
“It’s my turn,” he said.
“You paid last time. And the time before.”
“I make like ten times what you make.”
“Okay, rich guy.” Casey pointed to the check. “Make my day.”
“Not that I know where it goes.” Unu laughed at himself as he pulled out his wallet. He made money last month at Foxwoods, but right before he met Casey in Florida, he was in the hole for ten grand.
“Thanks for dinner. I’m totally broke again anyway.”
“Do I have to return my hat?” Unu looked fondly at his hat on the chair beside him.
“That would hardly make a difference. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”
Unu put down three twenties on the plastic tray. Silently, he crossed his arms and made his face go blank the way he did when he played a fresh hand.
“Why don’t you move in? When you start school, you can live in my place and you can use the rent money to pay off your bills. You can cook now and then—”
Casey opened her mouth. He had surprised her.
“I don’t care if you do anything for me. Do your homework. Get A’s. Whatever. I want to see what you look like in the morning. I’ve been wondering if maybe you’re a vampire and that’s why you flee at night. But I’ve been with you in Miami during the day, so—”
“Move in? With you?” She hoped that didn’t sound unkind. “What—”
“You heard me.” Unu’s face grew stern, but a restrained smile curled up in the corners of his lips.
“Gosh, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know,” she said again, but quieter this time.
“Okay,” Unu said. He told the waiter to keep the change.
The walk to his place was only two blocks. No matter what, she had to go back and get her tote bags. They walked down the street together, their bodies close but not touching. She felt anxious, but he appeared cool by contrast.
Casey’s mind was full of questions. She hadn’t known him for that long. What would her parents think? Did that matter? He didn’t intend to marry, but neither did she. But living together meant commitments. Didn’t it? And he was right: If she didn’t have to pay rent, she could eliminate her credit card bills in a year almost.
“Are you going to come up?” They had nearly reached his building.
“I have to get my things.” Casey stopped walking, but she didn’t look at him.
Unu felt weird suddenly, as if he had taken this big risk and it had made everything awful. Fuck it, he thought. Why be coy? This was a piece of shared wisdom about women that used to float around his frat house when a brother wanted to get laid: Be direct or sleep alone.
“Are you going to leave right away?”
“Do you want me to?” She was staring at him now. They’d never had a disagreement before.
“No. Are you crazy? I just asked you to move in.”
“I have twenty-three thousand dollars in credit card debts,” Casey blurted out. She didn’t know why she said it. Maybe if he saw her the way she was, he wouldn’t sign up.