Eventually the Halidays tired of talking and people began meandering to their assigned rooms for the evening. Tom had the daybed in the office. Helen’s parents had the guest bedroom. The youth marched upstairs to the beds of their childhood. Helen had shared Melissa’s room as kids, but they had long outgrown that. Plus Jacob would take umbrage if he lost his privacy with his new wife. So the room left over to accommodate Helen and Joaquin was the Haliday memory den.

“Some family, huh?” Helen sighed outside of their door.

“It’s all right, I’ve dealt with worse plenty of times.” Joaquin laughed as he opened the door for them. He flicked on the lights.

Helen remembered the space once serving as the playroom, now it had graduated to hosting photo albums, old videotapes, and souvenirs from past trips and events. A bulky leather couch sat against the near wall, sagging like a sack of human skin. Opposite on a credenza rested a large television, one where Chuck was forced to watch games while Lori entertained friends in the main living area. Spread on the floor was an air mattress already inflated and dressed with sheets.

“I’ll take the couch,” offered Joaquin.

“Oh! I can sleep on the couch, I’m smaller anyway,” said Helen.

“No, I insist.”

“I demand it!” Helen barked. Her lips curled into a smile. “I’m the one running this operation and paying you.”

“All right, all right,” Joaquin chuckled.

As Helen pulled down the fleece blanket folded on the top of the couch, Joaquin examined the built-in shelves.

“Ah, little league,” said Joaquin, pointing to a collection of trophies in the center.

“Yeah, Gray played up until high school. It really was Chuck’s passion more than his.”

Joaquin nodded knowingly. “I used to coach little league a few years back.”

“Y-you did?”

“Yep. Though I taught the kids more krav maga than baseball.”

Helen snorted. “Are you serious?”

“Oh yeah! Gotta prepare them for those inevitable fights on the field.”

“Shoot, if Gray’s games had been more like that, maybe I would have gone to support him.”

“Of course, you never strike first.”

Helen nodded with a stiff upper lip, trying to hide her amusement. “How did your team do?”

“Did better fighting than playing ball. Naturally, some of the parents were appalled—hence why my stint coaching was so short—but a couple smart ones appreciated the extracurriculars.”

Helen held her hands up to muffle a giggle. “Damn, I really would have liked to have seen that.”

“Really?”

“Sounds like a good show! And since they’re children, I would still be safe if the fray were to spill over to my area.”

Joaquin nodded with his mouth bent into a smirk. He grabbed his toiletry kit and strolled out to get ready for bed.

With everything a sparking white, silver, or clean mint, Joaquin felt a touch out of place. This might as well have been a hotel bathroom for him. A trio of framed shell reliefs drew his attention while he flossed. A rattan wastebasket received the used strand. He made sure to splash as little as possible when brushing his teeth. He feared Lori might charge him for damages or a clean up fee.

On the toilet, he inspected the mix of fragrant potpourri held in an upturned silver abalone shell on a shelf beside him. Tying the space together was a waterfall of sea-green tiles cascading down the shower wall. He stared at this through his whole shower. Lori did good interior design work, Joaquin noted. The beach theme could have produced much tackier results for this bathroom. Changed into his pajamas, Joaquin returned to the memory den. But Helen was absent from the room. He scratched his sweatpants before deciding to go look for her.

Shadows filled the living room, only kept at bay by the small table lamp between the armchair and the sectional. Deep in slumber, Grandpa Roy seemed to be baked into the overstuffed armchair. Roger had laid a blanket over the man, ensuring if he rose to go to his proper bed or not that he’d be warm for the night. Currently, he showed no signs of waking as he drooled onto the creamy poly-blend.

Through the darkness, Helen tiptoed around her grandfather’s slippered feet. Sliding into the light, she removed a compact mirror from her pocket and held it to Roy’s nose. A small spot of fog formed on the shining glass.

“Helen?” came a harsh whisper.

She squeaked and whipped around to see Joaquin standing by the hallway entrance. Careful steps brought her back a few feet from the armchair.

“I just wanted to make sure he was still with us. I do it every night that I stay with them,” Helen explained in hushed tones.

Joaquin raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, if he did pass, I’d want them to contact the right people immediately. They gotta get his body fresh—so it’ll look its best during the funeral.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it! Out of the harsh elements and any extreme temperatures, the human body won’t lose shape or get funky for several hours, sometimes days in the right setting.”

Helen balked, and then flashed a polite smile.

“So … he’s good?” Joaquin asked, holding a thumb up.

Helen nodded and returned her own thumb in affirmation. She quietly stepped toward the hall where Joaquin gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. While he forgot the rule on contact again, the thought of bringing it up missed Helen’s mind. He had a sturdy touch, and it instilled a sense of security in the young woman.

Under the light in the hallway, Helen’s eyes grew wide. This was her first time seeing Joaquin in a T-shirt. Her eyes shot to his arms. They sported tattoos. Of disparate designs, most were done in the American traditional style. While it seemed they were concentrated on his upper arms, a few designs peeked below his sleeves.

“Um … can you make sure my family doesn’t see these?” Helen breathed as her hand hovered over his skin.

“Oh, they aren’t fans of ink?”

“Not particularly.”

“I just thought since you were planning on getting one they would be okay with them.”

Helen smirked. “Just because I’m going to get one doesn’t mean they have to know about it, or see it!”

He chuckled softly. “Well, good thing I brought mostly long sleeves. I’ll be sure to change into them before I leave the room in the mornings.”

“Thank you.”

“Guess I won’t be invited to July Fourth celebrations.”

Helen scoffed playfully as they reached their accommodations.

As Joaquin had finished with the bathroom, Helen then commenced her own nightly routine. The space was pleasantly warm from the lingering steam. She was also happy to find that her fake date was rather cleanly. There were no puddles of water around the bathmat in the shower’s aftermath and the sink rim was clean. Only a thin trail of blue drained into the sink, a non-alcoholic mouthwash from the smell of it.

When Helen returned to the memory den, she came upon Joaquin looking through a photo album from two decades ago. Premade stickers bought from craft stores decorated the edges of photos. A few clippings from home and garden magazines finished off the page.

“These scrapbooks were all made by Grandma Dolly.” Helen waved her arm along a shelf of similar album spines. “Every photo book the Halidays had, you’ll find at least one or two embellishments on each page laid by her hands.”

Joaquin continued to thumb through pages. Among them were a few photos of Dolly with the grandchildren when they were no taller than her waist. This was the time Helen had her bowl cut, Melissa had her pigtails, and Gray had a wild mess of golden curls. In one photo, Dolly and all three kids smiled directly at the camera, handprint turkeys and a pile of polyester feathers in the center.

“She sure was a crafter.” Helen’s lips pressed into a sad smile. “Once when I was seven, she even collaborated with my mom and they made me a hanbok for my school’s cultural day.” A familiar sting pricked the corner of her eyes. After a final glance at the smiling face of her grandmother, blue eyes emphasized with huge glasses and peppery perm impeccably round, Helen shook her head. “We all loved Grandma Dolly.” She quickly stepped toward the couch.

Joaquin respectfully returned the volume to the shelf.

The two then settled into their respective non-beds. The couch was cold and Helen could not wait until her body heated the covers around her. She hurriedly reached a hand over her head, feeling the chalky surface of the wall for the light switch. Once she found it, her arm swiftly shot back under the blanket.

Under the fabric cavern, Helen checked her phone one last time before bed. Desta had asked for a check-in. Helen replied that everything was going smoothly. She punctuated it with a boat. Finished for the night, the phone found itself placed on the carpet by the sofa’s chunky foot. A cable attached to the device’s bottom to feed it.

For a few minutes, they lay in silence. Helen stared at the faint glow of a nightlight at Joaquin’s feet. Lori always put out nightlights when guests were over, fearing for their unfamiliarity and disorientation in a house not their own. She didn’t want guests to accidentally break things during the night. The top of Joaquin’s head peeked from the blankets. He had his back to her, revealing a small white patch in the whorl of drying hair on his crown.

“Today went well, all things considered,” Helen mumbled. It was a reassurance more for herself than anyone. A check mark to signal this day was complete and the faux couple had passed. “Do you think they’ve caught on?” asked Helen quietly.

She thought Joaquin had already fallen asleep before his voice cut through the silence. “Nah.”

“You sure it’s convincing enough? Guess I’m just paranoid … Are we coming off as close enough? Are we too awkward? I mean … you are still kind of a stranger to me. I wouldn’t even call you a friend.”

The man peered over his shoulder and gasped in mock offense. “Not call me a friend? I’m hurt.”

“Sorry.”

“Relax. They’ll never know.”

Helen sighed in relief. She snuggled into her bedding, thankful for the warmth finally spreading through the plush fortress. She was also thankful for Joaquin. He was such a good sport, if a bit odd. She could have hired someone way worse, she decided.

A quiet whistle caught her attention just as she got comfortable on the couch. It was Joaquin. He had fallen asleep, his nose playing a hushed lullaby. Helen hummed, content, and drifted off to this bargain bin ASMR track.

But what she didn’t hear was the soft slaps of slippered feet leaving the memory den’s door in the hallway.