My Summer Roommate Read online

“What was that for?” She chuckles.

  “Do you know how many times I cried on this sofa and you comforted me? Or stayed over to keep me company when Mom was at one of her conventions or book tours? It’s for all that and a whole lot more.”

  I’m embarrassed by my emotional outburst, but I’m overwhelmed by this change. It was sudden, and I didn’t have the time to prepare for it and accept it.

  Deep down, you’re a bit worried about staying with Chris. Admit it.

  To hide my discomfort I playfully punch Izzy in her arm. I know she understands what’s happening with me right now.

  “Yeah. Remember that one time you wanted me here with you because you invited … Ron, was it? … and you didn’t know how to behave around him?”

  I laugh at the vivid memory. Harper is silent and watching us with an amused expression on his face. His eyes keep flitting to Izzy even when I talk. He is so in love with her. I wish I had something like that in my life. My crush on Harper is long over. He is off limits now, anyway. I’d never do that to Isabelle, and I don’t want Harper. I want someone to be as crazy about me as he is about Izzy. So crazy, that it would make it safe for me to be just as crazy back.

  “God, that was so awkward,” Izzy says.

  “Why?”

  “Cause you two were all over each other ten minutes in, and I wanted to dissolve myself into the wallpaper.” Isabelle rolls her eyes.

  I don’t remember it quite like that, but Izzy is probably right. My memory has never been very reliable when it comes to boys. I always remember the awkward, painful, bad parts. The good ones vanish together with the emotions. I am an odd mixture of a pessimist and optimist. I only see the worst, but always trust things will get better. It’s a crazy combination that always gets me in trouble.

  “Or that one time when you and Adam just started going out—for the first time, I may add—and he came here in the middle of the night and started throwing pebbles in your window?” Isabelle says after a moment. “You made me go home even though I was supposed to sleep over.”

  I snigger. “You could sleep over any time, Iz. He was harder to catch.”

  “All right.” Harper gets up. “I don’t want to hear any more. Let’s get to work.”

  We laugh at his words, but follow him out into the hall.

  “I can drive most of this stuff in my car. You can take one or two boxes. You won’t be able to put much more in your Chevy,” I say to Harper.

  He grabs the first box and carries it out to the curb where I wait by the open trunk of my car. After twenty minutes, all the boxes are loaded, most of the heavy lifting done by Harper.

  “God, isn’t it nice, watching all that muscle at work?” I tease, knowing that Harper is within earshot.

  Isabelle grins and agrees. Harper just sends us an annoyed glance as he pushes the last box onto his back seat and closes the door.

  He gets into his car and turns the engine on. Isabelle turns to join him, but I stop her.

  “You know, you’re lucky,” I say. I feel a bit embarrassed saying it, but I want to make sure she knows it.

  Isabelle sighs dreamily. “I know. He’s unreal. Even his flaws are great.”

  “That’s cause you’re in love with him, silly.”

  Izzy shrugs. “So?”

  “So don’t fall out of love.”

  Izzy nudges me with her elbow and smiles.

  “I mean it,” I say, and walk to my car to lead the way to Chris’s apartment.

  ****

  Although I’ve been here before when I came to see the place and talk through the details with Chris, I still feel awkward walking up to his apartment. It’s like I’m barging in uninvited. Like this isn’t my place to be.

  “Hey,” Chris says as he opens the door. “You’re here.” His smile is warm. He’s tall and has an athlete’s body. With blond hair and light-colored eyes he looks more like a Cali surfer, not a snowboarder. His surf shorts and sleeveless t-shirt reinforce that impression.

  “Hey. This is Izzy, and Harper,” I say, ignoring the discomfort I feel. “They’re helping me move.”

  Chris moves aside for the three of us to enter. “Drinks?” he asks, already moving towards the fridge. The room is hot, and he says, “Sorry, no AC.”

  “Beer?” Harper asks from the window where he is checking out the view.

  “Sure.” Chris hands him a bottle and waits for us girls to decide between beer and soda.

  He steps up to me, and I get the feeling that he’s trying to reassure me. Just the thought of it disperses half of my anxiety. I haven’t been wrong about him. He is truly a nice guy.

  “You remember Izzy? From History?” I say to breach the silence.

  “Huh? Yeah, I think so. I wasn’t paying much attention in History,” Chris says sheepishly, turning to Iz.

  “Who was?” I roll my eyes.

  “I remember your end of year exhibition, though,” Chris says to Isabelle. “Nice work.”

  Even Harper turns around at his words. I beam with relief. Now Izzy won’t be able to dis him any longer.

  But Chris seems embarrassed by all the attention his words attracted. “Not that I’m an expert or anything. I just thought your paintings were cool.”

  “Thank you,” Izzy says, blushing.

  “They are,” Harper agrees, and Iz sends him a tender gaze.

  “I hear you’re a slopestyle snowboarder?” Harper says to Chris. Shredder, I correct in my mind, and then hide the smile that’s trying to curve my lips. I remember Chris explaining the lingo to me last time I was here. A lot of it rubbed off on me already, it seems.

  “Was. I injured my right knee last year and had to give up competitive snowboarding.”

  “That sucks. Were you any good?”

  Isabelle nudges Harper at his directness, but he ignores her.

  “I placed third at the X-Games two years ago.”

  Harper nods appreciatively.

  Chris gestures to me to join him on the couch and I walk over tentatively. The place is too masculine for my taste and it will take a while for me to get used to it, no matter how welcoming Chris is. My entire life I’ve shared a home with my mom. There was never any male presence in our house.

  “Was it hard, giving it up?” I ask as I sit down. Last time when he mentioned it, I was too much of a chicken to ask.

  He shrugs in a way that says ‘yes, it was a bitch, but I didn’t have a choice’. He doesn’t say anything out loud, though, and the room is filled with silence and heat. I feel bad for ruining the mood.

  “I hope you didn’t bring your whole house over,” Chris says, and I’m grateful for the change of topic. “As you could see last time, there’s not much space here. I’ve got a lot of crap. It’s all over the place.”

  “Just a few boxes.” I look around the room. It looks worse than last time. Even a few boxes might be a challenge. All the corners are cluttered with his stuff. There is a guitar propped against the wall next to the window where Izzy and Harper stand, looking out over at the park across the street. Several pairs of trainers are scattered in the far corner. A soccer ball, a crumpled piece of clothing resembling a sports shirt, a few books and computer cables surround the couch we sit on. There are several stacks of what looks like study materials by the fridge. They’re probably waiting to be packed into boxes. Chris’s clothes hang from every piece of furniture in the room.

  I will have a lot of work tidying it all up.

  “I know that look,” Chris says, resigned. “You’re going to make me clean it up, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.” I grin, and he grins back. It is only now that I notice how green his eyes are. Not hazel, but proper green. His crooked front tooth makes his smile the most real thing I’ve seen on a guy lately. Good thing I’m only staying for two months. But my stomach contracts with dread and wistfulness at the same time.

  Chapter Four

  CHRIS

  She looks scary with that determined look on her face as she dashes a
round the place, picking up things, rearranging, dusting and whatnot. I’m not generally this untidy, I swear. It’s just that with vacation starting … well, I was busy with other stuff. Cleaning should not be expected to be a priority during vacation. Besides, it’s nice watching her work. The frown that she gets from concentrating so hard is cute. I’m helping her, I am. I just take a breather from time to time to watch her.

  “Where do you want me to put these?” she asks, and turns my way, catching me staring at her. She’s dangling my soccer shoes from the tips of her fingers as if the shoes are radioactive or something. Or maybe it’s just the smell that’s bothering her.

  “Here, let me.” I grab them and stuff them into the bag where I keep—or I’m supposed to keep—my sports equipment.

  When I look up, she just stands there, watching me. Is that a hint of annoyance on her face? What did I do this time? I want to ask, but then she goes back to sorting through the stuff on the floor. Her things are still in the boxes that she and her friends brought up earlier in the morning. It’s like she doesn’t want to contaminate them with my filth and wants to wait getting them out until the place is spotless. She makes me feel like a pig. I’m beginning to sense this roommate thingy is going to be a lot harder than I thought. Still, it might be worth it. She might be worth it.

  By the time we’re done cleaning, I’m exhausted. I want pizza, a beer and a snooze on the couch.

  “Could you help me with the boxes?” she says from the stack of six boxes by the door.

  “You’re going to unpack now?”

  She looks at me like I’ve displaced my brain behind a book on a shelf somewhere. “Er, yes?”

  “Can we at least have a break? Something to eat and catch our breath?”

  “Now?” She looks around for a clock, then digs her phone out of her pocket and checks the time. “It’s barely eleven.” She says it in a ‘why the fuck would you want a break after only two hours of cleaning’ way.

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to look like a douche, like I want her to do all the work while I rest. But this is my place, so …

  “How about we have a drink?” she says, and smiles. All that frowning and seriousness is gone, and I think if she smiled at me like that and asked me to run up and down the stairs with one of those heavy-ass boxes on my back, I’d do it. Cause that smile does weird things to me. I mean, I’ve always known she was hot, like in a real woman sort of hot, not the simpering femme fatale wannabes hot. Which is not hot, at all. I mean … You know what I mean? She’s like curl-your-toes, let-me-be-your-slave sort of hot.

  But yeah … I think she expects me to answer her and be a normally functioning human being, so I should stop having those thoughts.

  “Sure. We can have pizza once we finish,” I agree.

  We drink sodas on the couch, our feet up on the chest that doubles as a coffee table.

  “So where did your parents move to?” I ask. I feel she’s still tense around me. I don’t want her to be. We can make this work for the two months that we’ll spend together. I want it to be relaxed and cool. I don’t want to have to watch my every word or step around her. That would make for two long months.

  “It’s just my mom. She’s staying with her boyfriend for the time being. She’s looking for a small place for us.”

  “Couldn’t he take you in too? I mean … You’re welcome here, of course, it’s just …”

  “Of course.” She grins. “He wanted me to come too, but I didn’t want to be in their way. His apartment is tiny, and I need my space, you know? Not just in a physical sense. You know?”

  “Sure.”

  “How come you’re here alone?”

  “My folks went back to Boulder.”

  “You’re from Boulder?” She sounds surprised. I’m astonished that she’s here if she doesn’t know the first thing about me.

  “We moved here last year, for Dad’s work. I was injured, I couldn’t train and it didn’t matter where I was, so … But then in January, he had to go back. I didn’t want to change schools my senior year, so I stayed, while they went back home.”

  “Do you miss them?” It’s such a girly thing to ask that a smile escapes me. I don’t think she minds, though.

  “I hear from them all the time. But like you said, I need my space, too. Matt can be a pain, so … It’s nice to be on my own.”

  “Matt?”

  “Younger bro.”

  “Are you tight? Your family and you?”

  “I guess.” We get along, and my folks are overprotective, but I’m not sure that’s what she means. I know girls are different with their families. But I get the impression that Chloe and her mom aren’t exactly ordinary.

  “I envy you,” she says. And then clarifies, when I just stare at her, “Having a brother, caring parents, the whole package. My mom’s okay,” she adds, before I can ask, “but she lives in her own world most of the time. The closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had is Izzy.” She points to the door, indicating the friend that’s been here earlier.

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m fine with it. Most of the time.” She smiles awkwardly. I want to tell her that I understand, but I wonder if I do. I’ve never been in a position where parents wouldn’t track my every step, be encouraging and supportive, or where Matt wouldn’t look up to me. That brings a different sort of pressure, but it isn’t something that I couldn’t handle. It’s a good feeling having someone to rely on if I mess up.

  “So you ended up with me,” I say.

  “Yeah, thanks for doing this,” she says like she means it. It feels nice, because people often say so much shit that it’s refreshing when someone really means what they say.

  “Don’t thank me. You’ll have to pay your share of the rent.”

  “Really? I thought we could come to an arrangement …” she starts but then falls silent. She’s grinning, but I can tell she’s not entirely sure I will understand the joke.

  I laugh, and she joins in.

  Yeah, the next two months will be fun.

  ****

  It’s Tuesday and the beginning of my work week. The small bakery I work at (they call it boutique, so it sounds fancier) is just three blocks away from home. It doesn’t pay too well, but some clients tip pretty nicely. It happened a few times that the older ladies actually ordered double the amount of pastries and invited me in to join them for coffee. Luckily, my schedule was tight so I couldn’t stay.

  Chloe was still fast asleep when I left the apartment at six in the morning. When I looked around the place, it already showed signs of someone else sharing it with me. The colors that she added to the room looked nice, personal and tidy.

  I am in a good mood when I enter the bakery through the back door. I see a stack of boxes and bags on the counter already waiting for me, but I walk past it to greet Salvo and his sister, Amara. He’s the one who started the bakery thirty years ago, and when it expanded his sister came to work with him. Now her daughter and her boyfriend do a lot of work there, although Salvo always grumbles he’s the one who has to toil in the back while the ‘youngsters’ chat away behind the counter in front. He is always like that, grumbling and complaining, but there is no real heat to his flames.

  “Hey, Sal,” I say when I finally find Salvo in the storage room. He turns and looks at me long and slow.

  “Morning, sunshine. You’re late and you look like you got some last night. I hate it when you come bragging with your satisfied face here. I don’t need none of that cockiness.”

  I chuckle at his words. He should be grateful he’s got Nina and Neo to work the counter. With his mouth, he’d scare off most of the clients.

  He’s back to loading the flour into the huge mixer bowl.

  “I’m not late, it just took me a minute to find you back here.”

  “But you got some, huh?”

  “Nope, not that either.” I don’t think I ever felt so indifferent when saying that. It almost feels unnatural. Shouldn’t I be bu
mmed about not having had sex in weeks? Honestly, I haven’t even thought about it lately. Definitely unnatural.

  “What’s gotten you all hyped, then?”

  “I’m not hyped.” I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m just in a good mood. What’s wrong with that?

  “He says while his mouth nearly makes the Suez Canal between his ears.”

  “Did you hear that one in your favorite soapie?”

  He ignores my jibe. Everyone knows he loves watching soaps, even though he’s always denying it.

  “What’s her name?”

  “I told you I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I wait for him to continue, to taunt me some more, but he doesn’t. He pushes the mixer towards the door and I help him drag it into the bakery. He plugs it in and starts preparing the yeast.

  “That’s worse, you know,” he says, and I have no idea whether he’s talking about the yeast or the day’s orders or maybe the weather.

  But when he looks up, I realize he’s back to his earlier taunts.

  “What is?” I ask, resigned. He won’t stop until he’s said everything that’s on his mind, whether I like it or not. Now, who’s making me late?

  “That a girl can make you smile like that without taking her clothes off. You’re done for.”

  I snort with laughter. “You shouldn’t start your days with grappa. It’ll fry your brain.”

  He drinks a shot of his home-brewed brandy every morning. It’s a habit that’s been passed down from his grandpa, who apparently drank the grappa instead of brushing his teeth. That was still back in Italy, before the family migrated here. Salvo has told me plenty of such stories over the winter weekends when his sister was on sick leave and he didn’t have anyone else there willing to listen to him.

  “You laugh, boy, but you’ll see. Old Sal is rarely wrong when it comes to women. Just you’ll see.”

  His dead-serious face makes me laugh. I wave my hand as I leave him in the bakery and start loading the boxes into the van. I’m still chuckling as I drive off. Salvo’s been a bachelor all his life. I’m certain all his knowledge about women comes from the soap operas.