Page 20 of Roommate
He says we. But he means me. “Let me play with the shape of the boat and the paddle, and see what I can do. I think if we put a wave form under it—like river rapids—it could be splashier.”
“Good, good!” he says, passing me the page. “Try that.”
And I get to work.
* * *
Four hours later, I lock the place up and stagger out to my car. Working two jobs is no picnic, but it’s very good for my bank account. At least I’d told Kyle that all the farming work was his tonight. No exceptions.
It’s a long drive home. On the way, I stop in Colebury to buy a burrito and wolf it down. It’s dark when I hit the two-lane highway toward Hardwick. The shops are all shuttered, and there’s no traffic, but I go slow, because the cops love to use this stretch as a speed trap.
That’s how I happen to spot the blue Volkswagen parked behind the pet-grooming place. I notice it because of the blue glow coming from somebody’s phone on the passenger side of the car.
Roderick. What’s he doing in there?
I look away, because I can’t afford to think about blue Volkswagens or the people who drive them.
Roderick
I got the job! Full time, too.
But it’s too soon to celebrate, because I’m curled up on the backseat of my car, uncomfortable as hell. My hip fell asleep about seven seconds after I lay down. It’s already numb, and the pins and needles sure to be next.
I’ll try to sleep for an hour or two here, before giving up to sit in the passenger seat. Up there I’ll be uncomfortable in fresh and interesting ways—my feet will fall asleep and my ass will go numb.
But everything is going to be fine, because Audrey and Zara hired me, and I’m earning a living wage. Zara paid me in cash for my two trial days, so I can keep eating while I wait for the payroll to kick in. I’ll need to pay for a gym membership, too. There are only three days left of my trial period. I’ve quickly become their best customer, thanks to the hot showers, the complimentary shampoo, and fresh towels.
It’s cold in the car tonight. I have one of my ex’s sleeping bags piled on top of my body. It’s the only thing of his that I swiped. Brian liked camping, and I went along with it because I liked keeping Brian happy. But after my homeless stint at eighteen, sleeping outside won’t ever seem fun to me again.
Tomorrow night it’s supposed to dip below freezing. It’s not clear how long it will take until I can find somewhere to live. Most businesses run their payroll at least a week in arrears. That means a paycheck next Friday at the earliest. And I still won’t have enough money to rent an apartment.
I need to find somebody who’s looking for a roommate. I peeked at Craigslist, but the offerings were thin. The cheapest rental apartments I found on the web start at eight hundred dollars. Theoretically I could afford that, except I don’t know if I could pass a landlord’s credit check. Before I lived with Brian, I had some hard years. And also, landlords sometimes ask for first and last month’s rent and a security deposit. Under those conditions, I’d be sleeping in my car for weeks.
So I need a room someplace where they aren’t too concerned with the rules. A house shared with college students, maybe. I’d be a good roommate. Neat freak will make you sourdough waffles once a week on his day off. Gay AF. Quiet because he has no friends.
These are the things I think about while I slowly fall asleep in the refrigerator chill of my tiny German car.
* * *
The next few days are exhausting but glorious.
At first, Zara and Audrey don’t change their schedules. One of them is always present when I show up at six to help them start the day.
My bones ache from sleeping in the cold car, but I always feel better after the first hour in the kitchen. My new bosses like to play music while we bake muffins and start the coffee. The smell of pastries in the oven is like therapy to me. And since Zara and Audrey have given me free rein to test my own recipes, I’m up to my elbows in bread dough at least once each morning.
Push and turn. Push and turn. Kneading a loaf has always centered me. When I can bake, everything is right with the world. The yeasty smell of dough soothes me.
Meanwhile, I make it my business to learn everything I can about the coffee shop. I master their espresso machine and figure out when all the deliveries happen. Their cash register system is nothing too complicated.
“I’ve got this,” I tell Audrey on Wednesday. “You can let me open up the place tomorrow if you want to start sleeping in sometimes.”
Her smile is a mile wide. “We are thrilled by this idea, trust me. But Kieran’s dad just had surgery, so he’s not coming in for a couple days. After we get through that, I promise Zara and I will let you open for us. We can’t wait.”
“Awesome,” I say.
“Listen, about Kieran…”
I turn down the music—we’re rocking out to an old Violent Femmes album this morning—and wait for Audrey to continue. I’m desperately curious about Kieran, to be honest. He’s working that whole strong-and-silent-type thing. Those brown eyes. Those strong shoulders. If I spotted him in a gay bar, I’d be all over that.
