Page 97 of Roommate
“Oh, you mean after the community supper,” I say slowly. And now I understand. Father Peters is a top-notch recruiter of idle hands. “That’s cool.” Except I spent all of yesterday worrying about poor Roderick alone at home. Meanwhile, he was getting wasted with new friends.
“Father Peters is nothing like I’d expect him to be,” Roderick says, frothing a pitcher of milk. “He’s a good time.”
“Can we talk?” I ask suddenly.
Roderick looks up at the line of people in front of us and raises an eyebrow at me. As if to say, Is this really the time?
It isn’t, of course. But later, when I go looking for Roderick on his break, I find him standing outside the kitchen door on his phone, ordering a twin-sized bed from the mattress store.
That evening after work, I watch, depressed, as the same delivery guys who brought my mattress set up Roddy’s in his downstairs room. I feel blindsided, and after they leave, I stand in his doorway and blurt, “Why are you doing this?”
He’s silent a moment, busy unwrapping his new sheets. Then he drops them on the mattress, turns around, and sits on the edge of the bed. “We need a little distance, I think.”
“Why? One minute everything was great, and the next minute you’re like a stranger again.”
“That’s not true,” he says, fiddling with the piping on the edge of his new mattress. “But we have a problem. And the problem is that I love you.” He looks up, gutting me with his sad expression. “And I know you also care about me. But I’m not in the right place in my life to have a secret relationship with you.”
I love you. The words reverberate through my chest as I stay there in the doorway, struggling with what to say.
“—And you’re not in the right place in your life to come out. It isn’t anybody’s fault. It’s just true.”
“But maybe I will be someday.” Not that it’s easy to picture.
“See, I know you mean that. You’re one of the most honest people I know.” He folds his arms in close, as if trying to warm himself, and it seems like there are five miles between us, instead of five feet. “But I refuse to put pressure on you. And I refuse to ignore what I need, too. What if there’s some guy out there who’s ready to be my other half?”
Ouch. Times a million. The thought of him meeting someone else tears me to shreds. But I’m suddenly too angry to give him the satisfaction of saying so.
“It’s not your fault that I’ve been down this road before,” he says. “But I cannot make the same mistakes again.”
“But I’m not your jerkoff of an ex.”
His smile is sad. “Nope. You’re a hundred times more worthy. And thank you for reminding me that I don’t have to shop at Jerks Are Us anymore. Even so, I’m going to look around for another apartment, Kieran. It will take me a while, because Jude says my car needs even more work, and cash is always tight. But it’s better if I live somewhere else. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” I grumble. “You don’t have to move out.” That would make it final.
“Look, I am not trying to upset you. But there’s one more thing I have to say. I’m not sure I feel right about keeping this.” He stands up and moves to the corner of his room, where the guitar I gave him is balanced against the wall. “Maybe you want to return it.”
“No. Just no. I wanted you to have it and I still do. I want—” I break off again, because talking was never my strong suit. I’m failing at it right now, anyway. Nothing I say is getting through. “I want a lot of things. But I don’t want that back. Keep it. Sell it. Whatever you have to do.”
And then I leave the house and eat a takeout sandwich in my truck, because I’m too upset to be at home while Roderick plans a new life without me.
Kieran
Usually I drive to work at the ad agency straight from the bakery. But today I make a quick detour up the hill, where I swing by the house and check the mailbox. University classes start in four days, and I’ve been waiting for my financial aid award to arrive. I’ve already been admitted to the program, but it doesn’t mean much if I can’t afford to enroll.
When I pull down the mailbox’s metal door, I find a grocery-store flyer and a single fat envelope. Right here—behind the wheel, with the engine idling—I tear open the envelope and read the enclosed letter.
Dear Mr. Shipley, we are pleased to offer you the following tuition assistance package. This greeting is followed by a grant number that looks awfully generous, plus a student loan for two thousand dollars. The result is that I’ll have to pay upfront… Seven hundred and two dollars per course.
I read it twice more. The number remains entirely affordable, and I let out a whoop.
My first thought is: It worked! I can totally afford to become the oldest freshman on campus.
My second thought is: I can’t wait to tell Roddy.
And then—splat—I fall back down to Earth. Because Roderick and I aren’t a couple anymore.
It’s been over a week since Christmas. He’s spent every night downstairs in his new bed. While I’ve spent every night alone and upset.
