Page 225 of Love in Riverbend
She grins. “Then why do you live in this crappy apartment?”
“Name is Rich, as in short for Richard, because if I were actually rich, you’re right, I wouldn’t live here.” And I wouldn’t have a roommate who brings home different women every night.
“I’m Kyla,” she says, extending her hand.
We shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, there’s a problem at my apartment, and Max said he could make room for me.”
My eyes open wide. “Are you and Max serious? Like, in a relationship?”
Her smile grows. “Oh yes. Very serious.”
Inwardly, I grimace, knowing Max is not serious with any woman. “Okay, so are you moving in?”
“Not permanently.”
I rub my hand over my prickly chin and wonder what the hell is happening. Could Max be serious about one woman, or is she just a glitch—a delay—in his revolving door? Either way, if we’re now a household of three, I shouldn’t have to pay half the rent. Instead of bringing that up with Kyla, I pour myself a cup of coffee.
“I made muffins,” Kyla says. “There are a few in the microwave.”
“You made them?”
“From a box, but yeah.”
Opening the microwave door, I see the fresh muffins as the scent of sugar and blueberries fills my senses. Maybe Kyla won’t make too bad of a roommate. Peeling back the paper, I take a big bite, the blueberries melting in my mouth. “That’s fucking delicious.”
“Figure I should do something if I’m staying here.”
When it comes to questions about women, my go-to is Devan. Currently, my sister is teaching seventh graders about science, so I decide to ask the woman who happens to be sitting in my kitchen in an oversized shirt and tight exercise shorts.
“Kyla, can I ask you something?”
She looks up from her phone. “I’m in your kitchen.”
“You are. I kind of fucked up with a woman last night.”
She tilts her head and widens her eyes. “Kind of…?”
“Okay, I fucked up. How do I make it right?”
“Are you going to tell me what you did?”
I consider her question for a moment. “No, it’s a long story. Let’s just say that I’ve known her for a long time. We come from the same hometown. She’s been friends with my little sister forever. Last night, I hurt her without meaning to. I’d do anything to take it back. I can’t, because she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Pouting her lips, Kyla nods. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, then communicate some other way. This is the future.” She lifts her phone. “I can talk on this or text. There’s email and still the rarely seen, some would argue more sentimental, handwritten messages. Smoke signals are a little impractical, but I’m sure there’s some mode of communication you can figure out.”
“If I do any of those options, how will I know if she even reads it? What if she doesn’t?”
“Then you’re no worse off than you are now.”
I reach for a second muffin. “I tried last night. I took a pint of her favorite ice cream to her apartment.”
Kyla sits taller, stretching her neck. “Ice cream is good. I’m guessing that didn’t work?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe she needs time. You know, a warm bath and a good night’s sleep.”
