Page 7 of Love Off the Rocks
As an adult, the idea of sharing a room with a stranger, whether or not as a team-building exercise, is not my idea of an enjoyable time. To that end, I don’t even know if I’m sharing with a boy or a girl. Would they even let members of the opposite sex share a room? Surely that goes against some sexual harassment policy somewhere. Right?
I sit on my bed and take it all in. From what I’ve seen so far, the entire place is decorated like what I imagine a log cabin would be: lots of wood and windows and leather furnishings. All the beds have colorful quilts on them and big cushy pillows. The only difference, I realize, being my room.
The decor in here is . . . interesting, especially in comparison to the others. Unlit candles are scattered about, covering most of the uncluttered surfaces. And where there’s not a candle, there’s a scarf. In fact, someone has draped scarves everywhere. Over the windows and lamps, wound around the raw iron headboards—
Oh god, what if my roommate is some kind of bondage freak who ties him or herself to the headboard at night?
Or worse yet, me?
I unwind the scarf from around my headboard as fast as I can and try to drape it decoratively over the other bed. My headboard is now conspicuously bare, so I throw a jacket over it hoping she or he doesn’t notice. Though I seriously doubt a guy would have these many candles. I know that’s sexist of me. But I’m assuming they are my roommate’s candles since none of the other rooms had them. Did I mention it’s a lot of candles? How long would it take to light them all? And then to blow them all out?
It reminds me of those scenes in movies that are supposed to be romantic but are really just one huge fire hazard? Where one person has put soft candles and rose petals all over the room for ambiance right before seducing the other. As though one of them is going to get up after having made passionate love and blow them all out before falling asleep? Or taking a shower? Or leaving to go home?
And don’t even get me started on the burn rate. No way will they all stay lit for the same amount of time. With this many here, half would flicker and die before you even got them all lit. Tricia says I’m an anti-romantic. To which I say, you get enough guys disappointing you and breaking your heart—or even just the right guy—you’ll be an anti-romantic too.
Oh god, what if this is someone’s big seduction move and I’m about to blow it?
Except there’s two beds.
And this is a work retreat.
Cancel that thought.
I move to unpack my bag. A decidedly not good smell drifts from the walk-in closet. I peek my head inside. A tall blonde girl is standing in the middle holding a plant on fire.
“Ohmigod! Fire!” I aim my water bottle at her and squeeze. Water douses both the plant as well as parts of the girl.
“Are you okay?” I ask while she shrieks, “Oh my stars! What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m saving your life,” I tell her.
“My life wasn’t in danger. And even if it were, I would have known ahead of time.” She says it like she’s saying, duh.
“Well, I was putting out the fire.”
“That wasn’t a fire! It was a purifier.”
“A what?” My eyes bug.
She rolls hers. “A cosmic purifier. This entire room is absolutely stifling in its lack of creative energy and reduced metaphysical awareness. I can’t handle it.”
“In what?”
“Look around you,” she continues, not answering me. “We need to let go of what no longer serves us.” She waves an arm in the air as though she’s letting something go. Then she watches as it flies away.
“Mentally, physically, and especially spiritually. It all needs to go.” Water travels down her cheeks to her chin, dripping to her chest and rolling into her cleavage.
I’m boggled by what she says. And it really bothers me that she hasn’t wiped the water from her face.
Or her cleavage.
She tilts her head. “Wow, you’re really clogged, aren’t you?”
“Clogged?”
“And so celestially simple.”
“Excuse me?”
