Page 4 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
Maybe they were looking at porn.
We’ve been living together for a few months, and with my work schedule and attempts at having a dating life, I don’t know them super well, but they lived together before moving in with me. Our place is a cramped two-bedroom in Manhattan, but so far they’ve been great roommates. Much tidier than me.
Speaking of which, before any of us can say anything, I spin around and double back to the door, where I pick up my shoes. I don’t want to bethatroommate who leaves her shit out for other people to trip on. I carry them to my bedroom and toss them inside my messy room before closing the door and turning, hands on my hips, to face my roommates.
“What are y’all up to?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Nothing,” Brin says cheerily. “How was your day?”
I eye them. Marco has a great poker face—no, of course, your dirty dishes weren’t in my way—while Brin has absolutely zero poker face. Right now, she looks guilty as hell, which is better than being annoyed that my mess has spilled out of my room.
At work, I’m hyper organized. At home, not so much. My last roommate, Michelle, was also messy, so our apartment was not great. I’m barely home, so it didn’t matter much to me, but when she moved out and I deep cleaned the kitchen before posting a listing, even I had to admit it was pretty gross.
I’m disorganized, but not dirty. Michelle wasdirty,and in my chaos, I never noticed.
Now, though, I have these two, who keep the place spotless and share a bedroom. There are two beds, so I’m not a hundred percent sure that any shenanigans are going on, but I am one hundred percent sure that they at least have pants-feelings for each other.
I eye them, innocence and guilt side by side on my couch, and decide that if they don’t want to talk about whatever’s going on between them, fine, whatever. I can pretend too.
“My day was good. The office was pretty empty and I can always get more work done when that happens.” I check my watch. I left work early, but notthatearly, and I only have half an hour to pack before I plan to get on the road. Traffic is going to be a bitch, and it’s already a fading winter afternoon outside, so there’s no way in hell I’ll be making it to Here before it’s dark out, but at least I can still make it in time for dinner. I’m glad I picked up my rental car this morning.
I pull my suitcase out of the tiny hall closet and clear space for it on the floor in my room, leaving the door open.
Brin and Marco share the bigger bedroom, so together they pay more of the rent. It works out well for all of us. I make good money at Heartly, but rent in the city is bonkers expensive. Marco is a personal assistant and works for a high-net-worth asshole. We met through a networking event for young professionals, an organization Nash encourages me to take part in for my own personal development. I haven’t ever considered leaving Heartly, but I got a roommate out of it; so far it’s been a win.
I thought my finance bro dates were bad, but the stories Marco brings home take the cake. Anyway, he’s underpaid, and Brin is a server, so they are happy to split the rent and share space.
We chat while I throw clothes into my bag—a nice outfit for dinner out, sweaters, hats, gloves...everything I need for a snowy getaway. Marco’s boss is going away on vacation for the week, so just like me, Marco has the time off. He’s wearing a suit, though, so he must have just come in from his boss’s house or office or somesuch.
Throughout this whole time, neither Marco nor Brin move on the couch. They are still sitting awfully close—Brin has her legs folded beneath her, slightly overlapping Marco’s knee—and it just makes me more sure that I interrupted something.
I move to the bathroom to pack my toiletries, when there’s a buzz from the intercom.
“Got it!” Brin shouts. I hear her murmured voice and a staticky conversation before she appears in the doorway to the bathroom. “You’re giving someone a ride?”
I sigh and hang my head. Dear god, my sister is a nightmare. “Yeah, buzz her up.”
Brin shrugs and disappears.
My sister Naomi said shemightfly into the city early to visit friends and catch a ride with me. I said that was fine, but then I never heard back from her, so I assumed she was flying into Albany with the rest of the family and just didn’t tell me.
At least I don’t think she did. It’s entirely possible that I missed an email—or twenty—about our holiday plans.
When we were going to Pithole last year for the tenth time, there were about eleventy-billion emails coordinating plans between the ten of us. With our new location, the volume of emails has multiplied. It’sa lotof emails with a lot of people who don’t understand when to use reply all.
I’m tossing my bag of tampons and pads into my luggage—I’m expecting my period around Christmas Day, Merry Christmas to me—when Brin walks in from the front door, a looming figure behind her.
It’s not my short-and-stacked sister. Instead it’s someone I didn’t think I’d have to see this Christmas—Charlie Dunsky, my ex and the founder of Rivrse.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out. No, no, no. I thought I was getting a ChristmaswithoutCharlie. I hadn’t heard anything about him coming, and I distinctly remember there was a spreadsheet with flight times and coordinating driving from the Albany airport to Here and Charlie’s column had been blank. Plus, there was an email from his mom saying something about him moving...
Although, when was the last time I checked that spreadsheet?
Charlie blinks at me. “You’re giving me a ride.” It comes out likeduh.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“When did I say that?”
