Page 10 of The Last Guy On Earth
“Maybe the coach is just bad at his job?”
“Maybe? But he won the Frozen Four at his college gig. I dunno. It’s just strange.” He opens the fridge and squints at the contents.
“How’s the apartment? How’s the roommate?” Kaitlyn asks.
There’s nothing good to say about the Double Oaks, so he tackles the second question. “He’s…” Clay glances toward the door, double checking that Jethro isn’t on his way in. He’s always last to leave the rink, because he sharpens his own skates. “Jethro is the best thing about this place,” he admits.
“Yeah? Would I like him? Is he hot?”
Clay snorts, as he’s expected to do. Jethroishot, and Clay thinks about it a whole lot more than he should.
“What’s his nickname? And what do you like about him?” Kaitlyn presses, having no idea how confusing her second question is. And how often Clay reflects on it.
“Uh…They call him Jetty, I guess because he moves fast. So, yeah, mostly I like the way he saves goals.”
“Obviously. But what’s he like as a roommate?”
Another guilty glance toward the door. “He’s nice and calm. No drama.” Although that doesn’t really do Jethro justice. He’s quiet in an unflappable way that goes a long way toward soothing Clay’s anxiety. “He likes my cooking, and he always cleans up the kitchen.”
Again, it’s all true, but it doesn’t capture the dynamic that’s blossomed inside these four walls. Evenings in Jethro’s soothing company are the only thing keeping Clay sane. Most nights he putters in the kitchen, rehashing the day, while Jethro offers a quiet observation or two. Then they eat, with Jethro always so grateful to be fed.
Afterwards, Jethro cleans up the kitchen while Clay picks out something to watch on TV. There might be a hockey game that they need to watch. Or maybe there’s a new disc from Clay’s Netflix subscription waiting in their mailbox.
Either way, the angry world seems to reset itself in the peace and quiet of their shitty, little apartment. Sometimes Clay even gets a neck rub out of it, but he tries not to ask too often. He doesn’t want to make it weird.
“Everyone loves your cooking,” his sister points out. “He’d have to be dead not to. But I’m glad you made a friend.”
It sounds so patronizing that Clay laughs. “Yeah, I’m playing nice with the other kids in the sandbox. You don’t have to worry.”
“Idoworry about you,” his sister admits. “How’s the anxiety?”
“It’s…eh. The usual.”
She makes a noise of dismay. “Have you been sleeping?”
“Mostly. Falling asleep is hard, but after that, I do okay.”
“Hmm.”
“I’mfine, KayKay. How are you doing?”
“Great actually. Have you talked to Dad?”
“No. Is there some reason I need to?” Clay doesn’t call home very often if he can help it. “My anxiety is bad enough without listening to Dad question all my choices.”
“Fair,” she says. “I called them last night to tell them I chose my specialty. Dad is underwhelmed.”
“Wait, why?” he asks. His sister is in medical school, which is exactly what the Powers kids were groomed to do with their lives. “What did you choose?”
“Psychiatry.”
Clay lets out a cackle of surprise. “God, really? Are you going to start charging me for these phone calls?”
“No!” she yelps.
“Seriously, why would that piss Dad off?”
“Because he’s Dad? Because nothing is ever enough?”
