Sharing Space (The Complete Series) (8 page)

Paul's father passed away when we were freshmen in college, and although Paul was heartbroken over the loss, a part of him was glad he never had to tell his father and see the possible rejection that might have come from his confession.  He came out to his mother three years ago and she reacted as most mothers would. She was shocked at first, then guilty—wondering if it were something she and his father had done or not done in raising him—then finally accepting and worried. Coming out to his brother Tim had left the relationship cordial, but strained. Even though it was supposedly a kinder and more tolerant time, the nightly news told us differently. Hate crimes were still going on and Roman Glen was a small town. Paul couldn't be sure that his career wouldn't suffer because of his sexuality, so it was easier for him to keep it private… for now. I knew that living with the secret was hard on him and it was just a matter of time before he came out to all his family and friends.

So it wasn't with intentional insensitivity that Max kept running his mouth, just ignorance.  He took my silence over wondering if Paul was uncomfortable as reluctance in hooking him up with Chloe or her friends. Well, knowing Max, I should probably say Chloe
and
her friends.

"Oh come on, Patrick.  Unless you plan on hitting it yourself."

"Max..."

"That's it, huh?  You plan on sticking it to this roommate chick!  Dirty dawg!" Max jumped up and started making obscene hip movements and howling like a wolf. "Ol’ Patrick is gonna be spending more time in the other bedroom. No wonder you're ditching out on us. Patrick's moving in with a piece of ass!"

At that exact moment, Chloe walked in.

Chloe

I’d just walked in from my treasure hunting through flea markets and I was hot and tired. Earlier my hip hugging low cut jeans and green tank top seemed appropriate, considering how warm it was outside, but after hearing the words of this sweaty, huge white boy in my living room, I felt completely underdressed. I wanted to hold my shopping bags in front of my goodies but realized how ridiculous that was. They were my goodies and this was my living room. Well, technically it was now
our
living room. 

In our living room were three sweaty and stinky white boys. I dropped my bags on the recliner and quickly walked over to crack a window or two, never mind that the air conditioner was going full blast. This was an emergency. Patrick looked appropriately embarrassed.

"Hi, Chloe.  Umm, these are my friends, Max and Paul."

"Hi."

The buffoon that had been dry humping the air when I walked in stayed in character. He was eyeing me with something that was a cross between surprise—I'm sure he didn't know the piece of ass was brown—and lust. Perhaps he'd never seen such a fine brown ass? I didn't know and I didn't care. I wanted him out. Now. He had the nerve to stick out his sweaty hand.

"Wow.  Nice to meet you, Chloe."

There are many things I didn't want. I didn't want my mother to remain single forever and die alone without knowing again the love of a good man. I didn't want to lose my friendship with Myra over a silly argument; we hadn't spoken all week. I didn't want to get stretch marks and have my hips spread like cottage cheese when I finally had a baby and, perhaps most of all, I did not want to shake this man's hand. Though he'd given me good reason to throw him some shade, for Patrick’s sake and the sake of our new living arrangement, I took the high road.  I tried not to shiver noticeably as I shook the beefy hand. I think I was pretty slick, and no one noticed that I’d wiped my hand on the back of my jeans. I turned to the quiet, brown-haired one. He rose and wiped his own hand on his pants before taking mine. 

"Hi. Paul, right?"

"Yup. Nice to meet you, Chloe. This is a great apartment; I like what you've done with it."

"Thank you."  This one I liked. He was polite and, more importantly, he didn't take up as much space as the dancing ox. He damn sure hadn't been flinging his sweat around my furniture.

"Well, Patrick, we'll let you get settled in."

"Whaddaya mean, Paul? We’re not gonna stay awhile?” asked Max.

Paul said, "It's getting late and I have to get Tim’s van back."

"Paul's right, I have a lot of unpacking to do. I'll call you guys later.  Thanks a lot. I owe you both big time."

"Yeah,” said Max while eyeing me. "You do."

They exchanged hugs and a few of those complicated male-bonding handshakes, and then they were gone. It was just me and Patrick, my new roommate. There was a long silence as I looked around at the boxes and crates that held his belongings and he watched me.

"I'm just gonna take a quick shower before unpacking all this stuff.  Most of my things are in the bedroom; this is for the kitchen and living room."

"You don't have to explain. Take your time."

Now that Max was gone the air was suddenly fresher. Maybe it was his attitude. I shut the window and glanced at Patrick as he made his way to the back of the apartment. I noticed he was in great shape and the sweaty t-shirt only added to his appeal.

Chloe, what are you doing?

I suddenly felt like a pervert, secretly checking out my roommate that way.  Kicking off my sandals, I decided to put away the knickknacks I’d purchased. I tried not to think about how weird it felt having a man other than Lawrence showering in the other room. As I placed the blue glass dolphin on the bookshelf, I noticed it: right between my framed painting of two little black girls sitting on a porch, laughing and whispering—I loved it because it reminded me of Crystal and me when we were younger—and my framed original movie poster of
Rear Window
—which cost me a pretty penny on eBay—was a cherry wood entertainment center. It was divided into three sections. The top portion held three sleek black machines. I recognized two as a Blu-Ray player and a receiver. The middle section housed the biggest television I had ever seen in my entire life and, under that, the third section housed an XBOX 360 and a Playstation 3.

"Oh, yeah. I probably should have asked first."

I turned to find Patrick standing in the living room, freshly showered, hair gleaming wet, wearing jeans and a clean white t-shirt. 

"Huh?  Uh, no that's fine; I just didn't notice it before. Don't ask me how. I thought you said your furniture was more futon and milk crates."

"Well, you know.  Boys and their toys.” He flashed a smile. I had the urge to put one of my fingers in his dimples, they were that deep. He strode across the room and carried one of the boxes to the kitchen, I assumed to unpack. I took the rest of my purchases to my bedroom and shut the door. I let out a deep breath as I plopped on the bed. There was a strange man making himself at home in my kitchen—our kitchen. I sat on the bed for several minutes wondering what to do next. What would I do if he wasn’t here, or what would I do if it was Grace? 

If I were home alone I'd probably change into something more comfortable, put on some music, fix myself a drink, and contemplate a dinner plan.  If Grace were here I'd be showing off the things I'd bought earlier and asking her if she wanted to do something that night. Could I do the same thing with Patrick? Well, if I couldn't it would be a long year. I debated for a moment or two longer then made my way to the living room. Patrick had unpacked all the boxes. They were now empty and stacked by the front door. He was sitting on the floor in front of the entertainment center placing movie and game cases inside the cabinet. 

"Need any help?"

He looked up at me, surprised. "No, I'm almost done. Thanks though." He glanced at the framed photos on the wall. "So, you a big Hitchcock fan?"

I smiled. "I enjoy a few of his movies, but
Rear Window
is my all time favorite movie period."

"Mine too. I had to buy it on Blu-Ray. I think I played a hole in my VHS copy in high school.” We laughed. I sat on the couch and watched him continue to put his things away. There was silence for a few moments and then we both started to speak at the same time.

"Chloe, listen—"

"Perhaps now would be—"

Patrick smiled, "Ladies first."

"Well, what I was going to say was perhaps now would be a good time to set some ground rules."

"Okay.” Patrick rose from his spot on the floor and sat on the armchair opposite me.

Now that I had his undivided attention I didn't know where to start, so I plunged right in.  "I have no right to tell you who you can and cannot have over. You have to understand that this is all new to me; I've never roomed with a man before. But male or female, I'd expect my roommate's guests to respect me and the apartment, just as I'm sure you'd want the same from my friends."

"Chloe, that's what I was going to say before. I'm sure you heard Max goofing off when you came in. He's not a bad
guy, it's just that sometimes he doesn't know when to quit. He was joking and meant no harm, although I'm sure that made you feel uncomfortable. Nothing like that will happen again. I promise."

I was grateful that he had brought it up and appreciated the apology, though he didn't have any reason to be sorry. I told him as much.

"Yeah, but he's my friend. I feel responsible if he comes in here and acts like an ass."

"Paul seems nice," I offered, wanting to turn the conversation around.

"Oh, Paul's solid. He's good people." He paused, then said, "So, rule number one: All houseguests must show respect for the people who live here and their space."

"That was easy. Your turn."

"I don't have a rule so much as I want to make something clear to you. Besides being disrespectful, what Max said... Well, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I didn't move in here because I wanted to try and put the moves on you or anything like that. This is a great apartment; it's close to my work, it's ideal for me to be in the city for auditions, all the things I told you before. I have no desire to take this further than a platonic roommate relationship."

Well. 

"Not that I don't think you're attractive,” he rushed to say, making matters worse.

"Uh huh."

"It's just not what I'm here for and I hope Max didn't give you that impression."

"No, of course not. I didn't think you were... in it to get with me, I mean."

"Good, cause I wouldn't want you to have the wrong idea about me. It's important that we get off to a good start."

"I agree."

"Well."

"Yeah.”

If life were a movie, that would have been the exact moment we jumped all over one another, but it wasn’t a film and for whatever reason I felt like a pervert who'd been chastised.  Even though he was just trying to clear the air after Max's behavior, I couldn't help feeling like Patrick had shot me down. Not like I wanted to start something with him; I barely knew him, but did he have to sound so adamant about it? Then his phone rang and ended the awkward silence. After two rings he broke eye contact with me and pulled his phone from his pocket to answer it.

“Oh hey, Char, you got my message,” I heard him say as I made my way to the kitchen to give him some privacy. I noticed a blender and a Panini maker on the counter, signs that he spent some time in the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of wine and grabbed a take-out menu from one of the kitchen drawers. As I headed to my room, I heard Patrick tell his sister he had a full work schedule for the next few weeks.

With any luck, I'd barely notice he was here. 

***

A few days later I discovered one of the many benefits of living with a man. I’d just gotten home from work after one of those long days where every client had an emergency that needed fixing yesterday, and it must have shown all over my face as I entered the apartment. Patrick was on the sofa typing on his laptop.

“Bad day?” he asked.

“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being ‘Dear God, why wasn’t I born independently wealthy?’ it was a fifteen.”

Patrick smiled and nodded towards the kitchen. “There’s a cold beer in the fridge. The last one. You deserve it.” 

“A cold beer and hot shower. Perfect.”

I dropped my keys and purse on the armchair and made my way to the kitchen. Just as I took the beer from the fridge I noticed the biggest spider in the history of spiders on the counter. I let out a squeal only audible to dogs and, apparently, Patrick.

“What happened?” he yelled.

I ran back into the living room hopping from one foot to the next. 

“You’re shaking up the beer.”

“Forget the beer. There’s a big spider in the kitchen.”

“How big?”

“He looks like he’s on steroids! What does it matter? Go kill it before it gets away, comes into my room at night, and eats me while I sleep.”

Patrick sighed, placed his laptop on the coffee table, and started for the kitchen. He was grinning and mumbling something that sounded a lot like, “Yeah, cause that’s logical.”

“Oh, you got jokes.”

I followed him into the kitchen then stood on my tippy toes to peek over his shoulder.  I watched with relief as he first grabbed a paper towel and then headed for the spider on the counter. This quickly turned to horror as Patrick turned towards me with the little critter pinched between his fingers using the paper towel.