The Roommate (6 page)

Chapter Seven

The move was easier and harder than expected.
 
If you’ve ever had to move more than your clothes, you know.
 
And neither of us took time off work, either.
 
It was the following Saturday and Patrick and his dad were unloading a U-Haul truck with his stuff.
 
I’d left to stay out of their way.

My old apartment was empty.
 
Weird.
 
Three years of memories.
 
All I had left to do was run the vacuum and a mop, make everything shiny.
 
I’d been careful over the years, so there was zero reason for Brent to not give me my security deposit back.
 
That money would soothe my bank account after the expense of hiring a moving team on short notice.

Patrick had slept in his new room since Sunday.
 
He’d bought a bed roll and sleeping bag from a camping store and set up on the floor.
 
We ate dinner together¸ but I otherwise hadn’t seen him much.
 
Guess I couldn’t blame him.
 
Introverts needed their alone time.

It did give me time to try out my new toy in secret.

“Jess?”

“In here.”
 
Scrubbing the shower walls.

“We’re taking a break for lunch.”

I dropped my rubber gloves in the sink.
 
“That late already?”

“You’ve been thorough,” he said, as we walked out.

“I want my security deposit.”
 
I locked the door.
 
“Where did you want to eat?”

“Dad’s getting some sandwiches.”

“Oh. There’s a Quiznos nearby.”

“Is that like Subway?”

“Yeah, but better.”
 
We took the elevator down.
 
“He’s in the parking lot?”

“Yeah.”

“We should take my car. Don’t want to lose the spot for the truck.”

“Good idea.”
 
Patrick opened the door to the outside ahead of me.

Seeing them together, it was obvious he and
Ros
got their coloring from Mr. Clark.
 
He was an inch shorter than Patrick, and almost as handsome, though his hair was more salt-and-pepper now than dark brown.
 
When he first arrived this morning, he’d greeted me with a hug.

Promising, right?

“Shame your sister couldn’t join us.”
 
Ros
was out of town, and still mad.

“Work keeps her very busy,” I said, and unlocked my car.

Patrick let his dad take the front.
 
“Jess is taking us to Quiznos.”

“
That like
Subway?”

I suppressed a giggle.

“Yeah, Dad.”

“If you like steak sandwiches, I think you’re going to be happy.”
 
I always got a turkey, ranch, and Swiss, but I had it on good authority the prime rib options were tasty, too.

Smelled amazing, and my mouth watered upon entering the store.
 
Mr. Clark insisted on paying for us.
 
Patrick argued more than I did.
 
I was okay with eating here, but they wanted to go back to the apartment, so into the car again.

“Jessica, when was the last time we saw you?
High school?”

“Summer after graduation, sir.
Ros
and I went to different colleges.”

“That’s right. When Patrick mentioned an old friend would be his roommate, I didn’t expect to find you. I’d forgotten you and Rosalind lived in the same city. She talks more on the phone with Patricia.”
 
Mrs. Clark.

“Happy to help out old friends.”

“Well, you always were a good girl. Steady job? Kept your credit clean?”

“
Dad
.”

“I just want to reassure your mother about her youngest child, Patrick.”

“I know what I’m doing, Dad. You don’t have to grill Jess about her life choices.”

I reached for the first thing I could think of to diffuse the situation.
 
“Did Patrick tell you about the error he caught at work this week?
Saved the company a lot of money.”

“Really?”

“She exaggerates a little.”
 
He proceeded to talk tech with his father.

I let out the breath I’d held and parked the car in my new space.
 
“We’re home.”

They walked ahead of me to the elevator.

While they got situated on my sofa (still no dining table), I peeked in his room.
 
“You made good progress.”

“Easy to be productive with your hands,” Mr. Clark said.

The empty spot was next to Patrick.
 
I retrieved a soda from the fridge before sitting down.
 
The men got quiet once their mouths were full of bread and beef.

In his bedroom, the bed had been assembled, mattress laid out, and the frames for two nightstands brought in.
 
The drawers must still be in the truck.
 
The only light came from the fixture in the ceiling, so lamps were probably out there, too.
 
I already knew his luggage and stuff he arrived with was in the closet, which had built-ins making a dresser unnecessary.

Mr. Clark finished first.
 
“I’m going to bring that desk up.”

“Give me a minute and I can help.”

“
It’s
light,” he said, moving to the door.

“Dad, remember your back.”
 
Patrick chased after him.

If they’d been bickering like this all morning, I was glad I’d stayed out.
 
Finished eating, cleaned up the wrappers, and went back downstairs.
 
He’d have his key on him.

Getting the bathroom spotless was the most strenuous part.
 
The rest of the apartment just needed a good wipe down for dust and debris.
 
Once I finished with the shower stall, I could turn in my key.
 
Got a lump in my throat about it.
 
Moving was emotional.
 
Most people felt it, I think.
 
You made memories, got attached.

Sweaty, tired, and maybe a little stinky.
 
My arms were sore, not used to so much work.
 
I went upstairs eager for a shower.
 
Brent didn’t need to see me like this.
 
Didn’t want Patrick to see me like this, either, and luckily he was in the bedroom when I walked to mine and shut the door.

The window had the same view as the balcony.
 
My bed was positioned beneath it.
 
Clothes landed on the floor on my way to the shower.
 
I’d pick them up after the water had beaten the stiffness out of my shoulders.
 
Our bathrooms shared a wall, but thankfully the insulation was good enough to not clearly hear what was happening on the other side.
 
Voices were just muffled background noise.
 
Nobody needed to hear what happened on a toilet.

Wrapped in a towel, I opened the bathroom door, steam billowing out, and tossed my dirty clothes in the hamper in the closet.
 
One thing I loved about this building is that each unit had a stacked washer and dryer in a closet on the balcony.
 
There was one coin-op laundry room in the complex for bulky stuff like bedding, but it wasn’t used often.

Patrick and I had yet to run into
the
you
left your clothes in the machine
conversation.

Hopefully when it happened it wouldn’t be with an underwear load.

I dressed in a tee and jeans, wet hair in a bun.
 
Only Patrick in his room.
 
“Where’s your dad?”

“Down at the truck.”

“Ah.”
 
I stood at the threshold.
 
“Looks about done.”

“Yeah.”
 
Drawers had been inserted.
 
The desk in the corner had his computer and a swing-arm lamp on it.
 
A small flat-screen TV sat on a console facing the bed.

“Excuse me,” Mr. Clark said behind me.
 
I moved out of the way.
 
He carried what looked like two lamps swaddled in layers of bubble wrap.
 
“Just about the last of it.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Mr. Clark nodded and left again.

“Everything go okay?” I asked.

“We’re fine.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to cause issues with your family.”

“It wouldn’t be about you.”
 
He was making the bed.

“Okay.”

“They’ve got a bit of that empty nest thing.”

“Ohhh.”
 
I was enjoying watching him move about the bed stretching the fitted sheet in place.
  
“Need any help?”

“I’ve got it, thank you.”

“Is your dad driving back to Colorado tonight?”

“Maybe.
Probably.
He works Monday morning.”

“Or he could drop the U-Haul off here and fly back.”

“True. It hasn’t come up.”
 
Right.
 
Two guys who only said what they needed to say at the moment.

“Whatever we do tonight, I’m interested in dinner being very easy.”

“A little cleaning wore you out?”

“Some people don’t enjoy cardio. And don’t say something about good health.”

The flat sheet had been tucked in with military corners.
 
“Some exercise is fun.”

“
Oh?
”

He ducked his head.
 
“I didn’t mean the naked kind.”

Probably not.
 
I was the one with the dirty mind around here.
 
“That’s the one kind I agree with.”

The front door opened, so no more naughty teasing.
 
I liked making Patrick blush, but not around parental figures.
 
Mr. Clark appeared behind me again.

“Everything’s unloaded, son.”

“Thank you. Can you stay for dinner?”

He shook his head.
 
“Got a flight back to your mother.
Let’s get this truck returned.”

“Right.”
 
Patrick came to the door and I moved out of the way.

“Jessica, it was good to see you again. Keep him out of trouble, please.”

“Dad…”

“Have a safe flight, Mr. Clark.”

They left.

Was I tempted to snoop?
 
Yup.
 
Patrick would probably spot something a millimeter out of place, though, and I didn’t want to violate the trust we’d built.
 
Today was the first day he’d left the room unattended with the door open.
 
It’d been shut this whole week whether he’d been in it or not even though he only had a sleeping bag and a suitcase full of clothes.

Living alone, I’d left my bedroom and bathroom doors open unless I was showering or had company.
 
Honestly, I didn’t care about someone seeing my bedroom unless it was really messy.
 
It was only just now that I was getting used to having my door closed while I slept.

I sat down on the sofa with the box of
Cap’n
Crunch and turned the TV on.
 
The cable hookup was in the wall between the bedroom doors, so that’s where we’d put the console.

Next thing I knew, it was dark.
 
Patrick coming in must have awakened me.
 
“Hey.”

“Sorry I woke you.”

“Did your dad get off okay?”

“Yes. He wanted me to tell you that he made me promise not to give you a reason to kick me out.”

“Oh my god.”

“My family struggles with having faith in me.”

“You’re the youngest. They get babied.”

“Rosalind and I have less than a year between us and I’ve always been responsible. Mom used to call me a mini-adult. There’s no reason to expect—”

“Deep down, I’m sure they know that. They just worry. It’s what parents do.”

“Did yours?”

“I’m an only child, and they’re divorced. My dad sends Christmas and birthday presents. Mom and I talk around once a month, sometimes more. She has a boyfriend that keeps her occupied.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mean to make it sound like a sob story. It’s not.
Just how things are now.”

“You said before you get lonely. Is that why?”

Ooo, going deep now.
 
“Maybe.
Sometimes.
I’m independent, always have been, so I don’t need much.
Ros
didn’t used to travel as often, so… But now you’re here.”

“I am.”

“It’s nice, you know, to not always have an empty house.”

“I’ve gotten used to you, as well.”

“’Used to’? You make me sound like some kind of growth you can’t cut off.”

His eyes widened.
 
“No! That’s not what I meant! I—”

“I’m teasing, Patrick.”

“Oh.”
 
He opened the fridge and stared into it.
 
“You do that a lot.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No. You’re not mean about it.”

“I never would be.”

“I know. I never saw that at school. Rosalind…but you never bullied anyone.”
 
He closed the refrigerator.
 
“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“I don’t want to cook.”

“Okay. I know a place.”

I took him to the diner Matt introduced me to.
 
We could use some rib-sticking food after today’s manual labor.
 
Thankfully, no Matt.
 
That might be awkward.