My Summer Roommate (17 page)

“And despite that you thought I was worth only a hundred bucks?” Her voice is like a tough steel surface that you can’t scratch even with a nail. Impervious.

“No, I’m not even sure that’s the sum that was mentioned. I didn’t care about the money.” When the words are out, I realize just how fucked up this conversation sounds.

“Why not tell me before?”

I never thought of telling her about the bet for the simple reason that I forgot all about it. I tell her as much.

“I wasn’t exactly sober that night, and the memory of the bet sort of evaporated together with the alcohol from my blood. And then, when we … kissed … It all came back
to me, and it didn’t feel right—being with you while I had that hanging over my head. Not one second of that night was about the bet, but it was still there, threatening to fuck up everything. I guess it fucked it all up anyway.”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I feel like everything that I’m saying is not enough, that I should say something more, something better. I just don’t know what. I don’t know what to do to reach her, to get through the hate or anger or disgust or whatever it is that she feels for me right now.

“I fell for you so hard, Chloe. I never thought it would happen, not at this point in my life, anyway. Waking up alone in this place, knowing that you could’ve been here with me … It’s the just worst feeling.”

She just stares at me
and I begin to wonder how she can be so stoic. If she loves me, she should’ve mellowed by now. If she hates me, she should’ve smacked my face. So what is this?

“Don’t you feel your heart going all crazy?” I ask, motioning with my hand to imitate my heart beating in my chest. “Thump-thump, thump-thump? Because I do
. Every time I look at you or I just think about you, I forget my own name, and it’s just you.”

Still no response from her. I think this is hopeless. I feel stupid for wanting it not to be. I feel stupid for feeling
something when apparently she doesn’t feel anything. I’m wrecked.

I try one more time. “I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me. I messed up, I know. I just want you to do what feels right to you. Don’t hate me because you think you should. I didn’t … betray your trust, Chloe. I stopped before anything happened. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. For you.”

She narrows her eyes at me and then looks away. I don’t know what to think. I’m pretty certain that once she walks out the door, I won’t see her again.

That thought and the strain of confessing my sins to her
leaves me sapped. I sag back onto the couch and I wait for her judgment, resigned.

She finally speaks. “I know what you’re saying.” She’s sitting like a statue. I don’t think she
’s moved a muscle since she sat down. “I know how you think that by stopping that night before we had sex you made it possible for me to trust you again. But I don’t know … Yes, if I was a different person I might have been able to trust you again. But I don’t think I can. Not this me, not now.”

I learn a new meaning of being heartbroken. I wish she’d leave soon. I can’t watch her sitting an arm’s length away, knowing that she might as well be in another universe. It’s the worst sort of torture.

I don’t know why I say the next words, but maybe it’s just to get her to up and go.

“If it’s so hard for you to trust me again, maybe you didn’t really trust me in the first place.”

After staring at her hands for a long time, her eyes settle on my face again. “I think you might be right,” she says. There’s no more coldness in her eyes now. She seems tired.

She gets up and without saying another word walks to the door. I hear it open and close and sometime between the two sounds, I know she
’s left, for good this time. The two coffee mugs, still full and steaming, are left forgotten on the coffee table.

I let my head fall back, closing my eyes. “Fuck.” It’s just a breath of air that holds all the ache of the past
thirteen days. I wish the ache would disappear as simply and effortlessly as the sound vanishes in the empty room.

“On second thought …”

I jump up, turning mid-stride.

There she is, standing at the door, her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, her eyes wide and … something else. What is she still doing here?

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just …” I don’t know what I wanted to say.

We stand there, facing each other across the ratty old couch, like we’re waiting
to see who’s going to draw first.

“I came here knowing that I would play the victim,” she says. I’m not certain, but I think her eyes glimmer with tears. “I needed to feel sorry for myself, so I could justify hating you. But I’m not a simple victim
and you’re not the bad guy, and I don’t hate you.” She steps so close to me that I could touch her if I stretched my arm. “I’m not even close to hating you. Perhaps I hate what you did, I don’t know.”

She pauses, and then adds hastily, “I just wanted you to know that. I don’t hate you.”

She turns and this time she leaves for real. She’s out the door by the time I manage to say, “I love you.”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

CHLOE

I leave for Atlanta in four days. I feel bitter-sweet about it. I’ll miss Mom and Isabelle terribly, I just know it. But it will be a new beginning. I’m eager to start college. I’ve browsed through my study program countless times. All the things that I will learn fill me with excitement and fear at the same time. And the parties… I can’t wait. I’m sure I’ll get over Chris after a while and meet someone just as great as him, only without a gambling problem.

I sigh. Every time I think of Chris I still want to cry. But I would look stupid crying at a car wash while my car is being cleaned and polished for the big drive
across the state.

I cross the street to get a toast and tea while I wait. The café is small and the three tables on the narrow sidewalk look cramped against the café’s window, but I sit down and give my order. While I wait, I text Izzy that she shouldn’t wait for me
to have lunch. Unfortunately, there’s a line at the car wash and I’ll have to miss out on Harper’s cooking.

I nearly drop my phone when someone walks up and drops into the opposite chair. I look up to protest, but it’s Chris
, and the words get stuck in my throat.

“What do you want?” I cringe at how harsh I sound.
I blame it on the surprise. It’s been a week since our talk. He hasn’t called. But I haven’t either.

He’s frowning and doesn’t speak for the longest time.

“Well?” I say, this time more softly.

“
We’re both leaving soon, and I wanted …” He falls silent as if he’s rethinking his coming here to find me.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I asked Izzy.”

I snort. “Traitors, all of them,” I
mumble.

Secretly, you’re grateful to her, admit it.

I keep eating, ignoring him, even as he starts speaking.

“
Two weeks ago, I went to help your mom because she asked me to, and because she promised you would never find out. I didn’t mean it as an insult to you.”

He pauses, and my chewing seems loud
in the silence.

“I didn’t mean any of it to hurt you, Chloe. I’ve always liked you, but back in school, you didn’t even notice me. And when you moved in, I fell for you almost instantly. I didn’t plan any of it. But all of a sudden, I was crazy about you and you seemed to like me back. So I thought, why the fuck not? And the bet
—it didn’t cross my mind once the whole time. I was so preoccupied with you and trying to seduce you that I forgot about it completely. Until I realized that it would always hang over anything that might or might not happen between us if I didn’t come clean. The bet had nothing to do with any of it.”

By now, I’m afraid to look up because I don’t know what I’ll see. I don’t know if he’s here to try to win me back again or if he’s saying a final goodbye.
I don’t even know which I’d prefer.

The hell you don’t.
Coward.

“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” he says quietly. “Mine’s broken, too, if it’s any consolation. I just want you to know I didn’t do any of it on purpose. It’s just a lot of bad luck. Or bad timing, if you will.”

I swallow hard before I look up, but I’m too late. He’s already getting up from the chair.

“Chris?”

“I’m sorry.”

I want to jump up and stop him. I want to say I’m sorry, too. But I’m glued to my chair
by fear and confusion. By the time my head clears, he’s already across the street and getting into his truck.

My phone beeps. My car’s ready.

But I’m not.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

CHRIS

I didn’t expect to be invited, but when Chloe called, I jumped at the chance. That’s why I’m here, feeling like a total outsider.

We’re in the back
yard of Chloe’s new house, celebrating Natasha’s and Eric’s move in and our going to college. Isabelle’s here with Harper and her dad. There’s Chloe’s mom bringing out a platter of snacks, and Eric is manning the grill. Chloe’s been avoiding me since she let me in, and is now laughing at one of Harper’s jokes.

I think Chloe’s
mom feels sorry for me because she brings me a drink and a plate full of ribs drowned in barbecue sauce.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“This is partly my fault,” she says and glances Chloe’s way. “I wasn’t very tactful. I know my daughter, so I should’ve known better than to get in the middle of things.”

“Maybe. Mostly it’s just my mess, though.”

She nods as if she agrees, and I have to laugh. She’s such a funny woman. Very different from Chloe, but both are capable of surprising me every time they open their mouths.

When she returns to Eric, I try the ribs. I nearly choke, realizing it’s not barbecue sauce but Tabasco. She must’ve mixed the bottles. I swallow one fiery mouthful and decide to leave the rest. I place the plate on a table nearby.

“Not good?” Chloe speaks behind my back.

Caught in the act
, I can’t do anything but be honest. “Your mom poured Tabasco on them. I think that’s her way of avenging your broken heart.” I’m not trying to be funny. The words slip out without me really wanting to voice them. But Chloe laughs, and I’m relieved.

The evening sun is slanting over the roofs of the neighboring houses. It feels like the summer will leave with us. I
have never seen the summer’s end in this town. When I moved here last year, it was fall already. I didn’t know how summer would take leave in these parts.

Chloe and I
stand side by side by the fence, watching the others gathering around the grill, heaping their plates with ribs and bread and ketchup. It’s scary how much I need her closeness. There’s only two inches of air between our shoulders, but it feels like we’re on the opposing sides of the Great Wall of China. Or hopefully, the Berlin Wall, because that one came down eventually.

“I’ve al
ways had the quiet sort of luck,” Chloe says without looking at me. I remember mentioning bad luck when we last spoke, but I don’t know if she’s referring to that or something else entirely.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are people who have flagrant good luck, like they win the lottery or write
Harry Potter
… Although that’s a lot of hard work too. Anyway, there are also those like me who just get to enjoy small precious moments like this.”

I
watch her for a moment, and I think I really see the essence of her for the first time. I see what she’s really about, the real Chloe.

“Maybe the point is not in having good luck. Maybe it’s just that you are
undemanding, that you’re content with small things.”

“Oh, I can be very demanding,” she says, and grins. “
It’s nice that you have such a good opinion of me, though. Despite everything,” she adds, sounding a bit sad.

We stand in silence, and I shuffle a little closer to her with every breath.

“You know …” She stares at her bare feet, then speaks again. “The shit we’ve been through … I think it was good that it happened. As stupid as this may sound, it made it possible for me to trust you. It’s like by breaking my heart you cracked me open, the real me, so I could come out of the shell. I’ve seen the worst that can happen when you trust someone and … I think I came out stronger. A better person, maybe. Because I don’t think I was really honest with you that night when we … uh, you know. I wanted to be with you, but I also wanted a bit of distance. To keep myself safe.”

I just stare because I don’t want to spoil the moment by blurting out something moronic.

“I’m not going to thank you for breaking my heart, of course. But you know … We’re cool. I’m over it. The painful parts, I mean. I’m not …”

Please say ‘
over you’. Please?