My Summer Roommate (2 page)

Or so I thought. But then Mark called me two weeks ago and told me a friend of his was looking for a place to crash over the summer. I said sure, without even asking who this friend of his was. When he said it was Chloe, I couldn’t believe my luck.

She’s supposed to come see the place in about ten minutes. I don’t know how I feel about it. At first, it sounded great, me sharing an apartment with Chloe. But I’m not so sure about it anymore. I feel bad for not cleaning it up a bit, but I just got off work and I didn’t have the time. Besides, if I had cleaned it, she’d think I was too eager. Which, I suppose, I am, but she doesn’t need to know that, right?

While I’m debating this with myself, she knocks on the door.

Her hair is in her eyes and she blows it off her face. Her cheeks are flushed from climbing the steps. She smiles when she says ‘Hey’. She’s prettier than I remember her.

“Come on in.”

We stand by the door in awkward silence. The thought of living together with someone you barely know throws a wrench into everyday conversations. It makes even small talk relevant, because you don’t want to share a place with someone who gossips or only talks about the weather. Not that I think Chloe is one of those people.

“So
, this is it?” she finally says, and looks around.

There’s a kitchenette to the left and a couch straight ahead, turned with its back towards the front door. The bedroom is to the right, and there’s a bathroom next to it. I’d sleep on the couch
, of course.

I show her around, although that sounds like guiding her through a mansion.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” she asks when I hand her a cup of coffee later. She wanted tea, but I don’t have any. I make a mental note to go buy some.

I shrug. “There’s enough space for the both of us. I work most mornings anyhow, so I won’t be in the way.”

“Where do you work?”

“A small bakery. I make deliveries.”

“Oh, that must mean early mornings.”

“Yeah, but you won’t hear me, I promise. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I don’t mind. Do you like the job?”

“The boss is cool. Old ladies give great tips. It’s a job.” She grins when I mention the tips.

“I’m sure they’re grateful for their deliveries.” She says it in a way that makes me think she’s not talking about pastries.

To prove it to her that the pastries are worth a great tip, I offer her some from that morning. I didn’t bother with a plate, and she doesn’t seem to mind that I’m serving them from a paper bag. She bites into a Danish with gusto. Salvo should’ve seen her. She could film a commercial for him. I suppress a chuckle.

“How come you need a place to stay?” I ask.

“Mo
m’s selling our house and she hasn’t found another one yet. We were hoping we’d be able to stay until the end of summer, but we got a good offer …”

I’m guessing this means financial problems, but I decide not to ask. It’s not like I know her very well. Asking the wrong things could spoil this roommate thing before it even starts. Besides, I could use her share of the rent. That way I’ll be able to save more of the money I earn at Salvo’s.

“What’s with all the sports gear?” she asks when she glances at the far corner full of running shoes, balls, rackets and stuff.

“I like sports.” I shrug. My sin is not in liking sports, but in not being able to keep my gear nicely put away. It’s always scattered all over the place.
My previous roommate didn’t mind. I guess that’ll have to change now.

“Any in particular?”

“I used to snowboard, until I busted my knee and my career was over.”

Her expression dims and there’s true compassion in her words when she says, “Sorry to hear that. Did you compete?”

“Yeah. I was pretty good, too. Had a
promising
”—I mimic quotation marks with my fingers—“career until it all went to hell.”

“And there’s no chance of your knee ever recovering enough …”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

She’s sipping her coffee, the pastry long gone. I offer her another one to make her feel better. I don’t want her to be in a bad mood over my injury. It’s not something she should worry about.

“No, thanks. I’m having dinner at a friend’s place. Her boyfriend’s a fantastic cook and I don’t want to miss out on his food.”

Her smile vanishes, when she hastily adds, “Not that the pastry wasn’t good. It’s delicious.”

“It’s okay.” I chuckle at her embarrassment. “I’m not much of a cook. So you better make sure he doesn’t resent you, because I
sure won’t be cooking you any fancy dinners.”

She laughs. “That’s okay. I’ll make sure he cooks for one more next time. If you’ll bring me more pastries,” she adds.

“That you can count on. Salvo loads me with them every day. Supposedly, he’s on a diet and can’t eat them himself, and he doesn’t like throwing them out.”

“That’s a great job you have,” she says, and grins.

She gets small dimples in her cheeks when she grins. Her curly blonde hair is like a halo around her face. She’s the goddess of suburbia. And she’ll be sharing a place with me.

Chapter Three

CHLOE

Saturday
is a scorcher. When I open the door, my top already damp from dragging the boxes into the hallway, I find Izzy standing on the porch. The smart girl put on a tank top and cutoff jeans, while I’m sweating away in my yoga pants.

“I brought help,” Izzy
says, and grins over her shoulder at Harper.

“Good
. We could use some muscle.”

“That’s all you girl
s see in men,” Harper complains, not even hinting at a smile. He always cracks me up with his serious face and the snarky comments.

“Don’t be insulted. We need you for sex, too,”
I say.

“Chloe!” Isabelle squeaks
, and looks at Harper panicked. He rolls his eyes and follows us into my former home.

“Anyone want a cold drink?”
I ask as I head into the kitchen. “Now’s the time to have them. I have to unplug the fridge before we leave.”

We sit
on the sofa, everyone holding their sweating cans. I look at the empty walls and the deserted-looking room.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving.”

“We’ve had a lot of fun here,” Izzy says, looking at me conspiratorially. “Has Mom moved all her stuff yet?”

“Yeah, these few boxes are the last
ones. I put most of my things in storage.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a good place soon,” Izzy
says. “Even without moving house, you’d still move to college in the fall, anyway. The change is unavoidable.”

I
appreciate Isabelle trying to comfort me. She always has my back. I haven’t had many people in my life that I could count on, but I can count on Izzy. Always. She’s my safety net, my friend, soul sister, everything that matters.

I
hug her spontaneously, taking her by surprise, so she nearly spills her drink.

“W
hat was that for?” She chuckles.

“Do you know how many times I cried on this sofa and you comforted me? Or stayed over to keep me company when
Mom was at one of her conventions or book tours? It’s for all that and a whole lot more.”

I’m
embarrassed by my emotional outburst, but I’m overwhelmed by this change. It was sudden, and I didn’t have the time to prepare for it and accept it.

Deep down, you’re a bit worried about staying with
Chris. Admit it.

T
o hide my discomfort I playfully punch Izzy in her arm. I know she understands what’s happening with me right now.

“Yeah. Remember that one time you wanted me here with you because you invited … Ron, was it? … and you didn’t know how to behave around him?”

I laugh at the vivid memory. Harper is silent and watching us with an amused expression on his face. His eyes keep flitting to Izzy even when I talk. He is so in love with her. I wish I had something like that in my life. My crush on Harper is long over. He is off limits now, anyway. I’d never do that to Isabelle, and I don’t want Harper. I want someone to be as crazy about me as he is about Izzy. So crazy, that it would make it safe for me to be just as crazy back.

“God, that was so awkward,
” Izzy says.

“Why?”

“Cause you two were all over each other ten minutes in, and I wanted to dissolve myself into the wallpaper.” Isabelle rolls her eyes.

I don’t
remember it quite like that, but Izzy is probably right. My memory has never been very reliable when it comes to boys. I always remember the awkward, painful, bad parts. The good ones vanish together with the emotions. I am an odd mixture of a pessimist and optimist. I only see the worst, but always trust things will get better. It’s a crazy combination that always gets me in trouble.

“Or that one time when you and Adam just started going out
—for the first time, I may add—and he came here in the middle of the night and started throwing pebbles in your window?” Isabelle says after a moment. “You made me go home even though I was supposed to sleep over.”

I
snigger. “You could sleep over any time, Iz. He was harder to catch.”

“Al
l right.” Harper gets up. “I don’t want to hear any more. Let’s get to work.”

We
laugh at his words, but follow him out into the hall.

“I can drive mo
st of this stuff in my car. You can take one or two boxes. You won’t be able to put much more in your Chevy,” I say to Harper.

He
grabs the first box and carries it out to the curb where I wait by the open trunk of my car. After twenty minutes, all the boxes are loaded, most of the heavy lifting done by Harper.

“God, isn’t it nice, w
atching all that muscle at work?” I tease, knowing that Harper is within earshot.

Isabelle grins and agrees.
Harper just sends us an annoyed glance as he pushes the last box onto his back seat and closes the door.

H
e gets into his car and turns the engine on. Isabelle turns to join him, but I stop her.

“You know, you’re lucky,” I say. I feel a bit embarrassed saying it, but I want to make sure she knows it.

Isabelle sighs dreamily. “I know. He’s unreal. Even his flaws are great.”

“That’s cause you’re in love with him, silly.”

Izzy shrugs. “So?”

“So don’t fall out of love.”

Izzy nudges me with her elbow and smiles.

“I mean it,”
I say, and walk to my car to lead the way to Chris’s apartment.

****

Although I’ve
been here before when I came to see the place and talk through the details with Chris, I still feel awkward walking up to his apartment. It’s like I’m barging in uninvited. Like this isn’t my place to be.

“Hey,” Chris
says as he opens the door. “You’re here.” His smile is warm. He’s tall and has an athlete’s body. With blond hair and light-colored eyes he looks more like a Cali surfer, not a snowboarder. His surf shorts and sleeveless t-shirt reinforce that impression.

“Hey. This is Izzy, and Harper,”
I say, ignoring the discomfort I feel. “They’re helping me move.”

Chris moves
aside for the three of us to enter. “Drinks?” he asks, already moving towards the fridge. The room is hot, and he says, “Sorry, no AC.”

“Beer?” Harper asks from the window where he i
s checking out the view.

“Sure.” Chris hands him a bottle and waits
for us girls to decide between beer and soda.

He steps
up to me, and I get the feeling that he’s trying to reassure me. Just the thought of it disperses half of my anxiety. I haven’t been wrong about him. He is truly a nice guy.

“You remember Izzy? From History?”
I say to breach the silence.

“Huh? Yeah, I think so. I wasn’t paying much attention in History,” Chris
says sheepishly, turning to Iz.

“Who was?”
I roll my eyes.

“I remember you
r end of year exhibition, though,” Chris says to Isabelle. “Nice work.”

Even Harper
turns around at his words. I beam with relief. Now Izzy won’t be able to dis him any longer.

But Chris seems
embarrassed by all the attention his words attracted. “Not that I’m an expert or anything. I just thought your paintings were cool.”

“Thank you,” Izzy
says, blushing.

“They are,” Harper agrees
, and Iz sends him a tender gaze.

“I hear you’re a
slopestyle snowboarder?” Harper says to Chris.
Shredder
, I correct in my mind, and then hide the smile that’s trying to curve my lips. I remember Chris explaining the lingo to me last time I was here. A lot of it rubbed off on me already, it seems.