by Alexa Land
“I don’t understand. Your birth parents would have included that in the paperwork when they gave you up for adoption.”
I fidgeted with the hem of my yellow T-shirt and said, “There’s no paperwork involved if you abandon your toddler at a bus station.”
Duke’s eyes went wide, and he murmured, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“That’s no excuse for being so insensitive.”
“Seriously, don’t beat yourself up over it. My parents are Asian, so it’s super obvious I’m adopted, and people ask about it all the time. I’ve gotten used to the questions. So yeah, I celebrate my birthday on Halloween, and I tell people I’m turning twenty-five this year, but that’s just a guess. The doctors thought I was about three when I was found, but it was hard to tell, because….” I had to pause and swallow a lump in my throat. Damn it, no. I wasn’t going to cry about it, not again. I made myself keep my voice steady and finish the story. “It was hard to tell because I was severely malnourished, and a lot of my baby teeth had fallen out prematurely.”
Duke’s voice was full of emotion when he whispered, “Oh God.”
“Don’t be upset. I’m alright now, and I totally believe that old saying, it’s never too late to have a happy childhood. Not that it was bad after that rough start. I was adopted by an amazing family, and they took such good care of me. I was left with a few challenges, like the fact that I could never sit still or concentrate in school, and they figured out early on that I needed to channel my energy into something physical. That’s why they signed me up for ballet lessons, which turned out to be the best thing ever for me.” I was probably telling my new roommate much more than he actually wanted to know about me, so I wrapped it up with, “Anyway, I think I’m doing pretty good now, all things considered.”
He said, “Speaking of your parents, do you want to call them? You said they live nearby. Maybe you can stay with them while your injury heals, so you won’t have to deal with the stairs at the duplex.”
“I really don’t. My dad already worries about me, and if he knew I hurt my ankle, he’d just worry more. As a dancer, I’m always one injury away from the end of my career, although I’m pretty sure this one’s just a sprain. But even minor injuries are stressful when you’re in ballet,” I said. Then I added, “Besides, I don’t need anyone’s help. Once I get some crutches, I’ll be able to take care of myself.”
“You sure?”
The nurse called my name just then, and I nodded. “I’ll be fine. I always am.” I pulled up a smile and tried to look braver than I felt.
Chapter Two
As Duke held the door for me, I hobbled into the house on my shiny new crutches, and he said, “I want you to use my bedroom. It’s yours until your ankle heals. You really shouldn’t try to navigate that steep staircase.”
He had a point about the stairs, but I still protested. “I can’t kick you out of your room. Where are you supposed to sleep?”
“On the couch.”
“There’s no way! I’m not kidding when I say that’s the most uncomfortable couch in the history of uncomfortable couches. Once I make it to my room, I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t even have a bed.”
“I’ll make a nest out of blankets.”
“And when you get hungry? Then what?”
“I have some candy bars upstairs.”
“Just use my bedroom. I don’t have time to argue with you,” he said as he led the way down the hall. “I have to leave in about five minutes, so I can return the truck and still make it to work on time.”
“You don’t have to do that. The truck’s not your responsibility.”
He pushed open his bedroom door and said, “There’s no point in getting charged for an extra day, not when I can make it to the rental place before they close.”
“Well, okay. Thank you, Duke.”
“Before I go, do you want anything from upstairs?”
“Yes please.” I leaned the crutches against the wall beside the nightstand and said, “There’s a big box in my room labeled ‘happy stuff’. Could you bring it to me? I think it’s underneath the window.” He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow, but instead of asking what it contained, he nodded and left the room.
I climbed onto his neatly made bed, dropped my single sneaker onto the floor, and propped my foot up with a couple of pillows. Fortunately, I hadn’t done any significant damage when I twisted my ankle, but it still hurt like hell and had puffed up so much that it resembled a watermelon. The E.R. doctor had wrapped it tightly after she’d x-rayed it, and I slipped a fingertip under the stretchy, peach-colored bandage and scratched the top of my foot as I took in my surroundings.
Duke’s bedroom, like the rest of his house, was both immaculate and surprisingly generic. The white walls displayed a couple unremarkable, black and white landscape photos, while the pale blue bedspread and the wooden dresser, headboard, and matching nightstands provided the only color in the room. The king-size bed was longer than average, which made sense, since my new roommate was one of the tallest people I’d ever met. But other than that, there was no personalization whatsoever. In fact, it felt more like a hotel room than a home. I had no idea what any of that said about Duke.
Actually, I didn’t really know what to make of him in general. It was as if he kept a wall between himself and the rest of the world. Even if we became friends, I doubted that wall would ever disappear. It just seemed like a huge part of who he was.
Duke returned a couple of minutes later with the box, two bottles of water, and a serving bowl brimming with all kinds of healthy stuff, like fruit, packets of nuts, and granola bars. I almost asked him if some squirrels would be dropping by later. He put the food and drinks on the nightstand and the box beside me on the bed, and then he asked, “Do you need anything else before I take off?” I shook my head, and he told me, “I have a dinner break four hours into my shift, so I’ll come home and check on you. If you need anything before that, text me.”
“Thank you, Duke. I want you to know I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
He looked a little embarrassed, and muttered, “Not a problem,” as he headed for the door.
It was so quiet after he left. Too quiet. I played some music on my phone, but it didn’t help all that much.
I fidgeted with nervous energy. I’d never been able to sit still for very long. I couldn’t do it when I was a kid, and I couldn’t do it now, either, so lying around with my foot in the air really wasn’t an option.
I desperately needed something to distract myself, and Duke’s room wasn’t helping. Why was it so totally blank? Who lived like that?
What the room did have was a glass door that opened onto the oddly perfect backyard. After a few minutes of sensory deprivation in the white room, I busted open my happy box, pulled out a bottle of rum and stuffed it into the front of my shorts, so I could free up my hands for the crutches. Then I hobbled out to the little cement patio, which contained a perfect table with a perfect umbrella and four perfect chairs.
Being frustrated and in pain had put me in a bad mood, so the whole anal retentive neat freak thing was beginning to grate on me. The lawn in particular was getting on my last nerve. It was flawlessly, uniformly dark green, and every single blade of grass was exactly the same length. I imagined Duke out there with a ruler and a tiny pair of scissors, trimming it precisely. I couldn’t really explain why it made me want to scream. It just did.
I flopped down on the lawn and made the grass equivalent of a snow angel. Ugh, it was damp. I felt it seeping through my shorts and T-shirt, but since I was already wet, I decided to stay put. I stuck my injured foot straight up and tried to swing my good leg over far enough to create a proper skirt, but I had a feeling that was going to be one jacked up lawn angel.
Then I sprawled out and stared at the sky for a while. I had no idea how I was going to pass the time until my roommate came ho
me, let alone get through the next several days on crutches. After a while, I sat up and took a long drink from my bottle of rum. It was super gross without its usual Coke counterpart, but I drank it anyway, because I figured being drunk and bored was a hell of a lot better than being sober and bored.
I scrolled through the contacts on my phone, looking for someone who could come over and keep my pathetic ass company. But it was Labor Day weekend, and everyone but me had plans. My friend Ash was DJing a party, and River had gotten married just the day before, so obviously he and his new husband Cole had better things to do than babysit me. Skye and Dare were somewhere down the coast, and I didn’t feel like freaking out Haley or the other members of my troupe by telling them their lead dancer had injured himself a few weeks before our first show. I even thought about calling Nana Dombruso, an adorable senior citizen who’d taken me under her wing, but she’d rented a beach house for herself and her family and was out of town for a few days.
Finally, I decided to call my parents. My dad answered on the second ring with, “Are you okay, Quinn?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re calling me on a Saturday night, and you always have plans.”
I said, “It’s only five-thirty.”
“That’s true. Are you working at that strip club tonight?”
“It’s not a strip club, Dad.”
“You told me you dance around in your underwear.”
“That’s not what I said. I told you all the dancers wear outfits that are basically like Speedos.”
“Speedos are even smaller than most briefs.”
I told him, “You should come and see where I work sometime, Dad. It’s really not sleazy.”
“It’s still beneath you.”
“No it isn’t,” I insisted.
“You undervalue yourself, Quinn. You always have.”
By that point, I was completely sorry I’d called home. I took another swig of rum and asked, “How are you and mom?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“We’re both fine. When are you coming to dinner?”
“Maybe next weekend, but I don’t know my work schedule yet.” Okay, that wasn’t true. I just didn’t want to tell my dad I’d hurt myself by doing something stupid and wasn’t sure when I’d be off the crutches. I’d actually called my boss on the way home from the hospital and told him I’d sprained my ankle, so I was off the schedule until it was healed.
“Alright. So, how’s your new apartment? Did you get all your stuff moved in?”
“Yeah, as of today. It’s a nice place, but I don’t know how long I’ll last here. My new roommate is probably going to drive me nuts.”
“Why? What’s he doing?”
“He just seems really uptight, and he’s such a neat freak. This whole place is way too perfect. He seriously must spend every spare moment cleaning and doing yardwork. It’s weird.”
“You told me this place was bigger, better, and cheaper than your old apartment. Now you’re complaining because it’s too clean?”
I flopped back onto the grass. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I don’t see how having a tidy housemate could possibly be construed as a negative.”
“You know what I’m like, Dad. How do you think I’d get along with a perfectionist?”
“Maybe this person will be good for you. I know you’ve struggled with getting organized and following a routine, so living with someone who’s disciplined might be exactly what you need.”
“Or we might end up murdering each other.”
“I’m sure you’ll learn to get along. Now tell me, how are rehearsals going with your dance troupe?”
“Great. We’re down to just six weeks before our debut.” I added silently, and my ankle better fucking heal in time.
He said, “We’re looking forward to seeing the show.”
“You get that it’s not exactly going to be Swan Lake, right Dad?”
“Don’t worry. You already explained that it’s a bit avant-garde. I know you think your mom and I are squares, but we’re very open-minded when it comes to the arts.” The fact that he used the word ‘squares’ proved he was exactly that, but okay. “After the show, do you think you’ll find a job with a ballet company that will actually pay you?”
“This troupe is just getting off the ground. I’m not going to bail on them after one performance.”
“But you’re so talented, Quinn, and you should be dancing with a top company! I’ll never understand why you turned down that position with the San Francisco Ballet.”
I sighed and said, “You bring that up literally every time I talk to you.”
“That’s because I want what’s best for you, and it was such a wonderful opportunity.”
“I had my reasons for turning it down.”
“But you won’t tell me what those reasons are, so how can I hope to make sense of your decision?”
I’d lost track of the number of times we’d had that exact same conversation over the last year. It reminded me of a pair of race cars I had as a kid. They sped around and around on their little track, but they never actually went anywhere. I said, “I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay? And I’ll try to come to dinner next weekend.”
“Alright. I love you, Quinn.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
I felt a bit depressed after that, but the last thing I wanted was to sit around feeling sorry for myself. I drained the last inch of rum from the bottle, jumped up onto my good leg, and admired my lawn angel. She looked awesome, clearly defined in the damp grass. I gave her the empty booze bottle and my crutches and hopped to the patio on one foot. Then I stripped off my soggy shirt and shorts and hung them from the umbrella to dry. My red briefs were also damp, so I pulled them off and spread them out on the picnic table before hopping into the bedroom.
I fell across Duke’s bed, reached up blindly, and felt around in my happy box. The first thing I pulled out was a big tub of hot pink glitter. Excellent! My second round of Go Fish produced a bottle of vodka, and I murmured, “Don’t mind if I do.” I was already tipsy from the rum, but that was the whole point. I took a big swig of alcohol, then shuddered dramatically and said, “Ugh, needs orange juice.” The kitchen was too far away, though. I took another shot and put the bottle on the nightstand, then reached back into the box.
I pulled out a light blue teddy bear and exclaimed, “Yay! You can keep me company, Mr. Fluffers! But be forewarned, we’re trapped in the no-fun zone. Look at this place!” I rolled onto my back, held him up, and panned around so he could see Duke’s bedroom. I slurred a little as I said, “This is the lair of my new roommate-slash-landlord. He’d actually be kind of hot if you went strictly on appearance. He’s super tall with huge muscles and nice eyes. But then, the moment he says or does anything, you realize he has a huge stick up his butt, and not in a fun way. I don’t know what I’m going to do about him.”
I balanced the bear on top of the headboard, then got up on one knee with my wrapped foot sticking out to the side and peered into the box. “This is one of the best ideas I ever had,” I told the stuffed animal. “It was just supposed to be for the move, so I could keep all my good stuff together. But I need a happy box every day of my life.”
I clustered six more half-empty booze bottles onto the nightstand, stacked a fistful of candy bars next to them, and transferred the box to the wood floor. I then slid off the bed and pulled the pristine, light blue bedspread off with me as I said, “All that chocolate might get messy, Mr. Fluffers, so I think I should keep this fussy little granny coverlet thingie out of harm’s way.” I shoved the bedspread into the corner, along with the pillows that came with it, and when I turned back toward the bed, I exclaimed, “Hospital corners! Figures.”
I grasped the top sheet and blanket and pulled as I grumbled, “These make no sense. The second you get in bed, you have to untuck it anyway. Ot
herwise, you’re all pinned down. Damn it, these are tight!” I put my back into it, and finally freed one corner of the super-tucked sheets. “Forget what I said about getting into bed and then untucking it. That would literally be impossible! You couldn’t even slip a postcard under these tight-ass sheets!” I climbed back onto the bed and finally managed to wrestle the top sheet and blanket free, and then I threw them on the floor.
“Shit, I actually worked up a sweat doing that. I need a drink.” I took another sip of the vodka and shuddered again, then told the bear, “Not packing mixers in my happy box was a total fail.” I retrieved the box from the floor and muttered, “Oh no,” as a bunch of multicolored glitter rained out of the gaping seam along the bottom. It got all over the sheets, and all over me, and I sighed and pushed the box to the foot of the bed.
My ankle was throbbing, and my head was spinning from all that booze on an empty stomach. I fell back and muttered, “I know I need to clean that up, but I don’t feel so good right now, Mr. Fluffers.” I swung my leg wide and propped my injured foot up on the happy box. That felt a little better. Then I polished off the last sip of vodka, operating under the theory that it would act as a painkiller if I drank enough of it.
I dropped the empty bottle onto the bed and reached for another, but ended up with a handful of candy bars instead. I tossed them aside and tried again, this time managing to grab a nearly empty bottle of gin. Okay no, that was way too gross straight. I cradled the bottle in my arms and let my eyes slide shut. A moment later, Mr. Fluffers fell off the headboard and landed on my face. That was a good thing, actually, because he blocked the glare from the overhead light. I’d probably feel much better after a little nap….
*****
“What have you done?”
Panic flooded me as I sat bolt upright and blinked a few times. I didn’t know where I was, or why a huge cop in uniform was yelling at me from the doorway. I looked down at myself and mumbled, “What the fuck?” Why was I completely naked, covered in multicolored glitter, and holding a nearly empty bottle of gin?