Misadventures with My Roommate

by Elizabeth Hayley

But before Linda could reply, their attention was drawn to the lights flickering and then cutting out completely. The washers slowed, spinning a few more times before stopping completely just as the dryers had.

  “What the hell?” Blake said, along with a few other people who were headed to the storefront windows to see if the power was out anywhere else.

  “Looks like the whole street’s out,” said one man.

  “You have a generator or anything, Linda, in case it doesn’t come back on soon?” Blake asked her.

  “This isn’t a hospital. It’s a laundromat.”

  “Well, what are we supposed to do with our wet clothes?”

  “You can leave them here, and I’ll finish ’em up for you as soon as we have electricity. But it’ll cost you something just like it would if you dropped them off for me to wash and fold.”

  “Listen, Linda.” Blake had been waiting months for the perfect opportunity to say that, and she wondered if the woman even got the reference. “I’m not paying for that. I already paid to wash and dry my stuff. It’s not my fault the power went out.”

  Linda shrugged. “Not my fault either.”

  Blake sighed as she opened the dryer and began throwing the damp clothing into the big trash bag. She wondered if it would even hold the weight without breaking as she hauled them to the other laundromat. “I’ll dry them somewhere else,” she said.

  “Power’s out for blocks,” someone chimed in. “My friend just texted.”

  Blake looked at the bag of clothes and then back to the young man who had just spoken. “I’ll figure something out,” she said. “I always do.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gavin put the last of the equipment into the company van and shut the doors before taking a look at his watch. It was just after six thirty in the evening, and he’d spent the majority of his day trying to make babies laugh and getting toddlers to sit still. He was amazed at how easily the teachers at the daycare were able to block out distractions when he could barely focus long enough to snap a quick picture of a three-year-old in a fedora. When he’d taken the picture, he’d wondered why anyone would want to preserve such an image but decided not to ask when the boy’s parents showed up and began selecting photos like they were creating a wedding album for the kid.

  How Gavin’s life had veered so far off course that he was taking pictures of kids named after clothing, he couldn’t figure out. But there he was, spending his nine-to-five telling children named Denim and Cargo to say cheese. He was thankful when the last few parents had finalized their orders of their child’s school portraits on the studio’s touchscreens that they’d set up in the lobby of the childcare center. Even though there was a coffee shop next door, there wasn’t enough caffeine in the world to make Gavin stay there any longer. He was beat and it was only Monday.

  When they got back to the studio, he and Anton unloaded the van and locked up all the equipment before heading out to the parking lot. At least the weather had gotten considerably better than it’d been over the weekend and even that morning.

  “I’ll see you later in the week,” Gavin said. “I don’t think I’m back in until Friday for senior portraits. What about you? You working all week?”

  “I’ve got off Tuesday and Thursday, but then I’m in every day through Sunday, I think.”

  “All right, man. Take it easy.”

  “You too,” Anton said before getting into his old Nissan and pulling out of the lot.

  The ride home was quicker than Gavin had expected it to be, probably because it was after rush hour. As he ascended the three flights of stairs to his apartment, all he could think about was taking a long shower and relaxing on the couch for the rest of the night. He unlocked the door and called, “Hi, honey. I’m home,” before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and heading toward his room. “Blake? You here? You wanna watch a movie or something and order some food, or did you eat already?”

  He figured since her door to her room was shut that she was probably in there, and he hoped he didn’t wake her up from a nap or something. Deciding not to knock, he put his ear up to the door to see if he could hear anything. But he almost fell through the threshold when Blake pulled open the flimsy door.

  “Jesus,” she said. “You scared the hell out of me. I didn’t even realize you were home.”

  “Sorry. I was calling you. You didn’t hear me?”

  “No. I just came inside. I was out on the fire escape.”

  Gavin was confused. “Why?”

  “Because I was done out there.”

  “No, why were you out there to begin with?” he asked.

  “Oh. I was bringing some stuff in off the line.”

  “What line? What are you talking about?” he asked, growing even more confused.

  “Our clothesline,” she said. “We have one now.”

  “What? Why? I thought you were going to the laundromat to wash some stuff. They have dryers there, you know.”

  “That I do know. But dryers don’t work if the power is off, and the power went off a little after our stuff went in, so I had to improvise.”

  “Oh, um…okay. You didn’t have to do all that, but thanks,” he said.

  “I had to dry them somehow. They would’ve smelled like mildew unless we washed them all over again, and that’s a waste of time and money—two things neither one of us has to spare.”

  Gavin had been wondering how she’d managed to rig up any kind of line to their apartment building, but he figured there was no way to know without asking. “What did you attach it to? There’s only one fire escape in our apartment.”

  “Come on,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her into her room and out the window. Once outside, she pointed to the rope she had strung from their fire escape railing to another, two apartments away. “Mrs. Michael let me tie it to hers. It would’ve been way too short if I attached it to Baby and Guy’s fire escape. Plus, that would’ve involved asking them, and they were yelling about Christmas dinner…and it’s only October. I didn’t want to get involved,” she explained.

  “So I threw it to Mrs. Michael, and we lowered it under Baby and Guy’s fire escape. You have to be careful that the clothes don’t rub against the metal when you pull the string, but otherwise it works perfectly.” She crossed her arms and smiled, clearly proud of herself. “There still wasn’t enough line to fit everything, so I dried all our heavier stuff first, like jeans and things, and I laid the other stuff around the apartment on towels to dry a little until it was their turn,” she said, like the clothing was waiting in line for an amusement park ride. “The first batch is done, and I just put the other things on maybe two hours ago.”

  Gavin looked down at the sagging rope, which had clothing attached to it with hair clips and bobby pins. “By ‘other things,’ you mean all my underwear?” he said as he stared at his boxers blowing in the breeze. One pair even had a hole in them that he hadn’t noticed until now.

  “Yeah. And mine too,” she said, pulling on the line so Gavin could see where the small pieces of lace were hung just below Baby and Guy’s fire escape.

  “So our neighbors have been looking at our underwear all day long?”

  “No. I told you. It’s only been out there like two hours. And what does it matter anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Doesn’t it make you feel weird that people might be eating dinner to the sight of your red thong?”

  “No,” she said as if the question had been ridiculous. “It’s not like their view was that spectacular before that. They were probably thankful for the change in scenery.”

  Gavin shook his head, but somehow he couldn’t help but be captivated by the woman in front of him. She was so carefree and unapologetic. He let the smile he felt coming sweep across his face. “You’re insane, you know that?”

  She smiled back, a gleam in her eyes that he’d come to know well. “So I’ve been told.”

  * * *

  Blake finished her fourth slice
of pizza and tossed the crust back into the box on the coffee table in front of them. “I’m stuffed,” she said, making Gavin wonder where she put it all. Blake wasn’t embarrassed to eat real food in front of him, which was a welcome change from some of the other women he’d dated.

  Though what he and Blake had going couldn’t exactly be called dating. They worked together, lived together, and slept together. It seemed more of a relationship of convenience than anything else. Though that thought made him more disappointed than he wanted to admit.

  “So what’s new with the American youth these days?” she asked. “You see any kids with full sleeves of tattoos or baby bumps or anything?”

  Gavin laughed out loud at the thought. “Nah, not today. I was at a daycare, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remembered. So what?”

  “I probably would’ve had to report that to the authorities if I’d seen either of those things. Unfortunately, the weirdest thing I saw was the kids’ names.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “They’re all named after places. And fabrics,” he added. “Like Tennessee or Paisley or something. One kid was named Jupiter. You believe that shit? Who the fuck names their baby Jupiter?”

  “That’s pretty horrible,” Blake admitted. “Still better than Uranus though.”

  Gavin nearly spit out the beer he’d taken a sip of, but he managed to finish swallowing. “Yes. Jupiter’s definitely better than Uranus.” He grabbed another piece of pizza and plopped it on his plate. “I swear, if I ever have kids, I’m not naming them anything weird. It’s just setting them up for a lifetime of torture. I mean, who’s calling someone named Cargo in for an interview when they see his name on a resume?”

  “There was a kid named Cargo?”

  Gavin nodded. “Yup.”

  “Man, and I thought my name was bad.”

  “Blake?” Gavin asked. “What’s wrong with your name? I like it.”

  “Yeah. So did my dad. He was convinced I was going to be a boy and refused to change the name he had picked out for his son. I guess I should be thankful he didn’t choose something even more masculine.” She thought for a moment. “I could’ve been Christopher or Henry or something, I guess.”

  “Ha! No offense, but I’m not sure I could’ve slept with you if your name was Henry,” Gavin said. He adjusted his position on the couch so he was leaning against the arm of it facing her fully. He was aware that she’d mentioned her father, but something told him not to ask any more about her family. If she wanted to tell him, she would. Besides, he’d been wondering something for a while now, and hadn’t ever asked her. But now seemed like as good a time as any. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can always ask,” she said. “Though I might choose not to answer.”

  “Fair enough,” Gavin said. And then, “Why don’t you have any tattoos?”

  “What made you think of that?”

  Gavin shrugged. “I thought of it a few minutes ago when you mentioned kids having sleeves of them. But to be honest, I’ve been curious about it since I met you actually.”

  She looked surprised.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem like someone who’d have some. You dress the way you wanna dress, say what you wanna say. I guess I just figured you’d express yourself through art too. I was surprised when I saw you naked for the first time that you didn’t have any.”

  “You don’t have any either,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I’m nowhere near as interesting as you. If I ever got one, it’d be something lame, I’m sure. And then I’d have it on me for the rest of my life. I can’t commit to something like that.”

  Blake smiled in a way that made Gavin wonder what was underneath it. Like she wasn’t completely there in that moment with him. “My reason for not having any is pretty similar to yours actually,” she said.

  “Oh yeah? You scared you’ll get a tattoo of Super Mario or something?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Nah. Doesn’t matter what I’d get. The thought that it would be permanent is enough to make me never do it.”

  “I’m surprised. You don’t strike me as the type of person to have many regrets.”

  “I don’t,” she said casually. “I try to take life as it comes and make the best of it, but I don’t particularly want a permanent reminder of shit inked on my body either.” She groaned as if she were annoyed with herself. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?” he asked.

  “Sharing shit with you that I don’t tell anyone.”

  “Blake, you don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want to share. Remember? Just because I asked the question doesn’t mean you have to answer it. You said it yourself.”

  “I know I don’t have to,” she said. “I’m angry with myself that I want to.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blake wasn’t familiar with this feeling—the one that caused her to want to open up to this beautiful, caring man in front of her. Of all the times she’d shared her past with someone, most of them had felt forced. And all of them had been with mental health professionals who were being paid to listen to her story, analyze all the ways she was broken, and tell her what she could do to try to fix it.

  But here was this guy who she’d met at some random job, and he wanted to know her story, wanted to know her. And as much as she tried, she couldn’t resist the urge to tell him, as if letting all her shit out into the world would somehow relieve her of some of its weight. “There hasn’t been much in my life that’s been permanent,” she began. “Houses, family, friends, towns…roommates,” she said with a low smile. “They’ve all disappeared almost as quickly as they’ve come.” She thought back to all the houses she’d lived in, the communities she’d passed through. They were all a blur in her mind, like a morning fog that still hadn’t been lifted hours into the day. “Nothing in my life has ever lasted long enough to mean anything,” she continued. “I lived in seven different houses and two foster homes by the time I was thirteen. At first, the change was tough on me. But eventually it became nothing for me to pack up and move with barely any warning. I got good at it. I’d pretend I was a firefighter responding to a call. It was like a game that way. I’d get dressed, pack up all my gear, and leave without much thought to if I’d ever be back.”

  She sighed deeply, realizing that she’d let all of that out in almost one breath. Gavin didn’t say anything as he waited for her to continue. “I never had pictures or posters on the wall I needed to remember to take with me when I left. I guess I thought if there wasn’t any evidence I’d ever been there, it would almost be like I hadn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly.

  “There isn’t anything for you to be sorry about. There isn’t anything for anyone to be sorry about. Shitty things happen to good people all the time. But I guess that’s the reason I don’t want a tattoo. I’m so used to things changing, I can’t imagine having something that doesn’t.”

  Gavin pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “But you made this space your own now and decorated it with things that you like,” Gavin said, gesturing to their surroundings where she had endless trinkets that had taken her years to accumulate. “Wouldn’t your body be the same?”

  Blake was silent as she thought about Gavin’s question. She’d always been the one who had to change, the one who had to adapt to whatever hand life dealt her. That flexibility was one of the traits she liked about herself. She couldn’t wrap her brain around the present Blake making a decision for the future one. “I guess the difference is that if I don’t like some little figurine or candle or something, I can throw it out. I can change the paint color or furniture or whatever if I want to, but a tattoo’s forever. There’s no erasing it or tossing it in the trash if I get sick of it. I guess I like to keep my options open.”

  Gavin nodded. “That makes a lot of sense actually,” he said. And then, “What made you choo
se this coral? For the wall color,” he clarified.

  “It’s pretty,” she answered so easily it surprised her. “So much of my life has been filled with ugliness that I guess I wanted to be surrounded by beauty for once.” Blake couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, but she was damn close to it right now, and the acknowledgment only made it that much more difficult to hold back the tears. She swallowed hard, feeling the lump sting her throat as it slid down.

  “What made you change up the color in your room?”

  “I read somewhere that blue is calming, so I decided to try it out.”

  “Does it work?”

  “I think so,” she said with a shrug. She wasn’t sure if it was the wall color or the fact that it was her own space, but she did feel relaxed in her room.

  “Why’d you leave the one wall in your bedroom white?” he asked.

  It was a good question, but it was one she wasn’t sure she was ready to answer. She thought for a moment before deciding that she’d already revealed so much to him, she didn’t think she was capable of holding anything back. “I haven’t seen my parents since I was fifteen,” she said. “And I haven’t lived with them since I was seven. They both went to jail for possession a few times when I was young enough that I don’t really remember it. But when their addictions got worse, so did their sentences. Eventually they both went away for robbery and some other, more minor charges. But because of their criminal history, it was safe to say they weren’t getting out anytime soon.”

  Blake looked up from where she’d been picking at a piece of her cuticle. Gavin’s eyes were on her as he seemed to be listening to every word, unsure of what to say. “Is this too much?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. No,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you’re telling me.”

  And so was she. Blake continued, explaining how the last good memory she had was of her little house in Oak Ridge where she and her parents lived until she was seven and things started to get bad. It wasn’t the biggest house or the nicest. But it was her house—the last place that truly felt like home to her. “When I was little, I used to be scared of bad guys. They’d shown us some stranger-danger type of presentation at school, and I was terrified that someone was going to come in the house and go into my room and take me when I was sleeping. I was scared that I’d wake up and be in some new, unfamiliar place with people I didn’t know.” She almost laughed at the irony of it. Her fear had come true once she’d been bounced around to various foster homes. But it hadn’t been the bad guys who’d taken her; it’d been the good ones.