by Ney, Sara
It’s as if the idea just crossed his mind—that a young woman may have doubts and reservations about living with a big brute of a boy she barely knows.
Granted, students in college do this all the time, live with people they wouldn’t know if they passed them on the street.
This sort of thing is normal—but the thought that Ashley may be too physically intimidating to live with?
Makes perfect sense.
He can’t bring himself to eat the broccoli until I answer his question. Know how I know? The fork hovers in front of his lips, suspended in midair, his mouth slightly agape.
“I’m not afraid of you. And I’m not afraid to live with you.” I pause. “You’re just a giant teddy bear.”
For a second, he doesn’t seem to know what to say. Then, “A teddy bear.”
He’s so good at even, expressionless replies, his question sounds like a statement, face blank.
“You know—big and broody but soft on the inside.”
He blinks. “I’m soft on the inside.”
I shrug. “If you weren’t a big ol’ softie, you wouldn’t feel so sorry for me that you’d make space for me inside your home.”
Ashley’s face scrunches up as if those are the most ridiculous words he’s ever heard. “Firstly, I don’t feel sorry for you. Secondly, I had the space for you inside the house—I didn’t make it for you. Thus, I’m not a softie.”
“Thus you’re not a softie.” I laugh, almost spitting out the water I was about to take a sip of. “Thus.”
“Don’t make fun of me.” He scowls.
“Sorry, it’s just—so cute.”
“Cute.”
“You know you make statements out of everything you don’t like when you’re irritated.”
“You’re daft,” he says, smile forming on his face. I know he’s cracking and that he’s not mad at all, only has a few ruffled feathers because I made him feel less badass than he’s used to feeling, which is his problem—not mine.
“Daft? I like it.”
“It means crazy.”
“Still like it. It’s so British.”
He shakes his head, slightly disgusted with me. “There are far better words if you want to sound distinctly British.”
“Such as?”
“Bollocks.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s a curse word.”
“Blimey.”
I snort.
“Wanker.”
“Mmm,” I hum. “That one I like—it sounds like wiener.” I give him a once-over. “What’s the British word for dick?”
He chokes on his broccoli, sputtering as if he’s never heard the word dick in his life. “Warn a chap before you say a thing like that.”
“You’re acting like a prude.” I lean in, squinting at him. “Are you a virgin?”
“That’s none of your bloody business.”
Now I lean back, studying him. Shit. What if he is a virgin and I just invaded his privacy?
I clamp my lips shut.
He’s right, it is none of my bloody business—but that doesn’t mean I won’t lie in my bunk bed tonight wondering about the answer.
“So. The word for dick?”
“Dick.”
I don’t believe him. “That’s boring.”
Ashley sighs. “You could go with knob in a pinch.”
Knob?
Eh.
“I don’t love it.” I sniff.
That makes him laugh, and he tips his head back, loudly cackling.
I smile into my water glass, pleased to have amused him, the gap in his front teeth glinting at me in the most attractive way.
Ugh, look away, Georgie. He may be your new roommate.
Oh, who are you trying to fool—you know you’re moving in here.
That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate how cute he is when he’s smiling and laughing.
“Adorable.”
That has me sitting up straighter in my seat, spine straight. Did he just call me adorable, or is he calling my disdain for the word knob adorable? Either way, it hardly makes a difference—so whatever the knots in my stomach are doing, and the fluttering of my heart…they can stop it any moment now.
“Georgie, I won’t nag—I’ve no wish to beleaguer the point. You keep me posted.” His fork digs into his dinner again, knife slicing into the meat.
My whole body stills; I know I have to make a decision, and I ought to do it now.
No time like the present.
“I want to live here.” My nod is definitive. “Yes. I do.”
His mouth forms a straight, bemused line. “Don’t sound so enthused.”
“I am! I am, I’m just—phew!” My puff of breath is weightless. “It’s a big decision!” I phew again as he looks on, staring as if I’ve lost my mind. What is it he called me? Daft? “I’m daft.”
Ashley laughs. “I’d say you were a bit mad.”
A bit mad.
Love that.
“Are you comfortable sleeping in the same house as your MAD ROOMMATE?” I laugh my best evil scientist laugh, tossing my head back, ball cap falling to the ground for the second time in one night.
“I’m confident you won’t slash me in my sleep.” As if the idea is so preposterous he can’t keep the grin off his face.
Hiding my own smile, I swipe the hat from the ground and plop it back on my head.
“I hate to ask because I don’t want to spiral you, but do you kind of know when you want to move in? It’ll be easy—I have that truck and can get a few mates to help out.” He chews. Swallows. “Stewart has a truck as well.”
One his girlfriend would probably run me over with, Ariel in the passenger seat.
I consider this. I’ll go online and give my thirty days to the university. They already have my money for the semester and I won’t be getting any back for at least a few weeks, but technically there is no reason why it can’t be soon that I move in with Ashley.
Officially.
And if he is willing to help me move my stuff out of the dorms…
“Why are you being so nice?” I blurt out.
He looks up, watching me. “Why are you being so suspicious?”
Hmm. I cluck. “Why are you answering a question with a question?”
“Why are you?”
He has a valid point.
“This is getting us nowhere.”
“Nope.”
“But seriously. Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Honestly?”
No, I want you to lie.
Instead of being sarcastic, I nod. “Yes, honestly.”
“It’s fun.”
It’s fun? It’s fun.
What an odd thing to say!
“How is it fun?” When we got off on the wrong foot? When our friendship started in such a fucked-up way—a way I’m ashamed of?
He must be better at forgiveness than I would be in his position.
“I like seeing you flustered. It’s entertaining,” says the cat to the mouse.
“Entertaining.”
Ashley grins at me. “See? Now you’re doing it.”
“Doing what?” I frown.
“Making questions into statements. Fun, innit?”
I groan. “You and your strange ways of having fun. Are all boys like this in the UK?”
That earns me a laugh. “Hardly. The chaps I grew up with have no sense of humor, and if they did, they’d have been hazing right alongside you that night. My mate Charlie loves a good toilet prank—at least my humor isn’t lame jokes. I’m funny.”
He’s not though.
Not really. Not haha funny.
I’m typically laughing at his expressions when I’m laughing, his reactions to things I do and say—not the words coming out of his mouth.
So we have that in common, I suppose; we’re amused by each other.
He rises and takes my plate, stacking it on top of his. “Whenever you want to move in, say the word—except Saturday. We have a match
and I won’t be around.”
This weekend?!
He’s thinking this weekend already?
I was thinking soonish, but…
Not this weekend.
“Next weekend?” God, what am I saying? I want to snatch the words back. “Or at the beginning of the month?”
“It is the beginning of the month.”
“I meant next month. The beginning of next month.”
He pulls a face at me. “Now you’re just making excuses.”
Am I?
He’s probably right.
No, not probably—he is.
Ashley sets our plates next to the sink and I join him with our water glasses. Toss our soiled napkins in the garbage that’s at the end of the counter.
Start the faucet so the water gets warm enough I can wash the dishes.
“You don’t have to do that.” He turns the faucet off. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”
Get me home?
“But—”
“Cleaning lady comes early tomorrow.”
Say what now?
Hold up.
“I’m sorry—what?”
Surely he didn’t just say—
“Cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” he parrots in a droll tenor.
I must be losing my mind, or did I just win the proverbial college housing lottery?
“You have a cleaning lady? Why?”
He’s grabbing his truck keys off the counter by the door.
“It’s Mum’s thing. She won’t have me sleeping on dirty sheets, and she knows I won’t change them regularly.”
Okay, that makes some sense? But only if you’re rich—the rest of us mere mortals get by doing our own chores, our own laundry. Doing our own dishes, cleaning our own places.
And if we don’t, we sleep on dirty sheets and live to tell about it.
My friend Adam went an entire semester never vacuuming his room and never changing his sheets, and Adam is turning out just fine, thank you very much.
Do girls want to sleep on that? No.
Do guys care? Also no.
Ashley’s mom must be really controlling if she’s hiring people to manage his life all the way from England.
“Would this cleaning lady clean my stuff? I can’t afford to pitch in and pay her.”
His shoulders rise and fall. “She can leave your stuff be if you’re not cool with it.”
I don’t think I am—it feels like it would be taking advantage, and I have no desire to do that. Don’t want to wear out my welcome from the start and not pull my weight. Now I can’t even pitch in by scrubbing the floors, though I’m sure they’ll get dirty enough for me to spot clean.
“Thanks. It’s great though that you have…um. A person.”
Weird, but whatever. None of my business.
“Melody—that’s her name—is brilliant. She’s actually older, kind of like my mum away from home.” He smiles. “She and her husband have me over sometimes if I’m not home on holiday. Thanksgiving I went for dinner and watched the game with her family. It was quite the coze.”
That surprises me. I’d think a guy his age would spend a holiday like Thanksgiving at a kegger. I know he spends plenty of time at the rugby house, but maybe it’s because he’s…lonely?
Which is where I come in.
He doesn’t want to live alone any more than I do.
Ashley remembers where I live without me having to tell him, but duh, it’s the dorms, and you’d have to be an idiot if you got lost finding them.
When he pulls up to the curb, his arm goes up to rest on the back of my seat, his eyes glancing toward the building.
“You need me to come up and check everything you’ve got so I know how much manpower we’ll need to get you moved out?”
The thought of giant him in my tiny space makes me sweat.
“Nah, I think we’ll be good. There’s nothing massive—no bed, no couch. Will just be a few boxes and clothes.”
“If you’re sure…”
He knows I’m being polite but isn’t going to call me out on it.
I nod. “I’m sure, but thank you.” Pausing, I’m quiet for a second. “And thank you for…everything, Ashley. The tour, the food, the—”
“Don’t make this weird.” His laugh reaches his eyes as he teases me.
“I’m trying to be nice!”
“You are nice. It’s nice. Now get out of my truck.”
My mouth falls open.
“And close your mouth—it looks like you’re trying to catch flies.”
What nerve!
What a…
What a…a…an ass!
* * *
“Hey, Mom. Is Dad with you?”
I decided to call my parents as soon as I got out of the shower, while the excitement was fresh in my mind, at a time I knew they’d both be home.
In fact, I can predict what they’re doing right now at the precise moment I called, so predictable the Parkers are.
My parents are watching one home improvement show or another—probably a ‘design on a dime’ setup since they’re both avid do-it-yourselfers on a shoestring budget. The house I grew up in has had a major overhaul since my mother started bingeing those shows, forcing my father to watch, and every weekend, it’s a new project.
Build lockers in the mudroom.
Install shiplap in the kitchen. Tile the bathroom in the hallway after tearing out the linoleum. Swap out the lighting, add cans. Paint the kitchen cabinets instead of ripping them out and replacing them.
The list goes on and on—my parents never stop, and they’re always watching home improvement shows.
It’s exhausting going home.
The last thing I want to do on a weekend off is mulch the landscaping, or clean the screens, or build raised flower beds, or put up a floating shelf.
Sometimes a girl just wants to lie on the couch and loaf.
Like a normal person!
“Hey sweetie, yeah Dad’s here. We’re just getting ready to watch Fixer-Fix-Upper.”
I smile picturing them sitting side by side on the beige couch, jumbo size popcorn bag between them. “Well, just so he’s close by…there’s something I wanted to talk about.” Hastily I add, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”
My mother audibly relaxes. “What’s going on? How is school?”
We text during the day most days, but it’s not the same as getting an actual phone call.
“School is good, classes are good—it feels like an eternity and I’m excited to get done, but everything is fine. I don’t hate it.” But I don’t love it. “I just got out of the shower and I’m snuggled in my pajamas.” Which are hideous, by the way.
I make up a few more things to appease my parents as they ask about track and extracurriculars and my workout routine, hurrying through because I know they had to pause their show and will be impatient to hit play again.
“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to tell you I’m moving out of the dorm—I found a roommate, isn’t that great?” I force myself to sound peppy as I inwardly cringe, knowing what’s about to come next.
“Oh good! You’re able to break your lease with the dorm?”
“It’s not a lease with the dorm, Mom—it’s a lease with the school. Technically. And yeah I can break it. I filled out the form online before I called. It was really easy and they’ll send me a check for the months I’m not living here within fifteen days after the RA checks me out.”
I hear the popcorn bag crunching and crinkling as one of them digs their hand into it.
“Who are you living with, dear? Some girls from the team?”
I still haven’t told either of them about the hazing incident, or the fact that I can’t stand the captain.
“No, it’s not anyone from the team. It’s someone from class.”
I cringe when she asks, “Really? Who?”
“Well. That’s why I’m calling.” I clear my throat uncomfortably. “This is going to surprise you, but I want you
to trust me.” Wait, that sounded horrible. “What I meant was, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“You’re not moving into a crack den, are you?” My dad laughs in the background because they’ve obviously got me on speaker, both of them sharing the joke.
“Dad,” I scold, waiting for the pair to stop giggling at themselves.
“Sorry, pumpkin. What were you saying?”
My stomach is a ball of nerves, and they’re not making it any easier by cracking jokes—I just have to spit it out and be done with it. Rip the Band-Aid off, as they say.
One.
Two.
Two and a half…
“My new roommate is a guy.” I blurt out the news, instantaneously holding my breath.
I hear the sound of chewing.
“Hello?”
“Oh,” Mom says. “We thought there was more to the announcement.”
More to the announcement? “So you’re not mad?”
Crunch, crunch. “Mad about what? Are you dating the guy?”
“No, I’m not dating the guy—I would have told you I was seeing someone.”
More crunching.
“Hello?”
“Sorry, Dad hit play and they’re installing concrete countertops in this old farmhouse. I was thinking we could do a bar in the basement…” Her voice trails off as the wheels in her creative mind begin to churn.
“Guys, I’m trying to talk to you.”
It goes quiet on their end as Dad hits pause on the remote.
“And go,” Mom says again.
I open my mouth, floundering. I shared my big announcement and they had little to say about it, so… “I just thought you’d be upset.”
“Do you want us to be upset?”
“No, I want you to be okay with it.”
“Is this one of those things you used to do in high school, where your friends would ask you to do something and you would say ‘My parents said I can’t go’ even though you never actually asked us if you could go?”
She’s chomping away on popcorn, chewing and chatting with her mouth full.
“Is Mom right, pumpkin?”
Er. Maybe.
Although I’m not quite sure what I would have done if my parents weren’t on board with me living with Ashley. Would I back out? Was I looking for a reason to?