Roommates With Benefits

by Nicole Williams

  Why was I about to cry all over again over a bunch of wilted daisies?

  I didn’t have time to analyze my answer before the other end clicked.

  “Hello?” It wasn’t a voice I was expecting to hear.

  Checking my phone, I made sure I’d punched in the right number. Soren’s name was at the top of the screen.

  “Hell-oo?” The same voice, just the most impatient version of the word.

  Before I could reply, I heard some shuffling in the background. “Hayden?”

  My lungs released. Okay, this was the voice I’d been expecting to hear.

  Those lungs contracted back up when I realized a girl had answered Soren’s phone.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  He sounded like he was trying to move somewhere quieter. “I’ve been trying to call you all night. Did you make it into New York?”

  My head shook. “Who just answered the phone, Soren?”

  From his silence, I knew before he said it. “Alex. That was Alex.”

  My hand dropped to the table, needing it to support me. “Why is Alex answering your phone?”

  He exhaled. “She wasn’t supposed to answer my phone, but she took that upon herself since I left it on the table when I ran to the bathroom.”

  Nothing he was saying was making me feel any better. “Where are you?”

  “Some pizza parlor next to the hotel we’re staying at for the night. The whole team came over to have dinner.”

  Pizza. Dinner. The team. I repeated that to myself a few times to calm myself down after hearing some other woman answer my boyfriend’s phone. The very woman I already had a thing or two against, based on the fact that she looked at Soren like she wanted to make him hers.

  I was trying to figure out what to say next when I noticed something scattered around the table. A big envelope was ripped open, the contents spread out around it. All of it, from the one-way plane ticket to the condo listings to the ball cap, had one thing in common—Miami.

  “Are you still at the airport? Your flight must have come in late again, right?”

  Soren’s voice drifted into the background as I shuffled through the rest of the papers. One of the condo listings pages had one of them circled with the words “all yours” scribbled by the pending sale box. A list of city highlights, the team’s stats—there was even a demographic sheet of the city’s occupants. Another circle over the ratio of single males to females, the number of woman staggeringly outnumbering the guys.

  I crashed into the chair behind me, curling into my stomach for the second time that night.

  “Because I need to talk to you about something before you head to the apartment. I need to—”

  “Tell me you’re leaving?” My eyes lifted to the one-way airline ticket on top of the pile. “In eleven days?”

  On the other end? Silence.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? You promised you’d fucking tell me.” My back shook as familiar pain coursed through me. “When were you going to tell me? When I flew home the next time you weren’t here to meet me and I walked into an empty apartment?”

  “Hayden—”

  “You swore you wouldn’t do this. You promised me you wouldn’t bail on me the way he did. You swore to me!” My back shook as sobs erupted, despite the lack of tears left to shed.

  “Hayden, what’s wrong?” His voice was concerned, anxious, not at all the one I’d expected to hear from him right now—the one that accepted he’d just been caught. “What happened?”

  My head fell into my hands, my eyes clamping closed. I needed to tell someone. I needed to tell him. But I couldn’t. He didn’t deserve my secrets anymore. He didn’t deserve my dark, and he didn’t deserve my light. I’d given them both and he’d let them wilt where he’d left them.

  “What happened is that I just realized what a fool I’ve been for letting myself fall in love with you.”

  “Why does that make you a fool?” From his voice, I could tell he had to force his jaw to unlock with each word.

  “Because you’re not the person I thought you were. You’re not the man you promised me you were.”

  “And you’ve realized all of that from some paperwork scattered around a table? Papers you have no idea what they have to do or not do with me?” Anger was coming through in his voice, which only spurred my own into being.

  “Given the name S. Decker is listed on the front of the envelope all of this junk came out of, yeah, I think I know exactly what all of this has to do with you.”

  “You think you know,” Soren said slowly, a puff of air coming from him right after. “Ellis told me about Paris. Did you know that? He told me about the flat you’ve put a down payment on.”

  “What?” The turn in the conversation shocked me out of my anger. “When did he tell you that?” My fingers rubbed my forehead as I felt my whole life falling down in pieces around me.

  “A while ago. Another play to take me out of the game, no doubt.” He paused, sounding like he’d just shoved through some door. “I figured you had your reasons. I gave you the benefit of the doubt that you’d explain your side of it to me when the time was right instead of calling you up and flaming you over the phone.”

  I’d been waiting for—dreading—this moment from the beginning. But I never would have guessed that this would be how we’d end. With an emotion-fraught phone call on the same night we’d planned to spend together.

  “I haven’t decided on Paris. I haven’t made my decision.” When I found myself staring at the wilted daisies, I made myself look away. “But clearly you have decided.”

  He’d been about to say something but stopped himself. All I heard was his uneven breathing for the next few moments. “I keep telling you I’m not your dad. Stop treating me like I am.”

  My dad. He was behind me. Why did Soren want to keep pulling him to the front?

  “Then stop acting like him.” An explosion erupted from me then, resulting in me shoving the table as hard as I could. Its legs whined across the floor, and half the contents on it toppled to the floor when it came to a stop.

  “Yeah.” From his voice, I knew. I’d lost him. “And I finally just accepted that you’re never going to believe me.”

  Neither of us said a word, but it was deafening.

  My jaw worked. “Say it.”

  “You’re the one who made the call. You say it.”

  Saying the words wouldn’t change anything—but it would give us both closure. And they were the words I always knew I’d have to say to him—they were the ones I’d practiced in my head. I knew it. He was learning it too.

  Love like this didn’t last. It couldn’t. It was only a matter of time, similar to planting a flower in the dark and expecting it to flourish. Life couldn’t bloom from darkness. I’d never realized how much of it I carried inside me until I was forced to confront the end of our relationship.

  “It’s over, Soren.” I spoke each word slowly, like a vow.

  “There wasn’t anything to be over, Hayden. I just realized that finally too.” Where mine was empty of emotion, his voice swam with too much. “You’ve been trying to tell me that the whole time, right? Message finally fucking received.”

  I pushed myself from the chair, forcing myself to turn my back to the life we’d created inside this small, crummy apartment. “Enjoy Miami.”

  “Enjoy Paris.” He’d barely finished before the line went dead.

  What we fear losing most, we almost always wind up losing because of that fear.

  That was something I’d learned over the past month from talking to someone about my issues stemming from my dad’s departure. Those same issues I’d spent years convincing myself I’d tucked away so they didn’t affect me, were the same ones that had been steering my life’s ship for years. I’d tried so hard to put him behind me, and in so doing, I’d only given him that much more power in my present.

  Of course I’d realized that a month too late to do any good for my relationship with Soren, b
ut as my counselor reminded me, if I hadn’t lost something so big, I might never have realized I had a problem that needed to be addressed.

  That was what was on my mind as I climbed out of the subway tunnel near the apartment. It was a hot, muggy day, a stark contrast to the first day I’d arrived.

  My fear of being abandoned had driven him away before he could leave of his own choice. The better-to-leave-than-be-left mentality of people who struggled with the issues I did. It had cost me dearly, and I never wanted to pay the same price again. I wanted to fix myself as much as I could. That was why I talked with someone twice a week and currently had an impressive, virtual stack of self-improvement books on my e-reader. I’d made it through most of them already too.

  I wasn’t foolish enough to think that spilling my guts to a therapist or devouring self-help books would cure me of my demons, but they’d opened a window to healing myself. It was up to me to keep clearing the dead spaces to make room for new life.

  As I climbed the steps to the sixth floor, I found myself taking each one slowly, almost savoring them. This would be the last time I’d ever climb these endless, decrepit things. Funny how the things we thought we despised could become nostalgic through the scope of new eyes.

  I hadn’t been back to the apartment since the night I’d left it in such a hurry a month ago. I’d been in France the whole time. He hadn’t tried to call or make any kind of contact. Why would he? I’d pushed him away, and he’d stayed where I’d driven him. Away.

  He must have been in Miami by now. I didn’t know for sure, and another wave of nostalgia overcame me when I reached the top floor and accepted that the person I’d cared so deeply for had a life I had no claim in anymore. I didn’t have the right to know where he was or what he was up to or how he was doing.

  That was exactly why relationships were so damn hard. One minute, a person could be your everything, and the next, they were gone.

  As I turned the key in the lock, I found myself glancing down the hall toward Mrs. Lopez’s apartment. I wondered, now that we were both gone, if anyone gave her a hand. I hoped so. From the way her door looked freshly painted, I guessed someone had stepped into the empty space Soren had left.

  Steeling myself before entering, I reminded myself I could do this, then I moved inside the apartment. I was surprised to find myself feeling relief instead of the opposite as I breathed in the familiar scents and took in the familiar sights. It was the sensation of coming home.

  To say good-bye.

  I’d brought a few boxes to pack up my belongings—the old duffel I’d arrived with could hold the rest. I’d put this off until the last possible day. Tomorrow was the last one of our lease.

  When I glanced into the kitchen, I was surprised to find some dishes and cups still scattered around the counter. I saw the same thing when I came into the main space. All of Soren’s things were still there—at least most of them.

  The ache in my chest that manifested from seeing an old pair of his sneakers against the wall sent me back a few steps. My eyes traveled to his favorite pillow he used to share with me—or swing at me, depending on the mood we were in—still resting on the mattress.

  He’d left it all behind. He didn’t want any of it.

  Accepting what he’d left made me wonder what I was doing there. What was I there for? I’d left nothing of value to be packed. Clothes, secondhand dishes, a mismatched assortment of décor.

  Memories.

  Those were here too. In everything I looked at. Each and every item had some memory attached to it, and there was its value. That was what I was packing to take with me.

  The memories. They were all I had left of Soren Decker. They were more than I was entitled to.

  The first box had just been folded and taped when the sound of the lock turning over in the door made me still. It was probably the furtive landlord come a day early to check on the place, but when I heard the first few steps move inside, I knew who it was. I’d memorized the way he moved before I’d accepted that I’d fallen for him.

  He moved into the room, distracted by the mail he was sorting through. He didn’t notice me until he was passing by the table. He stopped abruptly, his whole body stiffening. When his head turned, his hands curled around the mail.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Those were the first words he’d said to me in thirty days. Not hello. Not good-bye. Not how are you doing.

  What are you doing here?

  It made me ask myself the same question. What am I doing here?

  Trying to act like the pain of seeing him wasn’t about to murder me, I got back to pretending to arrange items in the next box I had sitting on the table. “Packing. I’m sorry. If I’d known you’d be coming back today to pack too, we could have worked out different times so we didn’t have to . . .” I swallowed. “You know. Do this.”

  “I’m not here to pack.” Soren’s voice was guarded as he stayed where he was, a distance away from me.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I needed a shower.”

  When he motioned at himself, I noticed the state he was in. Dirty, sweaty, disheveled—like he used to come home from practice. Instead of the red-and-white one I was used to seeing him in, he was wearing a black-and-white uniform today. The gear bag had changed too. A different number was embroidered below his name.

  He must have caught me staring because he patted the new number before dropping the bag on the floor. “I got drafted.”

  “To which team?”

  “You already know which team, right? That’s what you shouted at me over the phone last month, at least.” His eyes refused to come my way, his body seeming of the same mind. I noticed him backing into the wall behind him.

  “I owe you an apology for that call.”

  “You owe me an apology for a hell of a lot more than just that call.” As soon as it was out, he grimaced, grinding his jaw.

  “So the team in Miami?” I stayed focused on packing so I didn’t fixate on the pain surging inside me.

  “Good luck to them. They’re going to need it when playing against me.”

  My head lifted.

  His shoulders moved. “The Miami team was hoping to sign me. Hoping. If I made it to number three in the draft.” That was when his eyes finally met mine. They didn’t stay there long. “I went number two.”

  “Number two?” I repeated, struggling to make sense of what he was saying.

  “Some leftie pitcher got the number one pick.” Soren huffed. “Too bad for him, because Texas sucks in the summer.”

  My hands were still wrapped around the vase I’d been setting in the box. “You aren’t leaving?”

  He scooted his hat farther down when I caught his forehead creasing as he watched me pack. “I’m not leaving.”

  He wasn’t lying or messing with me. I could tell by his face. I’d been able to tell from the very beginning, actually. Soren was the open book—I was the sealed shut kind.

  “But . . .” That was all I could come up with. I had nothing else.

  “You have no idea how the draft works, do you?”

  “You get drafted?” I said, still reeling. I might have known a bit more from what I’d learned from Soren, but not much.

  “I explained it all to you.” He shoved off the wall and wandered into the kitchen. “That one night after . . .”

  Thankfully he was in the kitchen, so he didn’t see the heat rush into my face from what he was getting at. Having the mattress right in front of me made it that much easier to picture.

  “I might have fallen asleep,” I said. “Like I tended to do after . . . that.”

  He snorted. “Probably not the best time to go into a drawn-out explanation of the complicated draft process.”

  My feet shifted. “So you have no say at all?”

  “In team? Not really.” His voice echoed from the kitchen. “But I do when it comes to saying yes or no, and I meant what I said when I told you it was a conversa
tion we’d have together if I got drafted by a team way the hell away from here.”

  When he emerged from the kitchen, he had a couple bottles of water and a fresh package of his favorite food. I’d never been able to pass a display of Nutter Butters in a grocery store and not think about him.

  “Of course we break up and I get drafted by a local franchise.” He ripped open the end of the bag after setting the waters on the table. “God, I hate irony.”

  Letting go of the vase, my hands curled around the edge of the box. He wasn’t moving to Miami? A local team had picked him up?

  Everything I’d feared happening hadn’t happened at all.

  I’d lost him, but for all the wrong reasons.

  I shook my head as I got back to packing, pretending my life wasn’t falling apart all over again.

  “You got picked second?” I asked in an attempt to carry on a casual conversation as I finished what I needed to get done.

  “Pretty great, right?” His chin lifted as he pulled a handful of cookies from the package.

  I gently placed my favorite coffee cup into the box. “Actually, I can’t believe you didn’t get picked first.”

  He was quiet for a moment, watching me. “See? That’s what I love—loved—about you.” He cleared his throat and took a drink of water. “Always thinking I was better than anyone else did. Even myself.”

  “That’s because you are. You are better than anyone else.” My hand gestured at him, but I was having a difficult time looking at him. It was hard to look at what I’d lost—especially when it was three feet away. “I’m sorry for what I said—the way things went down. I should have given you a chance to explain instead of ruining this—us.” A sigh sneaked out as I focused on packing one item at a time. “The best thing I had going for me in my life.”

  “Also had that international supermodel standing, too.” Instead of stuffing his mouth with that handful of cookies, he set them on the table. It was the first time I’d seen him too distracted to devour a fistful of his beloved cookies.