CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Clare, you have a visitor,” Drew yells from downstairs.
I sigh and snuggle back under the covers. Over the last two days I’ve found myself in bed any moment I wasn’t at the center trying to calm the fears of everyone there. My idea of hiding under the covers seemed the reasonable choice for dealing with my own insecurities and sadness. Saturday morning is my time to lie in bed and wallow. Everyone should get a good wallow period after a breakup, right? I haven’t had a chance to really wallow.
Footsteps pound on the stairs, the walls shaking. I hold my breath and wait to find out if it’s one RDA girl who showed up or if they came with the whole crew. I didn’t make the breakup public knowledge, but I’m sure it’s made the rounds by now. They have alarm devices implanted on them that light up whenever anyone’s in trouble. Although, if I’m honest, having girlfriends right now isn’t so bad. There’s a chance they brought ice cream. Please let them have ice cream.
And liquor.
Drew’s head clears my doorway, but he stops before entering my room. Which is suspicious. “You need to go downstairs and talk to him.”
I sit up in bed. “You did not?” My best friend in the entire world is not stupid enough to let Grant Moore III in our house.
“What was I supposed to do, Clare? He’s taken up station on our front porch.”
He did. I can’t believe he did. “I have nothing else to say to him.”
“Well then let him talk,” Drew says and then his head disappears. His door shuts across the hall a few seconds later.
There’s nothing more either of us should have to say to one another. Grant had his chance to explain Thursday. I’ve watched what happens to a woman when she loses herself for a man and I’m determined to never let it happen to me.
I throw back the covers and slide my sock-covered feet out of bed. I’ve been unable to get warm since Thursday night. The rain seeped into my skin reducing my core temperature. I tug on my red flannel pajama pants pulling them up so I look a bit put together. The Giants t-shirt I stole from Grant after the baseball game is another matter. I’m unwilling to let him see me wearing it so I hurry to throw on a clean sweatshirt. The San Francisco Youth Center’s logo is prominently displayed on the left side as another reminder to Grant of his actions. I have to live with them every day. So should he.
My feet are slow going down the steps. Grant stands in the entryway and I stop before I make it to him. There are dark circles under his eyes and he hasn’t put gel in his hair this morning. The strands cling to the side more from his fingers than the style. He’s wearing his normal Grant gear — a pair of jeans and a dark blue polo shirt — but the shirt is at least two sizes too big. Frankly he looks like hell. Which is hard for Grant.
It’s nice to know he’s as affected by our breakup as I am. As soon as the words crawl into my brain space, I mentally slap myself. I’m not ready to hit the angry phase of this breakup. I’m still in the middle of sadness. I haven’t had the wallow yet.
“Clare,” he says my name and takes a step forward, but I raise a hand out to block the path.
I’m not strong enough for Grant to touch me. If I allow that, we’ll end up in a hug, and then I’ll cry and get snot all over his shirt. It will be horrible and in the end it won’t change anything.
He lowers his hands and turns back to the open front door. On the porch sit two large brown boxes stacked on top of one another. In front of them a large vase of lilies. The clear crystal vase is like the one I threw away last night when I came down for dinner. I don’t need any more reminders of Grant in my house.
“I brought gifts.”
I huff at whatever he’s collected out there. “I don’t want gifts.”
“I need to say I’m sorry.”
The empty cavity in my chest where I used to store a heart hurts. Physical pain travels through my body. The pain has to stop. I’ll do anything to make it stop and get back to my pre-Grant life. “And what gifts did you bring to say you’re sorry?”
Grant smiles, probably because he thinks I’m going to love his apology. More proof he doesn’t get me at all. He walks to the front door and steps over the threshold stopping on the other side of the porch.
My steps follow him, but not completely out. A hand lands on the door handle and I meet his eyes for a second before I say, “I’m sorry.” The door shuts, my hand refusing to let go right away.
He knocks on the wood. “Clare, don’t be this way.”
Slower, because I’m a little more dead inside, I latch the deadbolt and turn, walk up the stairs, and crawl into bed. The blankets cover my face and block out the light. I prefer to live in darkness for the time being.
“That was shitty.” Drew rips the covers off my body and deposits them at my feet.
I grab at the pile and try to pull them up but he sits on the end of my bed. “It’s funny how you want to tell me what’s shitty. How about the person I thought was my best friend who let him in to begin with?”
“So this is how you plan to go on for the rest your life? You run away whenever there’s a problem.”
“It’s worked for me so far.” I make one last ditch attempt to reach the covers and tug as hard as possible, but Drew doesn’t budge. I sit up, agitated that not only am I cold again, but my best friend is a moron.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”
“You’re supposed to be the supportive one,” I lob my insult back.
Drew stands up from the bed and takes the covers with him. “I’ve supported you through a lot of crap, Clare. But this decision is by far the dumbest one you’ve ever made.”
“Excuse me? How is standing up for my morals dumb?”
“You’re dumping Grant because you guys got serious, and you got scared.”
My mouth drops open. “I am not. I broke up with Grant because he bought Del Fray to use their technology and then closed the plant. He’s laid off employees without a single drop of concern.”
Drew’s expression now matches my own. “He did what?”
The few moments of adrenaline from our fight drain away leaving me more exhausted. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Drew, but I couldn’t stay with Grant and go to work on Monday morning.”
“He didn’t tell me that part of the story. Just you were upset and broke up with him without letting him fix the problem. Are you sure he bought the factory?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I breathe out the words and lie back. “I need my best friend right now. I need you to be on my side not on his.”
Drew pushes me to the side of the bed and crawls in pulling the covers up around us. “I am and forever will be on your side, Clare. Grant is now dead to any of us who live in this house.” He squeezes me in a hug sure to do damage to my ribs from the tightness.
“We don’t need to go so far. Just don’t open the door for him anymore, please.”
“Done. And to make up for my mistake, I’ll cook you bacon for lunch. Put it on a sandwich.”
The chime from the front doorbell punctuates the end of his words. “If you let him in the house again we will have problems,” I say to Drew as he eyes my open door with distrust.
He pats my bedspread, missing my leg by a few inches. “Don’t worry I think it’s someone better.” He pauses for a moment. “Or worse. It depends on how you look at it.”
“I don’t know what that means but I’m worried.” I throw the covers off and follow him down the stairs my stomach tight with question.
He laughs. “It’s not what you think. I scheduled a tour for our potential new roommate today.”
“If you’re lying and it’s Grant I’m moving out.”
Drew stops at the bottom of the steps waiting for me to catch up to him. “I promise I won’t open the door for Grant while you’re here. Come meet our new roommate. He’ll be invading our kitchen and bathroom soon.”
Drew is way too happy about getting a new roommate. If he hadn’t already said it was a he I’d expect a platinum bottle blonde on the other side of the door.
“Where did you find this one?” I should probably change out of the flannel pajamas and sweatshirt, but it’s Saturday morning and if this guy is going to live here, it’s a sight he should get used to seeing.
Drew stops for a second in the entryway. “Craigslist. Where else?”
Craigslist. Of course. I roll my eyes but have a big and bright smile on my face by the time he opens the door.
It doesn’t last long. I blink to make sure the man doesn’t disappear. Someone is playing a practical joke on us. There’s no other reason for the white guy television version of Urkel to be on our front porch.
His light-colored jeans are held up by a pair of rainbow suspenders you’d only find in a bad nineties TV show. My eyes stop abruptly on the white piece of cardboard sticking out from his white dress shirt pocket. The man is wearing a pocket protector. I didn’t think those were a real product. Where do you buy a pocket protector? My smile fades as I contemplate the company who is selling these to people. Haven’t they ever heard of a pen cap?
“Jesse, come right in. Did you have trouble finding the place?” Drew is first to recover from his shock.
Jesse uses an index finger to push his glasses further up his nose. “You weren’t lying when you said the big blue Victorian would be hard to miss.” The words sound snotty.
This house is a piece of architectural greatness. He better hope he didn’t snub it. Drew pats me on the shoulder, aware I’m seconds away from kicking our potential new roommate out. This place is my baby, and it costs as much as one to live here, too.
“Well, let us give you a tour of the place.” With both hands on my shoulders Drew turns me around. “As you see the large living room,” he says as we walk toward the kitchen his arm gesturing to the left.
“Do you often keep the curtains open like that?”
Drew’s steps stall, and he whips his head to the left looking at the curtains. “Uh… I don’t know.” We share a look between us, and I lift a shoulder in response. He’s on his own for this one.
Jesse makes a clicking sound like he’s tapped his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “From the way this home is set and the angle your TV is placed, there would be a strong glare in the evening hours from the setting sun. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it interfering with your ability to watch television.”
I move my head to the side and view our living room in a whole new way. He’s right. At times in the evening it’s hard to see the picture on the TV.
“We’ll keep it in mind.” Drew continues his walk into the kitchen obviously not planning out a new living room furniture layout as I am. “It’s your basic kitchen. Between the three of us we share cooking utensils and then we each get one shelf in the fridge and a cupboard for our other goods.”
Drew finishes his point by opening the empty cupboard assigned to our last remaining roommate.
“We ask you do your own dishes after you finish cooking.” I throw in to be helpful.
I flash a smile hoping Drew will see what a help I’m being, but his attention is stolen by Jesse opening the refrigerator door and poking his head in.
“What temperature do you keep the refrigerator?”
Drew looks back at me like he’s expecting me to give an answer. “Um… Well I think there’s a thermometer in there… somewhere.”
Jesse clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth again. “Not having a refrigerator set to the correct temperature can be deadly. Too cold and your foods freeze. Too warm and you’re setting up a party for salmonella.”
I wring my hands while Drew and I exchange guilty looks. What have I been doing with my adult life? I make a silent pledge to research refrigerator controls tonight as long as we don’t get salmonella poisoning before then.
“Okay then.” Drew ushers us out of the room.
We trudge upstairs with Drew leading the way and me keeping up the rear. Jesse stops on a step about halfway up and does two short bounces. I brace waiting for him to turn around and tell us about how deadly our stairs are. Can we have a termite problem in the city? Thankfully, he keeps walking not giving us more helpful knowledge.
Drew stops and opens the door to the bathroom we share on this floor. Jesse peeks his head in before rubbing a single finger across his jawline.
“What does the shower schedule look like?” he asks.
Once again Drew stammers for an answer. “We don’t have one. Everyone takes a shower when they need one.”
“You mean you don’t have assigned times?” Jesse asks like it’s the worst admission he’s heard his entire life. “How long does the water heater last?”
This time Drew answers with confidence. “We’ve never had a problem with hot water.”
“How large is the water heater?”
Drew’s cocky smile fades. “I don’t know. About your average size.” He uses a hand to indicate a height but keeps moving it up and down not settling in one area. Proof he’s never looked at our water heater.
I stifle a laugh behind a hand. If he wasn’t so obviously flustered, I’d openly dig on him for not knowing.
“Do you know, Clare?” Drew asks, obviously aware I’m laughing at him.
Oh crap. “It’s… well… this big.” I use my hands to make random size estimates like Drew but we know I’m full of shit.
Jesse clicks his damn tongue again. “At my current place we calculated out how many gallons of water the heater held and how many gallons you used in a five-minute shower and then divided up our time equally. It was the best way to ensure we each had hot water in the mornings.”
“Five-minute showers?”
Drew’s mouth drops open. “Yeah, we aren’t going to do that here.”
“Hmmmm.” Jesse makes the now familiar noise, his lips not moving. He’s obviously not pleased with Drew’s answer, but I agree that sounds like a ridiculous amount of work.
“Does that work well for you at your current place?” I ask.
Jesse nods his head excitedly. “Yes. Before we implemented the time controls, getting ready every morning was a nightmare. Since we implemented the timers it’s been fine.”
I choke on some spit and sputter. “You use actual timers?”
“Yes, that way I don’t need to stand outside the door and keep track myself.”
My eyes narrow as I stare at Drew hopeful he catches my look’s meaning. This guy is a crazy person. No way we are living with him. Drew shakes his head, and makes the sign for money, his two fingers rubbing together. I’d rather get a second job than have my showers timed.
“You have a great system with your current roommates. Why would you want to move?”
Like we don’t already know the answer to this. He’s obviously crazy and his other roommates have decided he either needs to move out or they’re going to hack his body into pieces and hide him the basement. A decision I’m sure Drew and I will face soon enough if he moves in here.
“It’s a horrible affair, really.” He clicks his tongue one more time and I envision ripping it out of his mouth. “One of the roommates let his girlfriend buy him a cat. Even though it was expressly stated in the contract no pets. Everyone voted to allow him to keep it, but I can’t live there knowing I’m breathing air from a litter box.”
Yeah right. I’m sure the ingenious person who brought home the cat knew it would scare off the real-life Sheldon Cooper. Even though I won’t allow Jesse to live with us — I’ll bring home Mittens if need be — Drew takes the time to show him the spare empty bedroom. He even answers his concerns about there not being enough electrical plugs in the room.
I stay quiet for the rest of the tour sending Mr. Psychopath away with another fake smile. Drew closes the door with a promise to call him soon and I throw a random penny from the kitchen table at him. It hits him in the neck and bounces off, rolling on the floor.
“What the fuck?” He bats at the penny but much too late.
“He is not moving in here,” I say like I didn’t attack him with cheap currency.
Drew bends down and picks up the penny, narrowing his eyes at me. “We don’t have a choice, Clare. We need a new roommate yesterday and trust me when I say he’s the top choice.”
“Can’t we get a nice normal person?” What serial killer people have applied for this place if he considers Jesse to be the best?
“Have you looked around the city? No one here is normal. We live on a piece of rock that is one earthquake away from falling into the ocean. And we pay outrageous rents on places that will crumble with us in them when the mother quake hits.”
I roll my eyes at his ridiculous worry. At times he hates the city, but he’d never consider anywhere else home. “Let’s give it a few more days and see if anyone else applies, please.”
Drew sighs. “Fine, but it’s going to be Jesse so brace yourself now.”
“Thanks, dear. I owe you one.” I turn intending to go upstairs.
“You will owe me more than one. Like five hundred when we need you to cover half of the missing rent next month.”
“I have a feeling you’ll find someone by then.” I really, really hope he finds someone by then. There isn’t much in my savings account, but if it means one more month without Jesse, I’ll cut the check.
“Where are you going?” His words stall my steps.
“Back to bed.” Drew knows I’m not one to sleep away a weekend, but if he’s smart, he’s not going to question it this time.
“I’ll bring you up bacon for lunch,” Drew yells up the stairs. It’s good to know my best friend understands my needs.
“Ice cream! Not bacon.”