“Well, at least you and your roommate will be cozy,” points out Stefan. “It’ll be great.”
“Assuming you like your roommate,” I throw in.
He’s going to have fun. No, really, he will. This is great.
Despite my doubts, though, Rudy looks excited as he drags in his bags and starts unpacking. Stefan and I share a look, then shrug and join him in getting his things sorted. Inwardly fighting off the inevitable eclipse of claustrophobic freak-out, we get to unpacking all of Rudy’s things into the closet. Sorry, not closet; cubbyhole. These students get a cubbyhole. It’s adorable. It can fit approximately three small outfits and maybe half a pair of underwear. Just a half, though. Let’s not get carried away.
And Rudy can just forget having anywhere to store his socks. Who needs them anyway?
Suddenly, I’m struck by memories of my first day moving into a dorm. The fear of who my roommate would be terrified me the worst. I had hoped my roommate was sweet. And hopefully quiet. And studied. Like, a lot. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t have minded a total nerd. Please, please, please give me one. I was a nerd, pretty much. We would have clicked perfectly. I had bet he’d even like to read sci-fi/fantasy. Maybe his name would be Martin. Or Kaleb with a “K”.
Rudy doesn’t seem to have any of those fears.
Or he’s just as good at masking his feelings as Stefan is.
Sitting on Rudy’s mystery-roommate’s bed, I look up at Stefan still unpacking a box of books and find his eyes glazed over in a similar way to mine. I wonder if he’s thinking the same things as me, reflecting on his college days.
That was a time of our life that we didn’t share. It hurts a bit, to think of that. I don’t want to spend another part of my life not sharing everything together.
I love Stefan Baker with all my heart.
And tonight, I’m going to make it permanent.
Two dudes tackle each other in front of the open door, which draws all our attention to them. They laugh, slam against the wall, then run off while calling each other names, their heavy feet causing the floor to shake as they bound away.
“Close call,” I murmur. “You almost had a guy with elephant-stampede feet for a roommate.”
“Here we are!” says a sweet mother who appears suddenly at the door.
Stefan straightens up and I rise off the bed while Rudy turns to face his new roommate. A totally boring young guy stands at his mother’s side. I’ve never been more happy for Rudy than to see someone as boring as this John Doe is, who’ll totally not be a problem for a roommate. This poor dork has parted blond hair, a green t-shirt, and a—
“Oh, wait, no,” chirps his mother. “You’re in 1618. Two doors down this way. Sorry.” She puts a hand on her son’s back and guides him away.
Rudy sighs.
This anticipation is killing me, too.
Before long, we have everything of Rudy’s unpacked, and we’re sitting around his room waiting for nothing in particular. The noise of other families moving in echoes through the hall, the footsteps of people carrying heavy things shaking the room.
“You guys don’t have to stay,” Rudy tells us. “I’ll be fine, no matter who my roommate is.”
“Maybe he’ll be half as cool as you, if he’s lucky,” teases Stefan as he ruffs up his brother’s hair—much to his annoyance.
“Not everyone can have a best buddy as close as you two,” says Rudy, his eyes shifting between us. “You two are lucky to have found each other. You especially, Stefan,” he adds with a smirk at his brother. “Ryan makes you a better person. I don’t even remember the last time you got drunk.”
“Christmas Eve party two years ago,” Stefan recites. “But that was because of Ryan’s ‘special adults-only eggnog’ he insisted on bringing.”
I laugh at the memory. “I think I was a little heavy-handed on the alcohol.”
The pair of us smile at one another across the room—which is really just a few feet apart, considering the cramped size of it. Rudy’s words, which couldn’t have been better timed, are clearly resonating with Stefan, considering the deep, misty-eyed way in which he’s looking at me right now.
I’m so fucking in love with that man.
After giving Rudy our goodbyes and wishing him luck, we slowly make our way back down the sixteen flights of stairs. The sun breaks over our faces like hot yolk from a cracked-open egg as we push across the courtyard toward the parking lot. My back is sticky from sweat just from the short walk.
“What’re you acting all weird for?” asks Stefan on the long drive back to Newmont.
“I’m not acting weird. I’m just … thinking about time and … college days …”
“And how crazy different it would have been if we attended together?” finishes Stefan for me.