Roomie Wars Box Set

“You didn’t do anything wrong, the whole night was not what I had in mind,” she finally admits.

I watch her, confused. “You were the one who wanted to make him jealous. I just did what you wanted.”

“I know. Maybe we took it too far.”

“Well, I’m willing to move past it if you can. It’s not like we had sex, Zo. So, we kissed, and I grabbed your ass. No biggie, right?”

“No biggie,” she copies with a softer tone, pursing her lips.

“Okay, so let’s just forget it. I can’t handle you being like this with me. And look, I’m sorry about hitting Jess. He just…” I trail off unable to find the words to describe how much of a scumbag he actually is.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have acted like a child. What’s the point of making someone jealous?”

“Exactly.”

I breathe a sigh of relief that maybe we can move past this. Also, that she will see Jess for who he truly is and learn from her mistakes. I know not to push her any further, and hopefully, this will blow over and things will go back to normal.

She doesn’t say another word taking the cart from me and moving toward the deli section where she peruses the cheeses. I wasn’t about to point out all the fat in the cheese she’s staring at, and instead bring up her birthday since it’s only two weeks away.

“So… what are your plans for your big three-oh?” I ask, switching the subject.

“I was thinking of having it at that new amusement park that opened up. It’s supposed to be really good.”

“As in rides and cotton candy?”

“No, as in unicorns and cocaine.”

“Ha, ha,” I mock her. “I haven’t been on a rollercoaster since I was like ten.”

“It’s like riding a bike… you never forget. It’ll be an intimate party, maybe just a few of us.” Her mood picks up a little, a smile gracing her lips.

“The last time you used the words ‘intimate affair,’ fifty people showed up, and you almost got evicted from that Italian restaurant.”

“Geez, Dad. Lighten up. I’m turning thirty, not twenty-one.”

“Dirty thirties, isn’t that what they say?” I tease.

“Who says that?” she questions like I just told her I committed a murder and buried the body somewhere in the bush.

“Uh… people? Don’t get oversensitive about it. It’s just a number.”

“Of course, you would say that. You’re only twenty-eight.”

She drops a massive block of cheddar cheese into the cart. I wait seconds, maybe a minute tops, before I open my mouth.

“Do you even know how bad that is for you?”

“What? The cheese?”

“Yes, the cheese.” I roll my eyes at her, removing the block and placing it back on the shelf.

“You know,” she says, hesitating. “Friends don’t make their friends eat low-fat cheese. And you are my friend, aren’t you?”

Standing beside the cart with her arms folded, she waits for me to answer. What kind of question is this? And why did she drag out the word ‘friend?’ I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this again, another secret or emotion she’s holding back.

So what do I do?

What most guys would do in this situation, I grab the cheese and throw it back into the cart, not wanting to fuel the beast any further.