Roomie Wars Box Set

“Zoey?” she asks, smiling as she says her name.

“How did you know?”

“Because you’d be a fool not to see it. Every time the two of you are in a room, there’s this spark. It’s cute.”

“Cute is not what I’m looking for.”

“You know what I mean. So, what’s the problem? You guys already live together. You know each other better than anyone else.”

“Let’s see. Number one… her ex, Jess. She’s still in love with him,” I point out, trying to control my anger as I say his name.

“Are you sure about that?”

If yesterday taught me anything, revenge is also code for ‘I still love him and want him back.’ She still hasn’t denied any of my accusations, and her odd behavior only confirmed it. “I think so.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound very convincing. What else?”

“She doesn’t think of me that way. She always refers to me as just her friend, brother, or roomie,” I complain.

“She could be in denial. Have you spoken to her about it?”

“Yes. No. It’s awkward. Why can’t I get her out of my head?”

Fuck! Did I just admit that out loud?

That I have feelings for my roommate? Feelings like a crush or something.

It’s not like I’m in love with her. Am I?

The barista hands us our coffees, and we both stand at the counter with our sachets of sugar. I tap the packet gently, rip it open then pour it in, simultaneously stirring it.

“Drew. The question is… do you have anything to lose by expressing your feelings?”

“Kristy, I have everything to lose if she doesn’t feel the same way.”

“And you have everything to gain if she does.”

I think long and hard about Kristy’s words all night. Yes, I do have everything to gain if she feels the same way. Being in a relationship with her doesn’t scare me, but if it doesn’t work out, then what? Can we go back to being friends?

I decide to go home and try to talk to Zoey about it. Maybe I am being stupid. Maybe I’m conjuring up all these ridiculous feelings in my head because I know it’s difficult to express. She hasn’t directly said she loves Jess and wants to get back together with him.

Again, this is why I don’t drink. The hangover has clouded any rational thoughts.

***

With my keys in one hand and a bag of bananas in the other, I open the door to a dimly lit apartment. Placing my keys quietly on the side table, I walk softly into the living room, almost tiptoeing, startled to see Zoey sitting on the corner of the couch, hugging her knees. She stares blankly at the television which is switched off. She doesn’t turn to face me, and her stare is oddly terrifying.

“Zo, what’s wrong?”

Silence falls over the room. And not even a twitch, a blink of the eye leaves her gloomy face.

I sit beside her, worried and anxious. “Zoey, talk to me.”

Her face turns to me, slowly, like one of the clowns at an amusement park. She’s been crying. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy mixed with fear and terror. Using the back of her hand, she wipes her nose. I lean toward the coffee table pulling out a tissue and handing it to her.

“I fucked up, Drew.”

My pulse is racing, paranoid she’s in trouble, that she’s been hurt. “What did you do?”