“I’d just like to take him for another spin or two, for old times’ sake,” she answers. “I think if we left the bedroom, we’d probably drive each other crazy. That was our mistake the first time.”
“You said he was so nice, though,” I return. “Now you’re saying the sex was the only good part?”
“It was all ‘good,’ I guess,” she says. “I just think he started getting annoyed that I’m always going like a million miles an hour and everything.”
It’s true: While we’re talking, she’s managed to get the dishes in the dishwasher half put away, the countertop halfway wiped down and she’s got a broom in her hands, though its bristles have yet to touch the floor. Jana’s problem isn’t the motivation to start something; it’s the motivation to see things through to the end.
She continues, “He was always just so low key, too. He was sweet, but he just never really moved fast enough for me. I’d want to go, like, five different places in a night and he’d just want to do like dinner or something. We’d just end up getting sick of each other. Anyway, me, Darla, and Cindy are gonna go to the coffee shop and pick up some things. You wanna come?”
By “things,” she means guys.
“I’m not really in the mood,” I tell her. “By the way, could you please tell your mom to stop eating my cocoa butter? She’s gone through almost my whole jar since she got here.”
“It’s edible and it was in the refrigerator,” Jana says, finally starting to sweep, though she stops after only a couple of seconds and sets the broom down. “How was she supposed to know?”
“Because I told her what it is and why I have it when I came home that first night and found her putting some on vegan paella,” I tell her. “I also told her after she used it with her organic rye crackers, her free range donut holes, and she tried—unsuccessfully, by the way—to dissolve it in her GMO-free almond milk.”
“Well, talk to her again,” Jana says, grabbing her keys off the counter and heading toward the door. “I’m running late.”
“It’s just that that stuff’s expensive,” I tell her before releasing her into the night, “and it’s the only thing I’ve found that’ll work for me year-round.”
“Just buy her some of that milk-free, whey-free, hazelnut chocolate spread she likes,” Jana says. “I’ve got to go. Do you want me to bring anything back for you?”
“Only if he’s an easy millionaire who doesn’t believe in prenups,” I tell her.
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled, but you know I’ve got first dibs on that shit, so you’d better hope he has a friend for you,” she responds, walking to the door, but stopping before she opens it. “You two did it, right?” she asks.
“Me and Mason?” I ask. “No. We never even kissed.”
“Might wanna let the guy throw you one before you stop answering his calls for good,” she says. “There’s a reason he’s so popular and you, sweet, kinda prudish roommate of mine, deserve a nice night.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I laugh and Jana’s out the door.
I pull out my phone and check my messages. There aren’t any from Mason.
This whole thing is a little strange.
I wasn’t even interested in him at first; I was just trying to do to Jana what she’s been doing to me for the last five years. Mason and I started to hit it off at Sherry’s, but after he took me to that fight, that was supposed to be it.
After hearing Jana going on and on about him, though, I can’t help thinking I should have given him another chance.
It’s probably moot, anyway. He’s probably already moved onto someone more enthusiastic about his hobby.
Besides, he and Jana used to be a thing. I give her a lot of grief because most of the time she’s somewhere in the neighborhood of intolerable, but, for the moment at least, I’m choosing to believe there’s more to our friendship than proximity over time. Whether her feelings for Mason are nothing more than sexual or there’s more to it than that, it’s probably not a good idea that I try too hard to be too involved with my roommate’s former beau.
Then again, she did give me her blessing. Maybe she didn’t put it in those exact terms, but I seem to remember something like that.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and find the number. My thumb hovers over the screen for five seconds, then ten. Really, I just don’t know enough about Mason to have anything like the confidence to make a firm decision about him either way.
The fighting is never going to be my cup of tea, but maybe Jana’s right: Maybe there is something more to him than all that. It certainly seemed like there was when we were at Sherry’s.
I press the button and the line starts to ring.
“Yeah?” the voice answers.
“Hey, Mason,” I say. “It’s Ash. You wanna get together and talk?”
Good god that sounded lame.