The roommate rule, p.8
The Roommate Rule, page 8
And frankly, I’m not the only person who might benefit from some of that attitude.
Ava butts into my thoughts. ‘Text me as soon as you hear anything, okay?’
‘I will.’
‘No condolences from me until you’re at death’s door,’ she promises, a small smile ghosting her lips.
Ava’s one of the only people who fully understands how I deal with this. She knows there’s nothing to pity about the man I am now. I’m a far cry from that twenty-year-old boy who spent months in and out of hospital for treatment. The heart that stopped that one fateful day still beats in my chest, and it’s that, more than anything, that drives every decision I make.
I close my eyes as I chew. ‘Fuck, hash browns were what brought me back, I swear.’
She snorts, and our shared grin tells me she gets it. It’s time to move on.
‘I’m sorry to steal your sister,’ Finn says, coming around the back of the sofa and setting his hands on Ava’s shoulders, ‘but we need to get going if we want to make it to brunch in time.’
Ava groans. ‘Don’t rush me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Finn leans closer to her and adds, ‘But I know you’re going to complain about how busy it is if we get there too late. I’m saving you from yourself, Ava Monroe.’
Though she’d never admit it, I’ve never seen my sister as happy as she’s been since meeting Finn. But where she was always a romantic at her cynical heart–I heard her love songs through the wall and knew about the romcoms she secretly watched, after all–I can’t help feeling like I’m the opposite. I can do affection, can do touch, gifts, sex, but limiting myself to one person forever? One thing, or one place? I have too many memories of being trapped under waffle-knit sheets in a fluorescent-lit room, hooked up to tubes and machines that kept me alive, unable to even get up to take a piss by myself. I never want to feel that stuck again.
We say our goodbyes, and I haven’t even finished my next mouthful when the wooden chair opposite squeaks against the floor, and I find myself face to face for the second time today with a woman who refuses to take any of my shit.
‘Morning, sunshine,’ Jude says, sliding on to the seat with her breakfast, backlit against the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a glimpse of the ocean. Before I can reply, a draught hits us when the dining-hall door opens, and Jude nods over at the new arrival and says, ‘I like her.’
Dylan approaches the buffet in a T-shirt and leggings, not a single strand out of place in her sleek ponytail. ‘So do I.’
But the fact is, I don’t know much about her yet, and I’m sure that’s by design. Her design. Earlier, when I checked on her after I heard a loud noise from the kitchen, there was a look on her face like she was biting down on something. It made me wonder if she ever actually says what she’s thinking. Ever loses control.
Jude raises her hand to wave her over, and Dylan’s eyes settle on me for half a second before she lowers her gaze.
‘Is it hard?’ Jude asks quietly as Dylan approaches. ’Knowing you can’t rely on your usual tactics of batting your eyelashes and simply existing as a six-five man in order to seduce a woman you’re attracted to?’
‘I beg you. Get a hobby.’
Dylan hovers at the free chair next to Jude for a few moments. ‘Is this seat taken?’ she asks eventually, despite the fact Jude just flagged her down to sit there.
‘Go for it,’ I reply.
Dylan sets down a bowl of granola and a pear, removing her water bottle from under her arm and placing it on the table with a clunk.
‘How did you sleep?’ she asks Jude.
‘Like a baby. I might buy that mattress for my place back home.’ Jude cocks her head when she looks at me. ‘How’s the sofa bed, Max?’
‘Decent,’ I lie.
‘You forgot your keys, by the way,’ Dylan tells me, digging into her pocket. When she drops them into my palm, they’re warm from the heat of her body.
‘Thanks. I’d forget my shoelaces if they weren’t attached.’ I have no idea if I can blame my various health issues, terrible sleep pattern, or if it’s just because of who I am fundamentally as a person, but forgetfulness is part of my daily life at this stage. I’m not used to having someone else so closely involved to see it.
Dylan nods knowingly, but spends the next ten seconds chewing her cheek and swirling her spoon around her bowl but never lifting it to her mouth.
‘Dylan.’ I elongate the word. ‘Why are you looking so nervous?’
Caught out, she stops moving her spoon and glances up with wide eyes. After a few painful seconds, she clears her throat. ‘I have something I want to discuss with you.’ Jude pauses her loud slurping of tea and watches us both. ‘Look, I don’t want you to be put out by me being here . . .’
‘Say what you need to say.’
She continues in a rush, ‘But I was wondering if we could possibly lay down some ground rules about living together. Maybe. If that’s okay. No worries if not.’
I shrug. ‘Whatever you want.’
Surprise floods her face. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
The tension leaves her shoulders and she eats a spoonful of granola at last. Was that really what all that build-up was for?
‘Just—’ a yawn interrupts me ‘—let me know when I do something that annoys you. I can’t read minds.’
‘I notice you said “when” you do something,’ Jude quips. ‘Not “if”.’
‘Okay,’ Dylan says. ‘There are some specific things I’d like to discuss.’
I look pointedly at Jude. ‘Go away, this is a conversation for me and Dylan.’
‘Maybe we need a mediator,’ Dylan says, smiling softly at Jude, who bumps their shoulders together.
‘What’s on the list?’ I ask, downing the rest of my coffee. Dylan pulls up a note on her phone, and I can see she’s trying to finish her mouthful before reading aloud, so I say, ‘Eat. I’ll read.’
Our fingers brush when I take her phone, then Jude intervenes and grabs it from me.
She clears her throat. ‘Please put down both the toilet seat and lid after use. Oh, and there’s a link to an article about how much more sanitary it is to do that.’
‘You don’t need to put please on a list of rules,’ I say, ‘just so you know.’
Dylan keeps eating while Jude goes on, ‘Please make sure to clear up after yourself in communal areas like the bathroom and kitchen. I know this is your trip and I’m just an extra—’
‘It’s your trip too,’ I butt in. ‘So you can stop thinking like that.’
With a hand over her mouth as she chews, Dylan says, ‘You were the one who was asked to come.’
‘You were also asked to come,’ I point out. ‘By me. It’s not like you showed up uninvited. You’re here, therefore it’s your trip.’
‘Fine,’ she says, then in a lower voice, ‘you don’t have to read the rest of that point aloud, Jude.’
‘Jude doesn’t have to read any of it aloud. They’re our rules. Let me see.’ I yank the phone back and scan the list. Most of it is about being tidy and putting things back where they came from, plus turning lights and sockets off if I’m not using them, and a request to clean the hair from the sink properly when I shave. Maybe I just won’t touch my razor for a few weeks. Embrace being rugged. Or, like, as rugged as you can get when you have the vaguely elfin face of Peter Pan.
Towards the end of the list, I start to read aloud, ‘Please stop pretending to—’
‘You can read that one in your head,’ Dylan says quickly, sinking into her chair.
Please stop pretending to flirt with me just because you’re bored. I look up at her. ‘I’m not pretending, honey.’ She inhales sharply before I go back to the list. I raise an eyebrow at the final item. ‘Please remain fully clothed at all times unless in the bathroom. Please elaborate, roomie. I’ll have you know my naked body is usually extremely well received.’
It’s no coincidence that this rule came after she gawped at me shirtless that first morning. And both times she’s seen me half-naked since. So it’s an admirable attempt at controlling the thoughts she doesn’t want to have about me, but all it does is make me want to unspool every single one of those thoughts from her, one by one.
‘I just think it’s inappropriate.’ She picks up steam, scraping her final spoonfuls of yoghurt from her bowl. ‘How would you feel if I walked around without a shirt?’
‘I recommend not asking questions you don’t want the answer to.’
‘Respect her request,’ Jude interjects. ‘You should be fully clothed.’
‘When I’m sleeping? When I’m hot after a run?’ Dylan doesn’t reply, and it fuels me. ‘Listen, I get that laying out these rules was hard for you, and I’m happy to comply with the rest of them, but this one is ridiculous. It’s not like I’m walking around with my dick out.’
‘It’s a slippery slope,’ Jude sighs, taking out her phone.
‘I will wear a shirt when necessary, but I’m sure you can handle seeing a bare torso every so often.’ I lean across the table, dropping my gaze to meet hers. ‘And if you can’t, maybe you should look into why that is.’
Pink dusts her cheeks, and she shakes her head and starts again. ‘These rules are to ensure both of us are comfortable. Thank you for following them. I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can.’
‘By all means, get in my way.’ I lean back in my chair, the front legs lifting. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’
My phone pings with a text. Jude has messaged me from a foot away.
Jude: Great flirting, you’re doing SO well
Jude: Keep it up xxxxx
I give her my middle finger while Dylan’s focused on peeling the sticker off her pear.
‘While we’re having this discussion,’ I start, ‘may I request full, private access to the property for an hour at nine a.m. every Tuesday? Or at least, a room with a closed door? I have a thing.’
‘A closed door? For . . . private things?’ Suspicion burns behind her eyes.
‘It’s for therapy, Dylan. I don’t plan out weekly masturbation sessions, don’t worry.’ Her eyes widen, and I add, ‘Those are on more of an ad hoc basis.’
Despite the embarrassed red flushing her cheeks, she lifts her chin defiantly to say, ‘Of course.’ She takes a deep breath, then her words fall out in a rush. ‘On an unrelated note, please always knock if my door is closed.’
Immediately, my blood electrifies and my mind fills with images I’d be ashamed of, if I knew what shame was.
‘Noted,’ I reply, much more calmly than I expect.
Jude lifts a finger in the air as if she’s just had the most incredible idea. ‘You two should obviously have a “no fucking” rule. I know someone who got with their roommate—’
‘You mean, you read it in a book once,’ I say.
‘Life imitates art, Maximilian.’
‘Not my name.’
‘Roommate romances are notoriously messy.’ She looks at Dylan to say, ‘And this is about setting boundaries, right?’
I glare at her, because she may well be the biggest shit-stirrer I’ve ever met.
Dylan’s answer is immediate. ‘I mean–yeah. That felt like a given, to me. Not to do that.’
‘Here you go, I’ve added that too,’ Jude says, offering me the phone and ignoring the laser beams I’m shooting from my eyes. She points to a rectangle at the bottom. ‘You should both sign there. Make it really official.’
I scribble something illegible and slide the phone towards Dylan, but the pear juice trickling down her wrist catches my attention. She lifts her hand to her mouth to suck the juice away, eyes flicking to mine for a nanosecond as she does, and there’s a low responding thrum in my stomach.
‘I’m glad this is all sorted,’ Dylan says as she signs, somewhere between embarrassed and triumphant.
‘Me too,’ I say, tapping my mug of coffee to hers. ‘Here’s to our roommate rules.’
She nods, and it feels a little like she’s won this round.
But what Dylan doesn’t know is that rules have never been good at keeping me in check. Every beat of my heart for the past seven years has proven that.
Nine
testosterone, my humble guide
Max
‘Can you help tighten my top?’ Jude asks innocently, whipping off her T-shirt and revealing a bikini top that I can only describe as bedazzled. Someone behind us lets out a low whistle.
‘Does it bother you that you’re dressed like Rainbow Fish and Toby hasn’t even looked your way?’ My eyes find Dylan, nodding animatedly and handing out customer service smiles to our campmates.
‘That’s exactly why I need your help. If you retie my top in front of him, it’ll activate some caveman part of his brain and he’ll realise just how much he wants me.’
‘I fear you’re putting too much stock in the idea that he gives a fuck.’
Bertie’s laugh pierces the air, and when Dylan gives him a real smile, I grit my teeth and begrudgingly take Jude’s bikini ties. Dylan can make her own choices, but I swear, if I come second to this leather-braceleted springbok of a man, my pride will never get over it.
‘I think Toby’s scared of you,’ I say, touching Jude’s skin as little as possible.
She nods vigorously. ‘Hundred per cent, he’s absolutely terrified. I was talking to him in the queue for the minivan and he almost sprinted away. But god, no one’s ever made transition lenses look so hot.’
The man in question walks past, face in his phone and paying us no attention whatsoever, and as soon as he’s out of earshot, Jude slaps my hand away. ‘You tied it too tight.’
‘That was worth it, wasn’t it?’ I ask.
She gives me a droll look, but when Dylan makes a beeline for us, she swaps it for a grin.
‘Jude,’ Dylan starts, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. ‘Do you mind if Bertie joins us? The canoes can take up to three people.’
‘What about me?’ says a nasal voice from behind her. It’s attached to Bertie’s friend Arun, who, in the least offensive way, is currently giving off the energy of a damp slice of bread.
‘Maybe you can go with Max?’ Dylan suggests, buckling her life jacket over her T-shirt and shooting me an innocent look before walking along the dock.
‘Sounds great to me,’ Jude quips.
‘You’re the worst,’ I say under my breath, shrugging my life jacket on without bothering to fasten it.
Bertie clambers into the canoe, almost pulling Dylan overboard when she offers him a steadying arm, and climbs to the front on his hands and knees. Dylan perches gracefully on the middle bench, leaving the back row free for Jude. But the moment Bertie reclaims his paddle from the dock, I come to a decision.
The wooden planks complain under my strides and I brush past Jude, taking her paddle from her before she can even react, then step into her spot in the canoe in one smooth movement.
‘Don’t mind me,’ I say, settling on the back bench. Dylan turns to me, wide eyes blinking as Bertie scowls.
Jude is unbothered, and says breezily, ‘Come on, Arun. Looks like it’s just you and me.’
* * *
The current does most of the work to bring us down the river. At one point, we stop paddling, letting our canoe drift, only dipping our paddles in when we need to adjust the direction.
I tap Dylan on the shoulder. ‘Have you ever done this before?’
She turns to look at me; bright eyes, messy hair, wind-burnt cheeks. ‘Nope. I always wanted to do stuff like this with my ex, but he was more of a gym guy for exercise, so that’s what we did.’ She catches the roll of my eyes and for some reason defends this man who I’ve already decided I don’t like. ‘I was really busy for most of our relationship with work and studying. It was easier for us to stay local and go to the gym together than waste a whole day somewhere new.’
‘It’s not wasting a day if you’re doing something fun.’ Her shoulders raise in half a shrug. ‘How long’s it been since you split up?’
‘He broke up with me just before Christmas last year.’
Bertie raises his voice over the wind. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
I debate the merits of knocking him out of the canoe with a paddle and making it look like an accident.
She exhales. ‘It was for the best. He wasn’t the right person. But I wish I hadn’t wasted all that time with someone who—’ she stops herself and finishes with, ‘someone whose life plan didn’t align with mine.’
I lean forward. ‘What are the next steps in your life plan, then?’
We notice we’re about to hit the bank at the same time and dip our paddles in to switch direction. Once we’re back on track, she replies, ‘You’ll make fun of me.’
‘Try me.’
She sighs. ‘Meet someone, fall in love, live happily ever after. Be a team. Uncomplicated and steady and supportive. That’s it, really.’
‘Maybe you’ll find someone where you least expect it,’ Bertie says.
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ she replies. She doesn’t see his smug smile.
I film some stuff on my phone to post later, and I don’t know what I intend to do with what I shoot on my camera, but I take that out too, focusing on the blurry movement of the water, the ugly reeds on the bank, the mess of Dylan’s hair in the wind. She looks too good like this. Unbound.
‘I don’t like to brag,’ Bertie says. ‘But I know what I’m talking about with relationships. A hundred and twelve thousand people follow me for my musings on love and sex.’
‘I thought people followed you for your van life content?’ I ask.
‘It’s both. I consider myself kind of a prophet of the universe.’
Dylan’s a better person than me for not reacting. After a minute, she speaks again. ‘I’ve tried dating apps, but they feel too . . . transactional. I met Jeremy when I was young, so now I’m trying to figure out how to even find something . . . not terrible in this new landscape.’
