Roommate

by Sarina Bowen

  “Party animal,” she says with a wink. “And you definitely need a slice of this pie.”

  She shoves a plate in my free hand, and I have to finish the cider in order to take the first bite. “God, that’s good.”

  Audrey winks. “Ruth! Come and meet Roddy Waites, our new baker.”

  “Nice to meet you, honey,” says the middle-aged woman who hurries over. “I’m Ruth Shipley.”

  “Mother to Griffin, Dylan, May, and Daphne Shipley,” Audrey clarifies. “Aunt to Kyle and Kieran.”

  “That’s a lot of kids,” I say without thinking. Then I offer her my hand.

  “There were days when it felt like too many,” Ruth agrees with a smile as we shake. “Would you like another piece of apple pie? Just don’t tell me if it’s not up to snuff.”

  “Oh, please,” Audrey says with a grin. “Her pie is exquisite. I’ve seen wrestling matches over the last piece. Ruth—I think I told you that Roderick is teaching me about sourdough.”

  “Yes! I’ve already sampled your wares,” Ruth says. “I ate a pretzel that Audrey brought me, and it was divine.”

  “Thank you!” I feel a rush of satisfaction. “I’ll make another batch tomorrow.” There’s nothing better than hearing praise over your work. “I might experiment with pretzel bagels. And pretzel sticks with dipping sauces.”

  “That sounds decadent. Did you say your last name is Waites? There’s a couple by that name at our church in Colebury.”

  “Ah.” Just like that, my appetite dies. “Those would be my parents.”

  “I see the resemblance. I don’t know your parents, though, except by name. They must not stick around for the coffee hour very often.”

  “Well,” I say slowly. “I wouldn’t know. We’re not in touch.”

  “Oh,” she says, looking startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s their choice,” I add, because I don’t want Kieran’s aunt to think I’m a monster. Also, I kind of need to know the Shipley stance on queer dudes. I’m curious what Kieran is up against if he decides to pursue men. The way he kissed me makes me think that he will. “My parents kicked me out because I wouldn’t consider conversion therapy.”

  Ruth Shipley recoils. “What? Why?”

  “They don’t want me to be gay,” I add, just in to clear up any ambiguities.

  “I don’t see how that’s up to them,” she says, her face full of understanding. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  Now I feel like a drama queen. “No, it’s fine. Just putting that out there so you won’t greet them on Sunday and expect a friendly response about me.”

  She flinches. “Not everyone at church feels that way. God doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “Good to know,” I say quickly, because I need to parachute out of this conversation. For Kieran’s sake, I hope the whole Shipley clan shares Ruth’s viewpoint. Kieran deserves better than what I get at home.

  Everyone does.

  I listen to some fiddle songs and consider my departure. Kieran is on the other side of the bonfire casting fuck me eyes in my direction. Maybe it’s cowardly of me to avoid him, but what’s the alternative? He and I need to have a conversation, and this is neither the time or place.

  As soon as Kieran walks off toward the cider house, I carry my plate into the house and say my goodbyes. “Wonderful party, Ruth,” I say, tucking my plate into the dishwasher. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Come back anytime!” she says. “We have a big dinner most Thursdays. Come with Audrey sometime.”

  “Sounds like fun.” I make my excuses and slip out into the dark. I head down the gravel drive, away from the music and the party. Seeing as I was the last to arrive, my car is at the end of a long line of pickup trucks.

  It’s a long driveway, and I start wondering whether I could be snatched up by a bear or a coyote before I reach my Volkswagen. Bears hibernate, right? So I’m probably safe. Coyotes, though. And are there wolves in Vermont?

  Just as I’m thinking these thoughts, a loud hoot erupts from somewhere nearby in the darkness, and I startle violently. “Holy shit,” I curse, hurrying my pace toward the car.

  That’s when I see the orange glow of a cigarette. There’s someone leaning against my car. And from the sound of the warm chuckle he lets out, I can tell it’s Kieran.

  “Don’t laugh,” I mutter. “I forgot how to be a country boy.”

  “Sorry.” His voice is a soft caress, and I hate myself for wanting to roll around in it a little longer.

  Telling him to fuck off is going to hurt both of us. “Did you need a ride or something?”

  The cigarette moves as he shakes his head.

  “Just enjoying a cancer stick against my car?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You got another one?”

  “Think so.” I make out the flash of the wrapper as he pulls a pack out of his pocket. “I took these off my brother.”

  “I’ve never seen you smoke before.” He holds a cigarette out, and since my eyes are finally getting used to the dark, I can see well enough to take it.

  “Smoking is spendy.” His rugged face is illuminated as he lights my cigarette. “I’m too cheap to get cancer.”

  “Same.” My only use for cigarettes these last few years was to give my hands something to do while I waited for Brian to chat up the important people at parties.

  I’m not doing that anymore.

  “So what’s the story?” Kieran frowns around his cigarette and looks hot doing it. But I will be strong. Celibacy is my new middle name. Roderick Celibacy Waites. It has a nice ring to it. “You’re avoiding me tonight.”

  “Maybe a little,” I admit, exhaling into the crisp air. “I mean—I’m flattered that you’re giving me the fuck-me eyes. And I’m glad you’re not freaking out about our little drunken thing last night.”

  “Our little drunken thing,” he repeats slowly.

  “Yeah, we shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Huh. Well, I really enjoyed it. But I guess you didn’t,” Kieran says flatly.

  “Hey—that was not the issue.”

  He snorts. “Then what is? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No way. It’s me who’s the fuckup.” Isn’t that obvious? “It’s not okay to jump your drunk, horny roommate.”

  “Really? Even if he wants a repeat?”

  “Even then.” I take a puff and try to explain. “See, I have a bad track record. I threw myself at you, with no thought of the consequences. I’ve done this before, too, and then I can’t figure out why I keep blowing up my own life. For once I have to stop being impulsive, and act like a damn adult. There aren’t enough bakeries in America to hire me every time I fuck up.”

  Kieran narrows his eyes. “So you’re the one who’s freaking out after last night? That makes no sense.”

  “Yeah, I know. But that only proves that I’m the asshole here. And I’m sorry, okay? But when I said we shouldn’t fool around, I was right.”

  “First you said you could. And last night you said you couldn’t. And then you did it anyway,” he points out.

  “Yup.” I nod vigorously. “See? That’s how it goes with me. Bad decisions, followed by regret. Trust me—you won’t be missing anything if we don’t get together again. I only seem like a good idea when you’re wasted and horny. In the cool light of day, it’ll be easier for you to forget it ever happened.”

  “Really?” Kieran tilts his big, handsome face toward the sky. “Because I spent every daylight hour today thinking about you.”

  I’m a praise junkie, so naturally my stomach flutters. Kieran can’t stop thinking about me. Then I give myself a mental slap. “Thinking is different than doing. Are you sure you even want to have this conversation with your family all around us? You seem like a very private person.”

  “I am,” he admits. “I don’t share. But the thing about my family is that they don’t pay attention, especially when it comes to me. We could be making out like movi
e stars right now and nobody would notice.”

  When he says “making out,” I just want to jump into his lumberjack arms and ask him to haul me off to a hay loft for naughty fun. There has to be a hay loft here somewhere, right? That’s my fantasy.

  But that’s all it can be—a fantasy. I have to get my act together. “Sorry,” I say, crossing my arms. “Last night was super fun, but it can’t happen again. I’m probably not even going to stick around Vermont, you know? I’m a bad bet.”

  He’s silent for a beat. “So that’s just it?”

  “Yes,” I insist, even as my heart wavers. The truth is that I like Kieran. A lot. Which only means that turning him down is the right thing to do. He doesn’t need an impoverished, slightly desperate man hanging on his arm. And I need to stop being that broke, needy person who left most of his self-esteem back in Nashville.

  “I’ve got one question.”

  Aw. He has questions about gay sex? “Go ahead and ask. I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Will you still teach me to cook?”

  I chuckle. “Yes. Absolutely. Cooking is the one thing I do reliably and that people appreciate me for. Definitely take advantage of the single perk there is to having me as a friend.”

  “Not the only thing,” he says drily.

  Sure, but my track record speaks for itself. And there’s no point in arguing. “What do you want to learn next?”

  His grumpy frown becomes a little less grumpy. “I don’t care. You pick. Something meaty?”

  Oh, the dirty jokes I could make right now. But I don’t want to send mixed signals. “You got it. I’ll come up with something.”

  “Thank you,” he says. Then he turns and walks away so quickly that there isn’t even enough time to ogle his ass before he disappears in the darkness.

  Which is really just as well.

  Roderick

  Remember when I thought living with Kieran would be awkward, because he didn’t like me?

  Yeah, the joke’s on me. Living with Kieran isn’t awkward, but it sure is horny. Neither of us has been able to forget our time together in his bed. Lately, we’ve shared a lot of lingering glances, and some of them have been all my fault.

  Last night he arrived home just as I was stepping out of the bathroom wearing only my towel. We ended up doing an awkward dance in the narrow hallway, each of us stepping aside to let the other pass at the same moment, thereby prolonging the impasse.

  Meanwhile, his eyes roved my bare chest. All my blood rushed south as I remembered the rush of his skin against mine, and the vibration of his moans against my tongue. Back in the safety of my room, I had to read the political headlines for ten minutes to get my dick under control.

  But I don’t regret my newfound self-discipline, because my life is on the upswing. My reputation at the bakery is on the mend. Zara is finally starting to trust me again. Those cheddar biscuits are a permanent fixture on the menu, too.

  What’s more, I’ve used my screw-up—when I was late on that fateful day—as an opportunity to rethink the way we prepare each morning’s offerings.

  “Hey guys, can I show you a couple of ideas?” I ask after work one day, when Audrey and Zara are both present. “I think we should create a three-day plan for yeasted breads. On Monday afternoon, we’ll stir together Thursday’s dough and put it into cold fermentation. And Tuesday we make Friday’s, and so on. If I’m careful, there’ll be enough refrigerator space.”

  “What’s the benefit?” Zara asks.

  “Two things—better flavor development and a shorter turnaround time in the morning.”

  “You think we should come in later?” Audrey asks, tilting her pretty face toward mine. “I could get behind that.”

  “Not really,” I say hastily. This isn’t a plan to let me sleep in. “I just think we’ll have an easier time of it in the morning. We’d be shifting some of the work to later in the day, when we’re often standing around. Like we are right now. We can also freeze a couple of batches of biscuit dough for unexpected traffic during the morning.”

  “I like it,” Zara says, cracking her gum. “This is good work, Roddy. This is the kind of thoughtfulness I’d hoped we’d get by hiring a full-timer.”

  “Thank you,” I stammer. Honestly, it’s not rocket science, and I didn’t invent cold fermentation. But I sure don’t mind hearing praise. It makes my situation feel less precarious.

  The next Thursday afternoon I wake up from a nap to discover that the house smells amazing. I can hear Kieran whistling in the kitchen. I wander in, yawning, to find that he’s roasted a chicken all on his own, with the compound butter that I taught him to make. And he’s made a pot of rice in the rice cooker I found at a yard sale for eight dollars.

  “Damn, look at you go!” I enthuse, rubbing my hands together.

  “There’s enough for two, so long as you tell me when our next cooking lesson might be.” He hands me a plate of food.

  “Soon,” I stall. “I need to find you another go-to main dish. A pork roast maybe.”

  “Sounds good.” He licks the chicken fat off his fingertips and gives me another hot look.

  I should probably start looking around for another rooming situation. Kieran doesn’t press me for sex. He doesn’t bring it up or pressure me. But his hunger feeds mine, and I trust myself far less than I trust him.

  “Beer or water?” He asks, turning to open the fridge. “That’s all we’ve got.”

  “Water,” I say huskily. My tolerance for alcohol isn’t great, and it probably gets even worse when he’s around.

  “Suit yourself.” He grabs a glass and fills it for me out of the refrigerator’s dispenser. He hands it over, and I leave the room to put some space between us.

  The respite is short-lived. I hear the fridge open and then shut again. Kieran arrives a moment later with his plate, a beer dangled between two fingers, and my phone in his other hand. “Roddy, I know that cold fermentation is one of your favorite tricks. But I’m not sure your phone could benefit from any time in the refrigerator.” He sits down on the sofa at a respectful distance away from me and hands over the phone with a smile.

  “Oh, my phone and I just needed some time apart,” I explain.

  His beer pauses on its way to his mouth. “You put it in there on purpose?”

  “I once had this friend who did this thing where he’d freeze someone out of his life. Literally. He’d write their name on a piece of paper, put it in a baggie with some water, and put the whole thing in the freezer. But baggies are bad for the planet, and I’m lazy.”

  Kieran’s sideways glance doesn’t know whether to be amused or skeptical. “So you decided to refrigerate your contacts list?”

  “Something like that.” Plus, there was a danger that I’d throw my phone across the room. “My ex has been texting me again.”

  Kieran goes very still beside me. “Are you getting back together?”

  “Oh hell no.” I startle both of us with the volume of that statement.

  Kieran relaxes and takes a bite of his chicken. And, whoa, was Kieran jealous? “What does your ex want?” he asks.

  “Well, I didn’t tell him where I was going when I left. And he says he’s been looking for me.” That doesn’t mean it’s true, though. He wouldn’t actually exert effort. “I was ignoring his texts. But this morning I finally responded and told him that I wasn’t coming back. That’s when he got ugly.”

  I tap the screen and see that he hasn’t stopped, either. You stupid little fuck. You’ll come crawling back. This is so manipulative. You wanted me to come chasing after you, don’t you? Just gonna string me along now?

  That’s not even a little bit fair. I’ve always been honest with him. More honest than I was with myself. The point of leaving was leaving, I type. Then I erase it and sigh. I know better than to prolong the conversation. You can’t negotiate with terrorists.

  I hand the phone to Kieran. “Look. It’s embarrassing to me that I put up with this man for so long.” />
  Kieran wipes his hand on a napkin and then scrolls up, reading Brian’s vitriol. “What a turd,” he says gruffly, and his choice of words makes me laugh. He doesn’t think it’s funny at all, and says, “This is abusive. Was he always like this?”

  “No.” I shake my head quickly, so that Kieran doesn’t think I’ve always been a doormat. “He can be the most charming man in the world. People love him. Sometimes when we fought, he would get this way. But the next day he would always go crazy trying to make it up to me. And I know that’s how abusers operate. But I swear we had a whole year before he started acting this way. I just kept hoping it would get better.”

  When his last album didn’t do very well, his mood tanked for good, and I finally realized that things weren’t ever going to get better. And I still hung around too long, because it seemed so mean to desert a guy whose career was in a downward spiral.

  “Do you think he might do something crazy?” Kieran asks suddenly.

  “What do you mean? Like what?”

  He gazes at me with those big brown eyes that I like so much. “Would he try to hurt you physically?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “In the first place, he doesn’t know where I am, and he’s not likely to come to Vermont. Also, violence really isn’t his style. He’d rather bruise my self-esteem than my face.”

  Kieran winces. “Why don’t you block him? Serious question.”

  “I guess…” The truth is embarrassing. “I was hoping to get my guitar back after he calmed down. But if I’m honest, what I really wanted was an apology. It’s never coming, though. I guess that’s what adulting really is—living your best life in spite of all the apologies we never hear.”

  Kieran’s warm eyes take me in for a long moment. Then he puts down a chicken bone and gives me a shy smile. “Not bad, Roddy. I think that idea is ready for the big time.”

  “Oh.” For a second, I don’t understand. But then I do. “You mean I should chalk it up on a beam at the Busy Bean?”

  “Yup.” He digs into more chicken and smiles at me.

  I take a bite of crispy-skinned chicken and let out a noise of pleasure. The seasoning is terrific, and he roasted it to a deep brown. “This is so good. My compliments to the chef.”