by Alexa Land
“They’re collector items, and some of them are worth a fair amount of money. She thought she was doing a good thing by giving them to me.”
“But you hate them.”
“Yeah.”
“How much money are we talking here, thousands of dollars apiece?”
“Not that much.” He gestured at one of them, which featured a boy and girl sitting around being really boring, and said, “This one’s the most expensive, and it’s worth maybe three hundred bucks. The rest are about one to two hundred dollars each.”
“Are you serious about hating them, or are you just saying that because it would seem dorky to admit you secretly liked them?”
“I absolutely despise them.”
“Then sell them to me, Duke. I’ll pay you three thousand dollars for the lot of them, since they might have appreciated in value over time. Your family can’t get mad at you for that. It’s just good business!”
He raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you really have three grand?”
“Yup.”
“How?”
“My parents give me an extremely generous check every birthday and Christmas. I usually sock half of it away for a rainy day.”
“If you have that kind of money, why do you shop at garage sales?”
“Because they’re super fun and awesome and you never know what you’ll find. So, can I buy them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, it’s a waste of money. You could buy a used car for that.”
“If I wanted a car, I would have bought one a long time ago,” I said. “Out of curiosity, is your grandmother still adding to your collection? In a few years, will the house be full to the rafters with those mini horror-shows?”
“No. She stopped giving them to me four years ago.”
“How come?”
“Because I came out to my family, and my grandmother disowned me.”
“I’m sorry.”
He tried to play it off, but didn’t really succeed. “I kind of expected it.”
“Given that, doesn’t it hurt to look at those statues?”
He broke eye contact and muttered, “Every time.”
“Then they have to go!”
“I can’t get rid of them.”
“But I can if you sell them to me.”
“I don’t have time for this discussion right now.” He left the living room and returned a minute later with a towel, blanket, all the pillows from his bed, and the Ace bandage, and he asked, “Do you want me to rewrap your ankle for you?” When I nodded, he deposited the pillows on the couch, knelt down, and quickly and efficiently wound the stretchy fabric around my left foot. I propped it up on some pillows, and he folded a towel around the bag of ice and positioned it against my ankle. “While I’m in the shower, think about anything you might want from around the house, and I’ll bring it to you before I take off.”
“Where are you going?”
“Church.”
“Seriously?”
He glanced at me and asked, “Is that really so hard to believe?”
“What denomination are you?”
“Lutheran.”
“And what do the Lutherans have to say about the fact that you’re gay?”
“I don’t have time for that conversation either, Quinn.”
He started to leave the room, and I called after him, “Thanks for helping me.”
He murmured, “Welcome,” and disappeared down the hall.
When he returned to the living room about fifteen minutes later, his short hair was damp, he’d shaved, and he was wearing a crisp, white shirt with a pearl gray suit and tie. “Wow,” I said, “you clean up good.”
He looked embarrassed as he muttered, “Thanks.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“About three hours. I always go to lunch with my parents after the service. What can I bring you before I take off?” I told him what I wanted, and he jogged upstairs. When he returned a minute later, he placed my backpack and a moving box beside the couch and handed me a stuffed animal. But instead of rushing out the door, he paused and asked, “Are you going to be alright?”
“Why do you look so concerned?”
“You’re doing this puppy-dog eyes thing, and it’s making me feel bad about leaving you all alone.”
“I’ll be fine. I have everything I need.”
“Are you sure? I could call my parents and tell them I can’t make it this week.”
Asking him to stay seemed way too needy, even though I wanted that more than anything. I pulled up a smile and said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably just take a nap while you’re gone. We really didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Duke hesitated, but then he said, “Alright. See you soon.” He cut through the kitchen, grabbed his glasses, and left by the door to the garage.
Once he was gone, I pulled my backpack closer to me, found my checkbook, and wrote out a check for three thousand dollars, payable to my roommate. Then I limped across the room, put it on the mantel, and picked up two of the sicky-sweet figurines. “Sorry dudes,” I told the little boys in brown shorts, one of whom was hanging out with a pair of goats, “I need to evict you, but don’t worry. You’ll find a nice new home, probably with some old lady and a bunch of cats. You make my roommate sad, and I just can’t let you keep doing that. He’s going to end up royally pissed off at me for this, but it’s worth it if he’s happier in the long run.”
I carried them to the couch and unpacked the box I’d asked Duke to bring downstairs, then carefully wrapped the Hummels in the bubble wrap I’d removed from my novelty bar glass collection. Once all twelve statuettes were packed up, I sent a quick text. As soon as I got a reply, I pulled up Uber and told the boxed-up figurines, “You’re going for a ride, kids. But never fear, there’s a kind and lovely person waiting for you at your destination.”
The driver arrived within a few minutes. She tried to tell me she wasn’t in the parcel delivery business. Eventually though, I sent her off with the box, an address, and a fat tip, after convincing her I wasn’t actually trying to smuggle contraband or conduct the world’s clumsiest drug deal.
Then I returned to the couch, draped the icepack over my ankle, and started to worry. I’d overstepped. I knew that. Was Duke going to be angry with me, or furious? It’d definitely be one or the other.
But I honestly believed I’d done the right thing. Once he got over the fact that I’d bought and disposed of them without his permission, I was sure he’d be glad to be rid of the much-hated knickknacks. In the short term though, I knew there’d be hell to pay.
*****
Almost exactly three hours after he left, Duke pulled into the garage. I’d known he was coming, because he’d texted to ask if I wanted him to pick up anything on the way home. What a nice guy. Too bad I was about to cement my spot in the number one position on his shit list.
He came in through the door connecting the garage and the kitchen, then stepped into the living room and said, “Hey. How are you?”
“Hey yourself. I’m fine.”
“That’s good. I’m going to change. See you in a minute.” He headed to his bedroom.
Duke soon returned, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt. He was wearing his glasses and carrying a paperback, and he said, “I’m going to read on the patio for a while. I have my phone with me, so if you need anything, text me instead of getting up.”
In an effort to be good and help my injury heal, I was sprawled out with my ankle elevated on the back of the couch. I was also holding my breath and waiting for Duke to notice the missing Hummels. But instead, his attention was riveted on the coffee table, where food, cans, and wrappers competed for space with my barware collection.
He just couldn’t let it go, either. Duke put down the book and started picking up my trash, even though I told him he should just bring me a garbage bag. When he got to the empty cereal box, he glanced at me and ask
ed, “Did you actually eat this whole thing?” I nodded, and he said, “Without milk?”
“That’s how I always eat it. Milk just makes it soggy.”
He stuffed some snack cake wrappers in the empty box and asked, “How do you stay so thin with these eating habits?”
“By dancing six hours a day on average, six days a week, and by having the metabolism of a hummingbird.”
“That makes sense, actually. Where do you want these bar glasses, the kitchen or your room?”
“The kitchen for now, though I propose setting up a tiki bar in a corner of the living room. I didn’t have enough space in my old apartment or in my tiny studio in New York, so my dreams of tiki bar nirvana have always gone unfulfilled. But we could totally fit one in here.”
“Why a tiki bar? Why not a regular bar?”
“I can really only answer that with: why a regular bar and not a tiki bar?”
He said, “Well, for starters, we’re not exactly in Hawaii.”
“But we can pretend. It’d be so fun! We could theme out the whole room with bamboo furniture, tropical plants, tiki torches—”
“We are not lighting torches in here.”
“I never said we had to light them. In fact, I bet I could find some cool battery-operated ones with plastic fire, like the Statue of Liberty torch.”
Duke straightened up with his armload of trash and said, “The Statue of Liberty torch isn’t made of plastic.”
“The one I got when I visited Liberty Island is. And you know what I mean. I’d buy us torches with a simulated flame, not ones that would burn this place to the ground. I bet I can find them online.”
I pulled my phone from the pocket of my T-shirt and started searching for electric tiki torches, and Duke said, “You know, I never actually signed off on a Hawaiian living room.”
“I know, but I really want some fake tiki torches now. Even if you nix the downstairs transformation, I can still put them in my room.”
He looked like he wanted to offer a rebuttal to that idea, but after a beat, he said, “I’m going to throw this away and be right back for your barware. Since your cabinets are full already, I’ll see about fitting them in with my glasses.” I murmured a thank you and flipped to another webpage.
Duke returned to the living room a minute later and said, “Okay, what did you do with them?” Since I was totally wrapped up in my search for the perfect tiki torches, I looked up at my roommate in confusion. I’d temporarily forgotten about my Hummel hijacking, but when he walked over to the empty mantel, it all came back to me. He picked up the check and asked, “What is this?”
I slipped the phone in my pocket and said, “Payment in full for your figurine collection.”
“I never agreed to that, Quinn. Put them back.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not here anymore.”
“You’re still in your pajamas, so you obviously didn’t take them anywhere. Did you hide them in your room? Just tell me where they are and I’ll go get them.”
“I mean they’re literally not here. I put them in a car and sent them away.”
He knit his brows and said, “You’d better be kidding.”
“Before you start yelling at me, please remember I was only trying to help. You said you hated those things, and they made you sad every time you looked at them. Now they’re gone, so they can’t keep hurting you. I know you’re worried about your parents’ reaction, but maybe you can use the money to pay down the loan they gave you. That way, they’ll see you made a smart business decision by selling them. In fact, you totally turned a profit. They should be proud of you!”
His voice was a low growl when he said, “I never agreed to sell them.”
“I know. But—”
He turned and headed for the garage. “Come on, we’re going to go get them. Right now.”
I hadn’t anticipated that. “Are you sure, Duke? Just stop and think about it for a minute.”
“Now.”
That single syllable left absolutely no room for argument. I grabbed my crutches and backpack and hurried after him. He already had the engine running when I reached the garage. I put the crutches in the bed of his white pickup truck, and he began backing out of the garage the moment I closed the passenger door behind me.
He asked, “Where am I going?” It was equal parts growl and question. I gave him directions as I fastened my seatbelt.
The silence in the cab of the truck weighed on me like a ton of bricks. Duke ground his teeth and kept his eyes on the road. After a few minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore and blurted, “I’m sorry, Duke. I was only trying to help.”
“You keep saying that, as if it somehow excuses your actions. But I didn’t want or ask for your help, Quinn.” His voice was gravel.
“But you need it desperately!” I was surprised by the anger welling up in me, and even though I knew I was totally at fault, I snapped, “I mean, how can anyone live like you do, in your perfect, pristine home, with your perfect, pristine life, surrounded by shit you don’t even like, just because you want your parents to think you’re a perfect son?”
He hissed, “You need to stop talking.”
“Fucking make me! Did I overstep? Yes. But do you know why I did it? Because I care about you, Duke! You told me those stupid knickknacks made you sad, and that broke my heart. So I packed that shit up and got rid of it, after paying you a small fortune for it, by the way! I knew you’d be pissed, but I did it anyway, because I wanted to make your life better.”
“You want to make my life better? Stop interfering in it!”
“Fine!”
We both spent the rest of the fifteen-minute drive across town fuming. When he finally pulled into the alley behind the address I’d given him, he muttered, “What the hell are we doing at an old fire station?”
“It’s where I exiled your precious doll collection,” I muttered as I fished around in my backpack, then jammed a flip flop onto my swollen left foot.
“They’re not dolls!”
“They might as well be!” I put on my other shoe, hopped out of the truck with my backpack, and grabbed my crutches. Then I stomped to the back door as much as I could, given the fact that I only had one foot to work with.
After a minute, my new friend Darwin answered my knock. He was a lot younger than me, but he was also twice as mature, so I figured it balanced itself out. As soon as he saw me, he threw his arms around my neck and said, “You’re amazing! I just got done looking up the prices of those figurines you sent over for the silent auction, and they’re going to bring in a ton of money for the shelter!” Then he held me at arms’ length and looked me over as he asked, “What happened? Your foot’s enormous.”
“Isn’t it pretty? I sprained it while running after a Chihuahua.” He looked a little worried as he glanced over my shoulder, and I said, “That’s Duke, my new roommate. He’s usually not quite so homicidal-looking.”
Duke said, “Can I speak to you for a moment in private, Quinn?”
I glanced back at him, and Darwin said, “Just come on in whenever you’re done. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” He took another look at my giant, pissed off roommate, then disappeared into the building.
I turned to Duke as he asked, “What is this place?”
“A transition shelter for homeless LGBT teens and young adults, founded by my friend Nana Dombruso. It’s called Rainbow Roost, and it’s opening at the end of the month.”
“They’re holding an auction?”
I nodded. “Nana and an investor friend of hers have been pouring a ton of their own money into this place, so a few people decided to hold a fundraiser to offset some of the operating costs.”
“Is that boy one of the residents?”
“No, Darwin’s a volunteer. Although, if it wasn’t for Nana, he might have ended up in a place like this. His family won’t accept the fact that he’s transgender, so Nana took him in. He’s dat
ing her great-grandson.”
Duke sighed and said, “I can’t take the Hummels back now. That kid’s so excited about them.”
“Just let them go, Duke. If your parents complain about you selling them, so what? They’ll get over it, and you’ll get to enjoy a Hummel-free home.”
“You don’t know my parents.”
There was something in his tone, something I’d never heard from him, and I whispered, “Do they hurt you?”
“Nobody hurts me. Not anymore.”
Not anymore. Oh God. I stammered, “I totally fucked up. I’ll go inside and get the figurines back. I didn’t mean to make trouble between you and your family.”
After a pause, he said, “No, don’t. Let the shelter have them.”
“What about your parents?”
“I’ll deal with them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, see, it doesn’t work that way. You can’t do things like this and expect to apologize and make it all better, Quinn.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Me neither. All I know is, I can’t live with someone who constantly brings chaos into my life. I really can’t. You’ve been my roommate for two days, and in that time, you made me drive all over the city of Oakland looking for a germ-ridden mattress, got drunk, trashed my bedroom, and turned my living room into a garbage dump. Then for an encore, you gave away my family heirlooms without my permission!”
“I’m a lot to take. I know that,” I said. “But you wanted someone to shake up your life, and guess what? You got it!”
“Who says I wanted that?”
“You did, by allowing me to be your roommate!”
He exclaimed, “That’s crazy!’
“Oh no it isn’t. You knew exactly what I was like before you rented that room to me. You’d met me on two separate occasions, when I was every bit the hot mess I am now. Plus, your former roommate Cole told you exactly what you were getting yourself into! He spent plenty of time at my old apartment before he married my roommate. But despite the stories and witnessing Hurricane Quinn for yourself, you went ahead and opened your door, and said, ‘Come on in! Come live in my perfect home, and fucking turn it upside down!’ And gee, here’s a surprise! I turned out to be exactly as advertised!”
