Roomies

by Christina Lauren

Tonight, I’ve concluded two things about gin: it tastes like pinecones and is clearly the devil’s sauce.

Crushes are the worst, but in hindsight a crush from afar seems so much easier than this. I should stick to making up stories in my head and watching from a distance like a reasonable creeper. Now I’ve broken the fourth wall and if he’s as friendly as his eyes tell me he is, he may notice me when I drop money in his case the next time, and I will be forced to interact smoothly or run in the opposite direction. I

the reason I can’t write about fictional life is because I haven’t actually lived.

“I think that’s why it’s appealing. It feels like a crazy thing to do, and I need a little more crazy.”

“I’d also have a beautiful wife.

I’ve always been obsessed with words—so why can’t I seem to write a single one?

“Dev, this is my fiancée, Holland. Holls, this is Devon.” Holls. Fiancée. And I die.

I think that’s why I like you,

I used to refer to her as social lubricant, but Robert made me promise to never use that phrase again.

A smile spreads over his face and I wish I could describe it. It’s the expressive equivalent of an eraser, wiping away any doubt I had about this.

I want to understand why I feel so easy around him.

I don’t care what time it is, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

view treadmills as a mindless way to run and never actually get anywhere.

“You’re an idiot,” he says into my hair. “But I suppose you’re my idiot, and I’m pretty grateful for that.”

Maybe it’s that he’s a son instead of a daughter, or the oldest instead of the baby, or maybe he seems confident enough about every move that his family stopped questioning his decisions a long time ago.

“To be fair,” I argue, “Lulu doesn’t call you her boyfriend.” Gene laughs. “True. Why won’t you call me your boyfriend, Lu?” “Because we’re not sixteen? Would you be happier if I called you my manfriend?”

“What I said before was true,” he says quietly, as if he’s speaking only to me, “about how Holland tries to see herself clearly and seems to end up in a pretty good place. But I also think she sees herself as a supporting character, even in her own life story.”

This feels so easy. Hanging out with my people with Calvin there, cleaning up afterward. Is it because we know how fake it all is, and there are no pretenses? Or is it something more, some matching chemistry?

You can tell a lot about a person by what their loved ones say.”

“Mam says that secrets unlock something between friends.”

What am I doing? I’m less afraid of getting in trouble for this fake marriage than I am of falling in love with someone who could be playing me completely.

the richness of the music gives me that odd sense of déjà vu, of something far away that’s suddenly so close again, and I’m smothered by it in this way that makes me turn my face to the ceiling, trying to inhale it, swallow more.

“I’ve had friends like that,” he says, “the ones you outgrow but keep anyway.”

and I’ve wanted it to be great even if it didn’t always feel like we fit so well anymore.

Sometimes well-intended advice is so supremely unhelpful.

“We’re all good at different things, mo stóirín. I think you undervalue your own gifts.”

“I think part of what’s keeping me from starting is the fear that I won’t actually love it, and then I’ll be left with a degree I won’t use, and no other prospects.”

I only get one shot at this, and right now, I’m finding my value only in being valuable to others. How do I find value for me?

It’s exactly the way the story needs to unfold through music. It feels nostalgic… I’m already regretting the end.

It just felt good when you said that.”

“Feels like I don’t always have to explain myself so much with you.”

“No, simple,” I say, quickly adding, “and I don’t mean that in a bad way. I want to think that, with you, what you see is what you get.”

I have all these things I wanted to do, and I haven’t done any of them.”

“Hollsy, think of it this way: If I compared myself to Robert when we first met, I would constantly feel behind.

“But I knew I wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with me, too, and also knew what he wanted to do with his life. So, we compromised.

It’s fun, of course, but the most important part is that I didn’t feel like my job had to be my everything.”

Sometimes a job can just be a job. We aren’t all going to win the rat race.

“If things work out between the two of you, Calvin is lucky because he has a job he loves and he has you. This gives you room to find yourself, and figure out what you want your life to look like.

“And it doesn’t have to look right now the way you want it to look in ten years.”

“But I think that’s what scares me the most,” I tell him. “I’m terrified it will look the same in ten years—for me. But for Calvin? He will have moved on, or moved up, or moved away.” “You don’t know that. You have no way of knowing. All you can do is forge your path.”

“I want to tell you I’m sorry,” he says, voice a low burr. “Come home and kick me in the teeth if you need to, but then kiss me.”

“I’ve never done this before. I just know I’m falling for the girl I married.”

The sun can’t decide what it wants to do; it fights behind clouds, and even when it’s free and exposed, it seems to beam weakly down on us.

I need to fill my life with accomplishments I create, not just witness.

But I’ve been really good at letting other people take care of me, and making my decisions based on what other people need. I’ve been scared of figuring out my own shit, or trying something and failing. And now I’m sitting here thinking, ‘I wouldn’t even be in love with me. How can I believe him when he says he is?’ ”

“We could work on us, but I’m not happy with me right now. I want to do something, not just watch you do everything.”

“I can wait.”

how pure, sublime talent transcends everything else, no matter where you find

I feel for the first time like our love looks as easy and genuine from the outside as it feels from the inside.