Sigh.
I trudge that way.
Drop everything in the laundry room when I come through the door, including my backpack, too tired to properly put anything away. That whole conversation with Kaylee wore me out even though it only lasted about five minutes, maybe less. Jack calls to me from the living room.
“Hey roomie, is that you?”
Roomie.
That makes me smile. The American slang he is using doesn’t make him sound any more American than he did yesterday.
“Yeah it’s me, not some murderer.”
“Phew. Thank Christ.” His laugh carries into the kitchen, and I follow it to the adjacent room. “I’m resting in the den—have my leg up.”
Yes, I can see that.
My roommate is stretched out on the couch, his long body taking up the majority of it, his leg propped up on a set of stacked throw pillows. The television is on and he’s watching an action flick I’ve seen at least four times.
“You’re not hurt, you weirdo.” Why is he pretending to be injured? We already established he was full of shit when he left his recent game, and it’s been days—how is he laid up on the sofa? “What’s your deal? Why are you acting like you broke your leg?”
“What if someone from the team drops by unexpectedly to check on my progress? I can’t be doing weights in the garage, now can I?”
“No one is dropping by.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Um, I’m quite sure.”
“You’re being really pessimistic about this.”
“You’re being really dramatic about this.”
“So you’ve been reminding me.”
“I just think it’s important that you stay in reality and not in your parallel universe.”
Jack gasps indignantly, eyes never leaving the television. “I’m affronted.”
“No one our age uses that word.” My hands go to my hips and I stare down at him. “Do guys drop by their friends’ houses unexpectedly to check up on them? Last time I checked, dudes aren’t as sensitive as girls.”
“Don’t know, but they might. I would. I’d bring soup, too—wouldn’t that be delightful?”
“In your dreams, pal.” I plop down next to him, shoving his legs off when he tries to put his feet in my lap. “Ew, get them off.”
“Please rub them,” he begs. “They’re sore.”
“From what?” I laugh. “You’ve probably been lying here most of the day, lazy ass. And no I’m not rubbing them. That’s gross.”
“We’re best friends now,” Jack informs me. “Friends do things for each other, like rub feet.”
“I’ve never rubbed my friends’ feet,” I tell him. “And I’m not about to start with yours.”
Outside there is a crack of thunder, and I shiver, grateful that lightning hasn’t followed.
At least not yet.
I absolutely hate storms in any form, and if I have to sit on the couch with Jack’s feet on top of me to feel more secure and safe then so be it. I’ll do what I have to do to save myself from the loud bangs that are sure to commence. As if on cue, a few raindrops hit the windows, one at a time.
Another low rumble.
Another shiver.
I am being such a giant baby about this, but no way am I going to leave this spot while the slow and steady crescendo builds outside.
Jack notices. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just hate this weather on top of my shitty afternoon.”
He picks up the remote control and pauses the movie. “Why was it a shitty afternoon?”
I shrug. “I bumped into my roommates today, and it wasn’t pleasant. Kaylee is still super pissed off, and she was so rude—not just to me, but to Lilly, too.”
“Yes, well, I hate to tell you this, love, but your mate is a bit of a bitch.”
“Jack!”
“Oh come on now, you know it’s true. She might have been nice to you while you were living together, but she is not a nice person.” A bag of chips materializes, and I realize he’s had one on the floor next to the sofa, his hand digging in and producing a few crispy bits. He pops one in his mouth and chews loudly. “Trust me.”
He’s not telling me anything new.
“Well it sucked, you know. That was not how I wanted to see her after our fight. Being caught off guard totally made me feel like I had no…I don’t know. I had nothing intelligent to say, and I felt stupid. She was so defensive and on the attack.” He eats more chips. “Can I have some of those?”
Without another word, he hands over the yellow bag.
“Thanks.”
“Crisps make everything better,” he theorizes, and we both dig in.
He unpauses the movie, and once again, it’s silence—except for the noise from the weather.
The TV buffers briefly, wi-fi interrupted by the impending storm.
Dammit.
“Want me to rub your feet?” Jack offers.
“Knock it off, stop being weird.”
“I’m not being weird—I’m trying to soothe you.”
“Soothe me? Um, that’s weird.”
“What is? Me wanting to rub your feet or the word soothe?”