Six months later…
Stretching in bed has become difficult. With Chevron—now grown into a medium-sized dog—sprawled over my feet and Richard on my right side, even my tiny figure is experiencing space rationing. Regardless of Richard’s California King Bed. But the cozy warmth of two bodies pressed against mine is particularly delicious on a cold winter day.
Outside Richard’s window, a rainstorm is attacking New York. It’s been pouring since Monday, meaning I’ve spent three nights in a row at Richard’s place. The boyfriend doesn’t seem upset about it, but sometimes I suspect that even if he were, he’d be too British to tell me.
Rain or no rain, I have to give him a night’s respite and I need a change of clothes, anyway. At five thirty, a vibrating wrist tells me it’s time to get out of bed. Richard’s building has a gym in the basement, meaning I can run despite the weather. But also that, even stuffing my duffel bag to the brim, between training gear, PJs, bathroom stuff, and day clothes, three days is the max autonomy I have without going back home.
Once training is over, I take Chevron out to relieve herself. When I get back into the apartment, I’m soaked, muddy, and miserable. I hate the rain. Before it started, the city was covered in a coat of fluffy white snow; it was a winter wonderland. But now it has all melted into a gloomy puddle.
After a very long shower, I change into my last spare outfit and kiss Richard awake, kick-starting our morning ritual. Richard prepares the oatmeal while I set a pot of water to warm for the French press. Considering the world outside is the saddest gray, Richard surprises me by staring at the storm with a contented smile.
I measure the coffee beans and put them in the grinder. When the noise is over I say, “You seem awfully happy about the bad weather.”
Richard shrugs, adding a delicious mix of nuts and fresh fruit to our oatmeal. The boyfriend still eats meat, but he’s being surprisingly open-minded about my dietary habits.
“At least one of us is excited about the rain.” I pour the heated water and ground coffee into the press, stir, and set the microwave timer to five minutes. “Can you drive us to Manhattan tonight?”
“Tired of Brooklyn?”
“No, but it’s been raining for three days… I’ve run out of clean clothes.” I sit at the kitchen bar opposite Richard. “I need to go home and pick up some fresh outfits.”
Richard smiles a goofy smile. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There’s a mystical object with the magical power of turning dirty clothes into clean ones. It’s called a washing machine.”
I chuckle. “Most of my things are dry-clean.”
“There are dry cleaners in Brooklyn.”
“Yeah, I’m aware. I’d still prefer to go home and get a fresh change. Come on, I can’t show up at work with the same outfit two times in a week.”
“Why don’t you bring some of your stuff here?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t want my wardrobe spread around two places. I’d get confused about where everything is.”
Richard seems disappointed by my answer, but the timer interrupts him before he can express his mind. I plunge the press, pour the coffee, and we eat in silence. The mood has shifted from cozy-homey to awkward, and I don’t know what I did wrong.
Surely, Richard isn’t touchy over my choice of dry cleaners, and I was positive he’d be eager for an evening on his own.
Two spoonfuls of oatmeal, and Richard stops midway through the third to not-so-casually say, “So move everything here.”
I choke on a sip of coffee. “Move in with you?”
Whoa! I thought I’d have to rope the boyfriend into this new commitment very slowly. And now he’s just asking me out of the blue over breakfast on a Thursday in December.
“I mean.” His lips twitch. “If you can stomach the idea of living in Brooklyn.”
“It’s not that. It’s just… are you sure?”
“I am, but you don’t seem too excited.”
“No, I am. But I don’t want you to rush into a commitment that might be too quick and backfire on us.”
“Think this is rushed? I’ll give you rushed.” Richard sits taller on his stool. “With my ex, I proposed after six months and pushed her to set the wedding date in another six months without having spent a single day under the same roof.”
Richard never talks about his past so I listen without interrupting.
“I sensed she wasn’t ready, but I pressed on. Thought that if I didn’t give her time to overanalyze, she’d be fine. Well, you know how that ended. That was rushed. This”—he swings his spoon between us, wielding it like a sword—“isn’t rushed. You’re not pressing me into anything. I’m asking you.”
“Okay.” I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells. “Take some extra time to mull it over. Then if you’re still sure…”
“I don’t need extra time.”
I’m at a loss for words… I so didn’t expect this.
“You want to know why I’m happy it’s raining?” Richard continues.
Oh, so he was pleased by the awful weather. I nod.
“Rain means you spend the night. A sunny day means you go back to your place, and I’m alone. I hate sunny days.”
“You hate the sun because of me?”
“Despise it.”
A dumb smile appears on my lips. “Ah well, in that case…”
“Should I free a drawer?”
“Poor man. You’ve no idea what you just got yourself into. I’m going to need much more space than a drawer.” My brain whizzes with all the technical, organizational steps. “I’d need to give Nikki some notice. I can’t just stop paying my share of the rent and leave her out to hang. Plus, she hates the holidays, but…” I get up, another thought suddenly bolting through my head. “Wait here.”
I retrieve my bag from down the hall and fish inside for something I haven’t looked at in months. After some rummaging, I remember it’s in my wallet. A piece of paper so crumpled and frail it might disintegrate at any second.
“What’s that?” Richard asks.
Spreading the sheet on the bar, I ask, “You don’t recognize it?”
“Is it the list?”
“Mmm-hmm. And there’s just one item in there I haven’t ticked off yet.”
“Which is?”
“Don’t move in without a ring.”
“Oh, I never considered that angle. Does it bother you?”
“I always thought I wanted to be super traditional, but that was the old me.”
Richard is still staring at the list, frowning now. “And when did you go skinny dipping, exactly?”
I blush and snatch the paper away. “I’m never telling you that.”
“Hey.” Richard makes to grab the sheet again.
I yank my arm away, crumple the list into a ball, and throw it across the hall. Richard doesn’t need to re-read every insignificant item. Chevron woofs and runs after the paper ball. After catching it, she sits quietly in a corner, ball between her front paws, chewing bits away. As I watch the poor piece of paper being shredded to confetti, I realize that the list, however wrong it was in principle, did come through for me in the end. Only not in the way I expected. With every item ticked off in reverse, life has never been better. Magical, spontaneous, and totally unplanned.
“That was naughty,” Richard protests.
I round the bar and plant myself between Richard’s legs, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You still in the market for a naughty roommate?”
Richard pulls me closer by the waist. “You don’t care that it’s Brooklyn?”
“I wouldn’t care if it were New Jersey with you.”
We both know I’m lying, but I quickly silence his rebuff with a kiss.
Mid-kiss, Richard tickles my sides. “When did you go skinny dipping?”
“Aaah, stop. Stop!” I struggle to get away. “I’m not talking.”
“Yes, you are.”
I wriggle free and make a dash for the bedroom.
“Gotcha.” Richard pins me on the bed and starts the tickling torture again.
With him on top of me, my giggles soon die away, cutting off completely as his hands start moving in a different way on my body.
I smirk. “You’re the worst interrogator ever.”
“Being in love with the victim doesn’t help, I guess.”
“Shut up and kiss me, roommate.”