Chapter 3
Barely an hour after arriving, my brother and his wife are already gone, leaving me alone with Liam. Am I supposed to entertain him? Feed him? Ask him if he needs anything?
No, I tell myself. He’s a big boy; he can figure this out by himself. If he needs something, he can ask for it. I even attempted to help him by moving some furniture around so he’d have more room to move about with his crutches, but he blew a gasket at me.
Plus, you are no longer a people pleaser, I chastise myself. He can figure it out himself.
It takes exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes for me to completely regret agreeing to have Liam live with me.
“What the fuck is this music? It’s been playing since I got here and it’s getting on my nerves,” he says, stomping out of his room—if you could even call it stomping, given the crutches and boot.
He looks pissed, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be turning off my music.
My plant babies need their hour of classical music every day.
“Just that—music,” I answer.
“Why?” he asks in a rough tone.
“Classical music encourages happy plants. I scheduled my Google Home to play one hour of classical music every morning and afternoon,” I explain.
“Turn it off,” he demands.
Turning to lean my hips against the counter where I was working on my weekly meal prep, I level him a look that hopefully says not happening, you’re in my house, and stop being an asshole. “Not happening. My house, my rules,” I repeat from earlier.
“Is that what you think, Rosie?” he asks, using my childhood nickname, making me tense. “Last time I checked, I’m paying you rent, therefore, I have a say.”
“And last time I checked, I’m doing you the favor of a lifetime.
Not to mention, I enjoy living alone. So, please, grab your bag and call my brother.
I’m sure he’s not far and can come back to pick you up,” I respond with a sass and confidence I didn’t know I had inside of me.
It doesn’t last long, though, and my hands start to shake—I hate confrontation.
I never initiate conflict, instead always deciding to bend to the other person’s wants.
But this is my home. After living with my brother or roommates for my entire life, this is the first place that is mine, and mine alone.
I may not have been living here long, but I put too much time and energy into making it the house and home I’ve always wanted. The only house rules to apply are mine.
“Why are you being such a bitch?” Liam asks in an angry tone.
Well that was uncalled for. Any guilt about not wanting to change my routine for him melts off my shoulders at his question. But I decide to be the bigger person and ignore him.
I simply repeat, “My house, my rules”—sounding like a broken record—before calmly cleaning up the last of my dishes, chanting it’s just a few weeks over and over in my head.
I leave him standing in the kitchen as I go back into my office to finish the syllabi for the classes I’m teaching at the start of January, with Gigi right on my tail.
I’m only a teacher’s assistant this semester.
It was meant to give me time to adjust to a new school.
I tried to explain to them that I’ve been a teacher’s assistant before, during my masters, but looking back, I’m happy they said no, that I had a semester to get used to the school and the students.
I didn’t think the change from masters student to Ph.D.
student would be so steep, but it is. Just creating the syllabi has been hard, and I’ve been studying molecular biology for years at this point.
I miss the days when all I had to do was lab work, with a few classes sprinkled in.
The joys of moving up in the world of academia.
As soon as I finish my last syllabus, my mind quickly wanders back to Liam.
He’s always been a grumpy asshole, that’s nothing new.
But other than the last time I spoke to him, over seven years ago, he’s always been nice to me.
I mean, he was short with me then too, but never an asshole.
That was always reserved for everyone else but me.
I can’t say I’m not surprised he asked me why I was being a bitch, but at the same time, I am surprised I was on the receiving end of his bad attitude.
For some reason, that leaves me with a sour taste in my mouth.
All it does is remind me that he isn’t the Liam I used to know and love, and I’m not that same little girl with a crush.
A few hours of non-stop work later, I can safely say that two out of the three classes I’m teaching next semester are ready to be taught, while the third is about twenty percent complete.
Satisfied with an afternoon well spent—and late evening, apparently—I look at the clock to see it’s already past eight.
It’s well past the time to close my laptop for the day.
I roll my shoulders, stretching out after being stuck behind my computer for longer than I’d like to admit, when I’m pulled out of my thoughts of what to eat for supper by a loud crash.
It sounded an awful lot like one of my dishes breaking, followed by a very long string of expletives from my roommate.
“Are you okay?” I ask, before I’m even fully in the kitchen, worried that he might have hurt himself.
“Does it look like I’m okay?” he asks gruffly, pointing at the ground where his sandwich is now splattered amongst the broken shards of one of my pink plates.
“I’m not asking about the sandwich or the plate, I’m asking about you, but fine, I won’t care. Have fun picking up your mess,” I say, walking around him to grab a premade salad and protein shake from the fridge before making my way to my bedroom.
I was hoping, after spending some time alone, he’d be in a better mood, but no such luck.
Closing the door, I can’t help but lean against it, salad and shake vibrating in my hands, as I try to settle my heartbeat.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so mean to someone in my entire life.
And twice in a row at that! I don’t know what it is about Liam, but he really has a way of bringing out the grump in me.
That’s a lie. I know the reason. It’s the same reason why I’ve been avoiding him for the past seven years, and the reason I didn’t want him living with me. It’s probably why I’m giving him the same attitude he’s giving me.
With my heart rate finally back down to a decent pace, I make my way to my bed to eat my salad.
Do I wish I was eating at my kitchen island?
Yes, of course. However . . . I’m getting way too much entertainment from hearing Liam bitch as he hobbles around the kitchen, trying to clean up his mess and make a new sandwich.
Do I feel bad? Sort of. I’m not one to just watch someone struggle, I’m always trying to help or find a solution. Just standing back is almost painful.
Before the freak out seven years ago, if anyone asked me who my favorite person was, I’d answer Liam.
Even if I wasn’t in love with him, he would have been my favorite person.
When I was a little girl, I used to tell anyone who would listen to me that Liam was my best friend.
He was always at our house, or if I was lucky, he and Ronan would bring me to Liam’s house.
There, his mom, his sister, or Hannah, would braid my hair and paint my nails and make cookies with me.
I continued to stop by even when Liam and Ronan left for school, and even when the girls moved away.
I still try to make my way to Mr. and Mrs. Jones’s house whenever I’m in Vancouver.
They even came to visit me once or twice when I was doing my undergrad and masters, saying they caught a long layover in Montreal, but I know for a fact they booked a flight with a twenty-four-hour layover on purpose.
They even came to the island a few weeks after I moved into this house.
I understand that he’s in pain, and that it seems like his life will never be the same again.
I know I haven’t seen him in over seven years, or interacted with him as an adult, but this even grumpier version of the boy I used to idolize is painful to watch.
So painful, that it’s taking the taste right out of my favorite salad and smoothie.