Chapter 11
eleven
LOCKE
On Saturday, I get let out of the office at an appropriate time. After my father got a message from his professor friend that I apologized with an overpriced pair of cuff links, he was noticeably nicer to me.
Nicer being, he only insulted me twice and let me out at the same time of his other employees. Overall, a huge win for me.
The singular saving point of a long day at the McCarthy offices was knowing when I got home, Rosie would be sitting on that couch. Some form of media would be playing on the television screen, and a bowl of popcorn would be placed in front of Ghost.
Tonight, instead of the gray pajama shorts I’ve pretended not to memorize, she’s wearing long pants.
Red plaid, with the waistband tucked a few times so she doesn’t step on them while walking around.
Her lounge top matches in print, is sleeveless, and still prone to the straps falling down her shoulders.
“What do you want to watch tonight?” She asks while Ghost rubs his white fur onto my worn black t-shirt.
“It’s your turn to pick.”
“We’re taking turns?”
I shrug. “Yesterday we watched anime. You choose today.”
Rosie hums, walks back to the couch with a fresh bowl of popcorn, and plops onto her side of the couch. “Musicals?”
Ghost meows, and we both laugh. “It’s a yes from him, so it’s a yes from me.”
“Perfect.” She clicks through the countless streaming apps before finding what she wants. “Ever seen Footloose?”
My groan is muffled by the popcorn kernels in my mouth. “Yes. A million times. It’s Billie’s favorite movie.”
Rosie smirks before pressing play and setting the remote on her arm cushion. “A million and one.”
This being my millionth and first watch means I know every major point, every beat, and subconsciously, I tap my feet to the dance numbers I wish I didn’t have memorized.
It’s equally embarrassing and eye-opening. Realizing this is the first time we’re both familiar with what’s playing, means neither of us is too engrossed in the movie to talk. I glance over at Rosie to gauge her interest, and like me, she only looks half-engrossed.
Still, she sits and watches the musical. Heat reaches up into my neck.
This feels like the right time.
“Rosalie?”
Her body shifts, her torso turning towards me fully while she nods.
“I’m ready to tell you now.”
She tilts her head and asks, “Tell me what?”
The barely-there spark of courage dies instantly. Why did I word that so bluntly? How am I this embarrassing?
“Uh.” Another dance sequence is starting on the screen, and for the first time in my life I wish I was a part of it. Anywhere but here, embarrassing myself in front of Rosie, right after I decided this would be the best, and maybe only, time I would gather enough courage to tell her-
“Oh, about your dad?” The tornado of thoughts seizes. Her legs tuck under her and into a pretzel, turning her entire body to me before giggling. I can feel the wrinkles of confusion on my forehead getting deeper, and Rosalie points. “You’re nervous.”
I’m messing with my glasses. Again.
I snap my hand back to my side before shutting my eyes, groaning.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Her hand bumps into my shoulder.
I can only grunt in response. “If you’re ready, if you’re not—either way, it’s okay.
As long as you feel comfortable enough to say something if you want.
” There’s a silence that becomes thick between those words and her next. “You do feel comfortable, right?”
When I look at her, Rosie’s hands are laced in her lap, shoulders slumping. “Yes, Rosalie, of course I’m comfortable. Here and around you.”
She releases a breath. “Oh, okay. Thank god. I got scared for a second.”
A tight knot I’ve never felt before wrings itself in my stomach.
It’s different than nerves or embarrassment. The longer I consider Rosie cares about creating a comfortable space for me, the tighter it gets. Closing in on my lungs and making it harder to breathe.
No one has ever cared about my comfort before, I don’t think. Not to the extent of asking about it and worrying over the answer.
I’m still nervous. Still creeping into the unknown of telling someone new what my father is like, why my actions are socially out-of-place sometimes, and why Saturdays are unbearable before six pm.
Despite it all, I’m determined to press on. If there’s anyone I want to share this with, it’s Rosie, with her movie of choice playing in the background.
“Two weeks ago, when I came home…” I bite the inside skin of my lip and try my hardest to word this correctly. “I wasn’t in a great mood. It was because of my dad.”
Rosalie turns the sound down a few notches and leans back into the couch. “Okay. I’m listening.”
She’s listening, so I tell her.
I tell her briefly about my father’s status. For once, it’s just context. Just background on why he would view living in a dorm as a punishment, and why he has the authority to spread rumors about his son when he thinks I misbehave.
Grant might have been right when he said I like to gossip. I guess I do, with how easy it is to spill the things my father has put me through. I consider, though, it’s less about gossiping and more about relief.
How relieving it is to tell someone what kind of person Dad is and not nervously wonder if they’ll sell the story to a tabloid.
Rosalie listens intently while I go over every detail, including the ones of my day at the office when he threatened to cut me off, and the Saturday two weeks ago. Somewhere in the middle of it, Ghost finds his way onto my lap. Like always, he can tell when I need a boost of support or comfort.
My roommate doesn’t react with animated facial expressions or pry for more information mid-story.
She just listens, and through chopped sentences and awkward pauses, I keep talking.
Blame it on the living situation or the nerdy hobbies we’ve shared, but there’s a bond with Rosie I don’t see being tainted by this story or the next.
The final credits of Footloose have already played across the screen when I wrap up my monologue.
“Wow,” she says with a large breath. “That’s… more than I thought it was.”
“Yeah. It’s hard to summarize my life. But that’s the gist of it.”
“Rich father who…” Her voice trails off, unsteady and unconfident.
“Doesn’t care about his kids. Not even half as much as he does the company. Treats us like we’re pawns and nothing else.” I finish for her, and the brown of her eyes turn a misty shade. “It’s okay. You can say it.”
There’s a long pause before she whispers, “What about your mom?”
I sigh. I don’t feel so miserable talking about her. Maybe that’s the worst part.
“That an entirely other web to unravel. All you really need to know is she loves one thing in life. Shopping. Anytime she comes around or interacts with Billie or I, it’s so my father will provide an allowance. We see her so little, sometimes I forget she exists.”
I don’t hear Rosie’s heart breaking, but I can see it from the pained expression on her face. “I’m so sorry, Locke. That’s horrible.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Ghost bumps his nose into my chin, and the weight of the past doesn’t feel so heavy. “My parents are my parents. Dad is Dad. I’m accustomed to it by now.”
“No one should be used to being cast aside and mistreated.” A powerful meow follows her words, and I crack a smile. “See? Ghost agrees.”
“Ghost has had to deal with one too many of these monologues, I’m afraid.”
Right after I say it, heat rushes to my cheeks.
I just admitted I talk to my cat.
The sinking feeling doesn’t last for long, though. Rosie rids me of it when she smiles and pats Ghost on the head. “I don’t think he minds. But if he ever needs a break, I’m more than happy to stand in.”
The white ball of fur meows, and I hold him closer to my chest. I don’t think Ghost particularly minds my rants, either, but it’s nice to have someone else willing to listen.
“That’d be great. He’s been at it for a few years now. He deserves some time off.”
“How long have you had him?”
“Since freshman year of high school.” My teeth bite into my cheek. “My academy’s counselor suggested it.”
“For… anxiety?”
“She actually suggested it for companionship.” I push the words out while rearranging my glasses. It’s less humiliating than saying, because I had no friends. “But I did some research. Figured out an emotional service animal was a good idea.”
Ghost starts to purr, cuddled up in my arms, and I take it as agreement.
“I’m surprised your dad went with that.”
I’ve never heard Rosie mumble, but she does now. Like she’s afraid I’ll hear.
I throw half a smile her way, so she knows it’s okay to take jabs at him. It’s healing to hear someone validate the thoughts I’ve been too afraid to voice myself.
“He doesn’t know the specifics. We still had a nanny back then and she didn’t ask many questions. She just took me where I wanted to go. My parents would sign off on things without caring what they were for.”
“Not even if he was paying for it?”
The question digs at another part of my life I haven’t shared with her—something I haven’t shared with anyone. How deep my father’s pockets, and my own bank account, go.
I contemplate confiding that information to her, but I’ve never had that much trust in someone. Not even Billie.
I shove the secret back into the safety of my mind and grunt. “If it’s not in the tens of thousands, he doesn’t even notice. I doubt he remembers Ghost exists.”
My hand cradles the head of my best friend gently. If Dad did forget about the small kitten I adopted so many years ago, that’d be for the best. It’d be the one part of my life completely untainted by him.
The light in the room changes. The dimmed screen of our television flashes with a white pop-up, asking, “Are you still watching?”
With the hand not carefully holding Ghost, I grab the remote and quickly click “Yes.”
“Sorry. I talked your ear off.”
“No! Don’t apologize.” A handful of popcorn meets Rosie’s mouth, and I realize it’s the first she’s indulged in since I started speaking. Mumbling through the food, she says, “You just wait until I trauma dump on you. We’ll be here all fucking night.”
We both laugh. I imagine what that would be like. Sitting on this couch for a whole night, going back and forth with stories from our childhood. Discussing the moments that stayed with us until today.
Learning more about the things Rosie has faced while pursuing engineering. Curiosity is strong, but the warmth swirling my chest is stronger. I’d love to spend all night talking about her.
I’m halfway to suggesting we cut the musicals for now, and encourage my roommate to start from the very beginning—what life she dreamt of before being a psychic mathematician, or ask about the moment she knew numbers held the answers to her future—but the intro to Mamma Mia! is already echoing throughout our dorm.
“Have you watched this one?” She asks me, leaning over the couch to stare at Ghost’s sleeping figure.
“A few times.” More times than I’d like. But if Rosalie wants to watch it, I’m okay with another.
“Good! Then we can both pay half-attention while you tell me more about your life.” Her legs bend to that familiar position pretzeled under her, body turned towards me while she smiles and nods. “Keep going.”
I almost tell her she should start with her own stories. That I’d like to listen to those this time around. But she’s so comfortably sat, ready to listen to everything I have to say, and it’d be wrong to let that kindness go to waste.
Plus, there’ll be other days. Other Saturday nights posted up together in this dorm, pretending to pay attention to whatever is on screen, and instead focusing on each other. I’m sure of it. We have the rest of the school year.
Ignoring the film’s opening number and the happy buzz in my head, I grab a piece of popcorn.
“Saturdays are important. For my dad.” And for me. “But I’ll be home six p.m. sharp every night.”