Chapter Twenty-Five #2
But he didn’t ask why, and I don’t know what reason he filled in. His energy faded and darkened. He slid away into subdued professionalism. “So you need to find a studio.”
I was still reeling at the idea of being his roommate.
Sleeping so close to his bedroom and standing naked in his shower while he wandered around on the other side of the door.
I couldn’t believe he’d made the offer like it was nothing.
That meant it was nothing to him. He was only reacting poorly because I’d discarded the idea so quickly.
He suggested the free apartment-hunting website that we often directed patrons to, but I’d already glanced through it and had immediately gotten stressed out.
It had clarified why my rent was being raised so significantly.
Everything in Ridgetop was more expensive than it used to be.
For the price I was paying now, I could get a studio, except…
I was already paying too much. Only a handful of properties would actually save me money.
I spent the next few days viewing these apartments on my lunch breaks but ran into a string of bad luck.
At the first stop, I made the mistake of telling the landlord that I wanted a more affordable location because I was quitting my job to open my own business.
Suddenly that place became unavailable. I learned my lesson and kept my mouth shut.
But the other apartments had already been claimed by the time I showed up, and there was a lot of competition even for the ones at my current price.
I was looking at increasingly poor spaces with increasingly higher rents, and everything was falling through.
“You don’t by any chance have a room you’re renting out?
” I began asking patrons, because it seemed like every homeowner did have a room they were renting out these days.
A number of them answered in the affirmative, but all of their spaces were reserved for the tourists on Airbnb.
I could see Macon holding his tongue. If I asked, I knew Edmond’s room was still mine, but I couldn’t accept that.
I emailed all the employees in the library system, an act that was frowned upon, but I was leaving, and I was desperate.
Nobody had anything available, although I did receive a reply from Stephen at the East branch wondering if it was true that I was opening a bookstore and could he apply for a job?
He was interested in similar work with fewer volatile banners.
We’d only met once, but I liked him, and he had a good reputation.
I told him I’d be in touch, which gave me a bounce of energy that deflated the instant I returned to my search.
I even considered texting Cory to see if he knew of any available places, but my last shred of dignity wouldn’t allow it.
Mika checked in three days before I had to move out, wanting to hear how my classes were going and asking if I needed any help finding the business location.
“I’d love your help,” I said, “but I can’t start looking until next week.
I have to be out of my apartment by Saturday, and I still don’t have a place to live. ”
I thought I’d told her, but apparently we’d only been discussing the bookstore. After asking some follow-up questions, she chided me, “I wish you’d told me sooner! I might have something. It’s not great, but… it sounds like you don’t need something great?”
Desperation overrode trepidation. “What sort of not great?”
She and Bex were turning an addition on their house into a single-occupancy rental space.
In case something scary happened with the economy again—which felt less like an if and more like a when —and the dojang couldn’t pull through, they’d already have another source of income.
“The toilet and shower have been installed, but we haven’t hooked up the sink or oven yet.
Or installed any cabinets. I’ll have to talk to Bex, but you could pay us either in work or a small amount of rent or some combination of those.
We could draw up a contract so the parameters would be clear. ”
“Mika, that sounds very great.” I was trying not to cry.
“Don’t say that until you see it,” she said.
I saw it the next morning before work. It was smaller than every other place I’d toured—a micro-studio, my friends called it.
The room was rectangular and spanned the back side of their house.
Still under construction, it was covered in sawdust and plastic sheeting.
Their kitchen was on the other side of the main wall, and I’d be permitted to use it until the studio’s kitchen was installed.
My queen-size mattress was too big for the space, and they hadn’t purchased any furniture yet, but Bex told me they’d buy a new twin bed that weekend.
The deal we worked out was that I would help them get the space ready to rent and pay a minimal fee to cover water and electricity, but the space would be mine through the end of the year, and I could break the contract whenever, without penalty, if I found someplace better.
It was a horrible space. It was a generous deal.
I took it.
The studio wasn’t big enough to hold everything I owned, so I asked Macon if Edmond’s room was still available.
His posture straightened until I clarified that I’d like to store some of my belongings there through the end of the year.
When I told him about my new place, he looked dubious.
“You’ll be washing your hands in the shower? Getting your drinking water from it?”
“Only until the sink is installed.”
“Ingrid.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. And hey! I’ll learn some new skills.”
Macon didn’t speak for several seconds. Then he said stiffly, “The room is still yours—for you or anything you need to store.”
“Just my stuff. Thank you.”
He offered to help me move. I wanted to say that I could handle it, but I did need help, and a man’s stronger muscles would admittedly be useful.
It was a late shift, but we had no time to waste, so Macon followed me home after closing so we could take the first two carloads to his house.
I’d been collecting cardboard boxes, and my books and vinyl were already packed.
I pointed them out, but instead of grabbing them, he scrutinized my entire apartment, ending with my bedroom.
My move had finally given one of us permission to enter the other’s most personal space.
His arms crossed as he glanced between my bed and my dresser.
“I guess we could borrow Richard’s van again.
We’ll need it for your couch and bookcases, too. ”
“Oh, none of that is coming with me. I’ll leave it by the dumpsters and post a message about it on the Buy Nothing group.”
“I thought your new place wasn’t furnished.”
“It’s not. But there’s no room for any of this.”
He turned toward me, and I was surprised to see that he was angry.
“It’s all bowed in and falling apart anyway, see?” I struggled to yank open a dresser drawer, showing him that the bottom had collapsed. “Particleboard. That’s why I can’t sell it.”
“What about your bed?”
“I don’t want that either.”
“But it looks fine,” he pressed.
“Listen, there’s a reason why Cory didn’t want any of it either, okay?” I didn’t mean to be sharp, but the mention of my ex was enough for Macon to drop it.
We loaded the boxes into our cars and still had a little room left, so we hunted for smaller items to fill the empty pockets. “What about these?” Macon pointed to my bedside lamps. “You’ll need one, but probably not both. I could take the other for you.”
“I hate those lamps. I’m not keeping them either.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
I lifted one up, and he laughed when it ding ding ding ed.
“Well, you’ll still need one,” he said. “Don’t get rid of them both.”
I wouldn’t need any kitchen equipment for a while, though, so we packed up some of that and headed to his house.
I hadn’t been there since I’d started school and was ashamed to see that I’d left his living room in such a chaotic state.
He assured me that he didn’t care, but then we had to drag several items from Edmond’s room into his study to make room for my belongings, and the chaos grew.
It was almost midnight before all my boxes were stacked inside his spare room.
“As always, I don’t know how to thank you,” I said. We were exhausted and needed to crash. We had to work the next day, and then we still had to move the rest of my things.
“As always, I’m paying you back for labor you’ve already done.”
“Well, dinner’s on me tomorrow.” A few hours earlier, he’d fed me leftover pasta freshened up with a generous handful of leafy herbs.
It hadn’t tasted like leftovers at all. It had been delicious, adding to my tab of guilt.
Yes, I’d been helping him, but I liked being in his house, so the equation felt lopsided. I was getting something out of it.
It didn’t occur to me that he might be getting something out of it, too.
I went home at lunch the next day and hastily packed up most of my bedroom.
I crammed everything I didn’t want Macon to see (undergarments, vibrators, lube) into a backpack, stuffed my laundry basket and hamper with as much clothing as possible, and then dropped it all off at my new place.
The basket and hamper returned with me to carry another round later.
Laundry. I’d forgotten about it, but I doubted Mika and Bex would mind if I used their machines.
I could probably do laundry at Macon’s house, too, on days when I was already over there painting.
I tried not to feel depressed about being back to where I’d been in college—a person without my own washer and dryer.
It was actually worse than that, though, because the new studio was smaller than my first apartment. Much smaller.